Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)

Part Eleven - Maedhros


When Elladan came around, he was slung over Jatmâ's shoulders, head bobbing and nose bumping against the ellon's back, and confusion filled his mind. He could make no sense of what was happening, the events blurred by the throbbing in his temple, the sticky warmth oozing over his forehead revealing an injury there. The seneschal was running as if Sauron himself pursued them, breathing in frantic gasps to maintain his exhausting pace. Elladan shifted, grasping hold of the servant's tunic in an effort to stabilise his body and abruptly Jatmâ cursed, halting and gripping to Elladan's calves with painful intensity.

"Barjânô, I will set you down if you give me your solemn oath not to try and go back there," he said, his voice choked, altered, thickened with swallowed tears.

"My word," answered Elladan. "Put me down." Yet when his feet met the ground he found his knees unable to hold him up and he landed on his rear with a grunt. Still bewildered, a deep pounding deflecting his efforts to gather his thoughts, Elladan stared at his body and the gaping robe, flushing to find himself on open display. With fumbling hands he drew the ends of the garment over himself and raised questioning eyes to Jatmâ. There were smeared streaks down the seneschal's cheeks. "What is happening?"

"Why ask me? I am not Vala." The words burst out in bitter acrimony as the servant's shoulders rose and fell. "All is lost or all is gained, depending on how one views such things."

"I don't understand," Elladan complained. "Speak plainly, Jatmâ. Where is Maglor?"

"Ai! He struck you a blow to the head, that explains it. You remember nothing?"

"Nay, I recall the cave and the rubies - Maedhros! We must go back; Maglor is still in there with that thing!" Elladan scrambled to regain his feet, clawing the rough walls of stone to do it, and stood gasping with the effort, all his weight resting against the cool stone wall of the tunnel. "Help me; we must go to him," he pleaded, eyeing the seneschal with renewed confusion as fresh tears arose and spilled down the Avarin elf's face.

"No. B'rôna Kâno ordered me to take you back to Imladris," he protested. "You gave your word not to try and go back there. It cannot be done; nothing can be done. Phaja Narwâ is insatiable; not a thousand Avari souls have appeased him. Mayhap his brother and the white Stone can change that. So Ossë has said from the beginning, but B'rôna Kâno would not go in."

"Nay! I will not accept that! What I have seen in the Silmaril tells me…"

"The Stone shows you what you want to see!" shouted Jatmâ. "Nothing more. Have you understood nothing about those gems? They are false and self-serving. They crave to live and that is all. Perhaps it is right, for every living thing has the instinct to survive. Yet the cost, the cost!" Jatmâ broke off, a sob escaping him as he doubled over, clutching his gut as he fought down the surge of bile burning up his oesophagus.

"You cannot believe this," Elladan chided. "Even if it is true, the Silmaril would not hurt Maglor. He is the only one protecting it. Let us go back, for it may not be too late. The white Stone protected me and so it may do for him. Come, show me the way."

"I will not. I am not so cruel as that, for you to find him as you found D'râk. I would not have permitted that either, truly, but Ossë is so cold, so heartless. I did not mean to blame you for D'râk, Ell-Adan, only for you to give thought to the repercussions of your power over B'rôna Kâno."

"No, he is not lost!" Elladan raged, ignoring the allusion to the page. "I cannot walk away when there may be hope. He is my life, Jatmâ," Elladan pleaded, working his way ponderously along the wall, step by shaky step, hand over hand. Never had he known exhaustion this deep, this debilitating, save once when a wound spilled so much of his blood he'd nearly perished. He panted with the effort and quickly expended his strength, sinking to his knees hard enough to make him groan. Jatmâ was beside him in seconds.

"We must do as B'rôna Kâno says. We will continue to the end of this passage and enter the forest. We will hide amid the leaves and pray that Ossë does not come looking for us. Uinan is our only hope now, for she alone can temper his rashness. Lean on me, Ell-Adan, and let us go from here."

"I will not leave him!" Elladan shoved away the grasping hands and staggered to his feet, once more dragging himself along in the direction he'd come, or at least he assumed this was the right way. Realising he could not tell, for the tunnel was level, neither plunging nor rising, he cursed and turned furious eyes on the seneschal. "Your obedience is worthless if you permit him to die!" he shouted.

"And your disobedience is pointless if you are destroyed trying to save him," the servant countered. "There is another way. Once we reach the forest and my people learn what has happened, they will give aid. We will need an army to defeat the entity in the cave and you will lead them, Barjânô. They will follow you even to that dire place of death." It was a pure falsehood, but Jatmâ could not feel grief over it considering the number of lies abounding in this tragic tale. He had to get Elladan to safety and if a lie would do it, then a liar he would be. He moulded his features into a mask of rectitude and held out his hand. For a moment he believed he'd succeeded.

Elladan gazed at him hard, scrutinising the stern countenance in search of signs of deceit, but Jatmâ had never lied to him, so far as he knew, and so he could not guess what to look for. In the end he had to trust in the seneschal's love for his master, for that was real and true. He nodded briefly and let the servant slip beneath his arm, taking most of his weight so that they could make better progress. Yet no sooner were they underway than his mind cleared and he balked, refusing to budge another step.

"If we wait it will be too late," he insisted, "and no army is required for we will not destroy the - the Phaja Narwâ. I only want to get Maglor out; you and he managed to gain my freedom without any other help. We go back, Jatmâ!"

"I cannot take you in there."

"I am going and you would have to do me harm to stop me. Are you prepared for that?" Elladan could see this threat made no impact whatsoever on the stalwart seneschal and quickly switched tactics. "If he perishes in there I will never forgive you. I will surely fade of grief. You will become a kin-slayer twice over. Besides, you know you want to go back, too. You love him like a son and how would you face Asmalindë if you let him die alone in there without at least trying to save him? What say you to that?" To Elladan's surprise, Jatmâ laughed softly, sadness in the utterance and gentle affection in the eyes trained upon him.

"So be it. I cannot tell Hervessen that I did not at least try, nor would I wish to brave Maglor's wrath if you fall to the grieving death. We go, but now though I remove your obligation to your word given earlier, a new promise I demand: when we reach the caves, you will remain outside and let me go in for B'rôna Kâno."

"That is too much to ask and you will need help."

"Possibly, but you are in no condition to give it, Ell-Adan. Phaja Narwâ depleted you almost beyond recovery and I am certain Ossë was not gentle prior to taking you to the caves. Agree or we stay here, arguing while time slips away. What say you to that, Barjânô?"

Elladan cast such a forlorn, defeated look upon the seneschal that Jatmâ almost relented, yet he remained firm until the young lord gave a grudging nod.

"So be it. Onward, Jatmâ."

Speed was essential yet the best they could manage was a hobbling, stumbling stride as sluggish as a stag bounding through a muddy mire. Elladan condemned his weakness and tried to force more work from his exhausted muscles without success. They were making little enough progress when an unforeseen obstacle put an end to their struggle. A great tremor passed through the rocky floor beneath their feet and an ominous rumble growled up from the interior of the mountain. Dust and small pebbles rained upon them and then all went still. Hearts hammering, the pair looked to one another and in silent accord reversed direction, hastening with every sinew toward the surface.

A second grumbling shiver rocked them, tossing them against the wall as Elladan lost his balance, and behind them a fulminating roar resounded from the depths of Himling. The passage shook and a great slab of the ceiling broke away and slammed into the ground behind them, missing Jatmâ by less than half a metre. A choking cloud of dust arose and the shaking continued, more stones falling in the weakness made by the breach. A huge rent formed in the wall beyond the fallen slabs and through it spewed a fine saline spray of sea water. The entire tunnel must soon collapse of fill with water and it was enough to stir the panic-frozen elves to action.

Jatmâ bent and grabbed Elladan at the knees, rising with the warrior draped again over his shoulders, and ran with staggering paces along the trembling tube of stone, dodging blocks of rock and leaping debris already littering the way. Another great convulsion rocked him against the wall and he nearly fell, but terror helped give him the strength and energy to go on. They were both shouting, or screaming, or belting out curses and encouragement in the same breath, which was gasping and fraught with fits of gagging as the tunnel filled with a thick haze of drifting dust.

As abruptly as it had started, the cacophonous shaking stopped and the passage stabilised. On Jatmâ ran, hearing clearly now that Elladan was both cursing and crying, defaming Ossë while begging the seneschal, wailing Maglor's name in between. He beat on the servant's back and pulled the long streaming auburn hair, but Jatmâ took no heed. Too well he knew; the trembling could begin again and bury them both. At last the way ahead grew bright and he could hear voices. Soon Avarin elves caught sight of them, exclaiming in surprise, and dashed in, lending their aid to the desperate seneschal, easing Elladan from him and bearing him supported between them. They exited into the sunlight, Elladan and Jatmâ covered in silt and dust so that they looked as grey as ghosts, and the Avari set Elladan on his feet.

"Nae! Maglor!" he cried, falling to his knees as he clutched at the servant. "What have we done? He is trapped. Valar, crushed or drowned! This cannot be! Ai, Maglor!"

"We could do nothing else," said Jatmâ. "I could do no more. I am sorry, Ell-Adan, Yavanna knows."

"No! We have to try and go back. We must use one of the boats. Help me!" He tugged frantically at the seneschal's tunic.

"I would not risk you that way. Ossë will be waiting in the deeps for exactly that. You will stay and I will go."

"I must go with you; he is my mate, my husband. Would you deny me my right to…"

"To what? To see him dead? Maybe that is your right but I do deny it. I swear that I will bring him back to you, Ell-Adan, if I can reach him. Do not waste your life in so hopeless a quest. The caves are the lowest part of the fortress; they most likely collapsed first and that is what brought the passage down."

But Elladan would not hear reason and in the end Jatmâ had to order his people to take hold of Ohtatyaro Nessa and prevent his escape. They bound him, careful to shield his nakedness, and led him along through the tree lined pathways. Before too much time had passed, he began to falter, exhaustion, grief, and the strain his body had endured under Ossë torments and Phaja Narwâ's ill-use wearing him down. He could go not further and was helped into a nearby talan, tears now falling unchecked as he realised he would not make it even to the beach. He had failed Maglor utterly. Silently, he prayed for grief to claim him quickly and slumped down upon the crude cot, unconscious almost immediately.




Elladan awoke to find himself back in the cottage by the edge of the forest, cleaned of the grit and grime of the earthquake, dressed in soft cotton comfort, tucked into the bed in the room he'd been given when first he'd come to Himling Cove. That seemed so long ago and yet less than a single coronar (one year of the sun) had transpired. How he had come to the little house was irrelevant, how long he had lain senseless unimportant. He felt wrung out and though he realised at once why his entire being was sore, his soul riven and rent, his heart cleaved, scored with a thousand lethal lacerations, yet he could give no voice to his sorrow, the depth of it stealing thoughts and silencing the tongue that would speak them. Maglor was not with him and little else registered in his reality.

Jatmâ had not returned. Asmalindë was there at the bedside and had no trouble keeping Elladan immobile, for he could find no reason to rise. She forced water past his lips and pressed lembas into his hands. He swallowed the one but refused the latter and she had not the courage to scold or berate him, seeing the grave condition of his spirit. Instead she went and retrieved a shirt from Maglor's room, giving it silently into the young lord's hands, caressing his bowed head as he bent his face into it and wept bitterly, for in this way he knew she expected only the worst. He cried himself into oblivion.

"Ell-Adan, awaken Barjânô, saes."

The voice was quiet but insistent and accompanied by a gentle but firm shake of his shoulders. Elladan groaned, or thought he did, but in truth could not be sure if the sound was in his mind or in the air. The hand gripped tight and squeezed, pure relief within that grasp, and so he must have been audible. He sighed, trying to work out the speaker, for the voice was familiar but his senses remained adrift.

"Ell-Adan, open your eyes, please," urged Jatmâ. He gave another soft jiggle to the limp, lax frame and peered intently at the creased and pain-warped face. He could barely recognise this as the same warrior who had arrived in Lindon so short a time ago. "Saes, I need to see your eyes."

Elladan struggled to obey, fighting the desire to return to the comfort of unconsciousness where he did not have to know that Maglor was gone, where his heart never ached and his soul could rest in easy ignorance. Yet he would see the Avarin seneschal and thank him, for he had risked all to save him from the cave in. He blinked heavy lids and focused on the pensive, worried visage peering down upon him.

"Jatmâ, mellon," he managed, the volume of the vocalisation so faint a whisper was a shout in comparison. "I did not thank you." There was something he wanted to ask but truly could not make his tongue form those words and he stared in bald apprehension.

"Be at peace, Barjânô, there is no need to exert yourself. I will say what needs to be said; you needn't ask it of me." He perched on the edge of the mattress and helped Elladan sit up, propping him against the pillows and gently pulling his hair back from his face. "Take some water, for you have been unconscious nearly two days." The command was obeyed, the cool water drained voraciously from the cup pressed against Elladan's lips, and Jatmâ smile approvingly. "He lives," he said simply and found himself supporting the recovering warrior, Elladan's joyful arms wrapped around him.

"Jatmâ! How is he? Where is he? I must go to him." Elladan hugged the Avarin seneschal unabashedly, meeting Asmalindë's watery smile over her husband's shoulder.

"It is too soon for that, Ohtatyaro Nessa. He is in about the same condition as you. Time is needed for you both to regain strength. You could not make the crossing nor could he. Be content to know he lives." Jatmâ extricated himself as gently as possible and pushed Elladan back against the pillows.

"But what happened? How did he survive the cave in? What of that vile Phaja Narwâ?"

"Phaja Narwâ is not vile," scolded Jatmâ. "Do not defame that which you do not understand. Without Phaja Narwâ, the renewal of Arda will not come to pass. Just as the white stone has been cleansed of the Dark Lord's taint, so must be Phaja Narwâ. It will take time, but we shall see it done."

"All right, I apologise," Elladan was impatient to learn of his husband's fate. "Now tell me what happened. Wait, how did you both get to the caves if Ossë was holding you captive?" Once the effects of the strange drug had worn off, Elladan had decided there must be some other factors at work, as terrible as the ruby catacombs made Maglor seem. There had to be an explanation that exonerated the minstrel. Ossë and his diabolical cruelty immediately came to mind.

"That is simplicity itself," said Jatmâ. "Uinan released us. She does not allow Ossë to go too far, whether his actions are ordained by the Powers or not. Maglor, Phaja Narwâ, and now you have the special blessing of the Valar."

"This is an example of benediction?" Elladan scoffed. "We might all have perished but for Uinan. Ai! How can she love such a demon?" he spat the words, considering the kind, playful nature of the sea goddess in comparison to Ossë's sadistic tendencies.

"Many will wonder how you can love Maglor, yet there is no doubt that you do. He has easily killed as many as Ossë, if not more, all of them his own kind, all of them without the sanction of the Valar. You see that he has tried to change and make amends, thus you forgive him. So it is for Uinan. Her love made Ossë's redemption possible just as your love has salvaged Maglor."

Elladan flinched at the reference to the kin-slaying and shuddered, a vivid vision of the crimson cairns arising in his mind. "Jatmâ all those dead elves in the cavern, did Maglor know? Did he send them to Maedhros?"

"He knew, but he did not send them there, Ell-Adan."

He stared at the sylvan seneschal in a mixture of disgust and acceptance, for while he might abhor the truth at least Jatmâ offered a slim possibility of excusing Maglor. "Tell me of my husband."

"There is little I can say," Jatmâ shrugged, uneasy in his heart, and looked away briefly. What Elladan wanted him to reveal he was not yet prepared to do. That was Maglor's responsibility, though now the hope of him undertaking it seemed lost. Instead, he spoke of recent events. "He has said little of what occurred after I carried you out, only that Maedhros knew him, really knew him, called him by name. That never happened before. He said that Maedhros realised what was going on in Rôda Maril, what he had been doing all these many centuries, and nearly perished from the horror of it."

"What is going on in there, Jatmâ?" Elladan demanded. "The red demon…Phaja Narwâ was trying to kill me, stealing the light of my soul. Ossë said…did Maglor truly know about the others? Did he know about D'râk?"

"He knew."

"Ai, no, you cannot mean that!" Elladan felt his gorge rise. "He cannot have done that! I am going to be sick."

"No, you are not," commanded Jatmâ sternly. "You are a seasoned warrior and have seen every kind of horror one being can inflict upon another, or most kinds. Be strong and take yourself in hand." At the same time, he glanced behind him to his wife and she hurried forward with a small flask. He took it and made Elladan drink the tonic. "Only a sip." He watched colour return to Ohtatyaro Nessa's cheeks and grunted approval.

"Valar forgive me, I am responsible for D'râk's death, Jatmâ," Elladan groaned. "I am a…a…" he swallowed, finding it impossible to speak the words aloud.

"Go on," the seneschal folded his arms over his chest and gave a terse nod. "Say the rest, Ell-Adan."

"I am kin-slayer now, too," he whispered, face wan and weary, eyes haunted and frightened.

"No, you are not. Do not fault yourself, Barjânô," stated Jatmâ. "It is not true."

"I am not a protector," Elladan shook his head in disgust. "I wasn't able to protect Maglor and I sent D'râk to a horrible death. To feel that thing sucking the soul out of me was the greatest terror I have ever known, the most horrendous agony, and I was helpless against it. To know I made someone else undergo the same torture is unbearable. Ai, what shall I say to his family?"

"There is nothing for you to say. They will not fault you, nor would any of my people. None have fared so well against either Ossë or Phaja Narwâ. You are stronger than you know but even you are not Vala. Some things are beyond your control, Barjânô.

"D'râk was beyond anyone's help. It is true; he gave over his life to Phaja Narwâ freely. When he was but a child, he received the Call and has only waited this long for he believed he was to receive a gift for his sacrifice. At first he thought it was being Maglor's paramour, but this did not satisfy his heart. He knew when he saw you that you were the one he'd waited for."

"That is madness," Elladan barked, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I never never gave him reason to think that. I told him plainly I was not for him."

"Do not be so angry," scolded Jatmâ. "Is it so horrible to learn that you were loved? That is madness to me. You must forgive him, Ell-Adan. He could not help whom he loved and he truly regretted causing trouble between you and B'rôna Kâno. He has atoned."

Elladan stared at him, a sick cold weight settling over his heart to hear these words. Yet one thing gave him small relief. "You say he heard this 'call' when he was but a child? Maglor did not…give him to Phaja Narwâ?"

"Is this what you believed?" Had Elladan not been so ill, Jatmâ would have slapped him. "B'rôna Kâno has not taken up a sword since the First Age. I do not believe he would do so even to defend you, Ell-Adan. Furthermore, he despises our beliefs and has tried for centuries to change them. He believes the sacrifices keep the evil part of the Silmaril's Spirit alive instead of driving it out."

"Sacrifices? All of those in the cave went freely? Valar, that is madness!" Elladan was shocked. "He was right, too. The disgusting thing craves souls to grow and your people have been feeding it." His stomach rolled in revulsion of such a concept, seeing in his memory all those jewel encrusted coffins, and he clapped a hand to his mouth, grabbing the basin Jatmâ held out, heaving up only clear acid and bitter bile into the bowl.

Jatmâ handed this off to Asmalindë and gave Elladan a cloth to wipe his mouth and another sip of the tonic to cleanse his palate. Elladan glared at him.

"That is abominable. These are elves of which we speak, the First-born of Iluvatar. Such are not meant to be fodder for demons!"

"You think this way because you do not understand," the seneschal defended his faith. "We know there is evil there and it must be driven out, for there is much good in the Silmaril and in Maedhros. He was a loved and revered Lord to his people; he fought against Melkor and his hordes unceasingly. We have known this for long Ages from our distant kin the Laiquendi. The entity made of the two combined, the jewel and the prince, must be purified, for Phaja Narwâ is the one who will be sacrificed in the end. When the Last Day comes, he must take the white stone and with it join. The two together must then freely give up their Light to the Music, permitting it to remake Arda after the terrible wars between the Dark and the Pure.

"But Phaja Narwâ is young for a God. How can he know what to do if no one teaches him? He must learn what sacrifice is, what love is. We are teaching him this. This is the part the Avari play. There is great honour in this for those who were Called and for their families. Now that Maedhros has truly awakened and his mind fills Phaja Narwâ, no more souls will be Called. That is what caused the earthquake, for Maedhros sealed the underground passages linking Ered Lhuin and the caves of Himling. The cavern itself was undamaged and in this we have been given a glimpse of the power Phaja Narwâ will wield in the shaping of the earth."

Elladan knew not how to counter such a creed, for he could not reconcile it logically and felt the Avari had been misled into such a notion, probably by the despicable remnant of Melkor still extant within the grotesque entity. And yet, surely the Valar must know. Could the Powers condone such wholesale slaughter of innocents, self-imposed or not, all for the sake of this living light and its promise of rebirth for the world they had built? While the idea was disgusting, he could not discount it, recalling the stories of the loss of the Two Trees and how Yavanna desired the Silmarili to bring them back to life. Denied by Feänaro, the Valar permitted Finwë to be murdered and Melkor to steal the jewels, this rather than leave them in the Noldo's keeping.

"Then it was not Ossë who caused the tunnel to collapse. What has become of him?"

"Gone back to the deeps in Uinan's bad graces, as usual when he has been more than expedient in his methods. He could have explained things and given you the chance to prove your loyalty to Hîr Maglor, but instead he chose to let Phaja Narwâ devour your soul." Jatmâ shrugged. "I for one hope he remains in his watery realm forever and leaves us in peace."

"So do I," agreed Elladan, but he was troubled for he remembered that Uinan had given him a choice but no knowledge sufficient to make that decision with any clarity. Why had she permitted him to go, knowing what awaited him there? They must both have wanted him to not only find out about Maedhros but confront him. Had they hoped he could redeem Phaja Narwâ? Were all the Valar and their minions so utterly selfish that every person was expendable?

"I don't know if they are selfish," said Jatmâ. "I only know the Avari who gave their faer to this cause are promised the finest places in Aman. They will be reborn there, safe from all harm, exalted higher than the Caliquendi. It is they who will return when Arda is remade; they who will rule here."

"I pray you are right. They have earned glory unrelenting." Elladan tried to stifle a yawn and failed, blinking as heavy slumber crept upon him, dragging him back into the soft comfort of black forgetfulness. Maglor was alive; D'râk had gone to his end willingly. More than this he could not contain and gratefully permitted the solace of sleep to woo him into its dreamless embrace.

Jatmâ and Asmalindë exchanged glances fraught with anxious concern.

"When will you tell him?" she asked, her voice stricken with unshed tears.

"Not until I must. I am hoping Erestor arrives before that moment, yet the messenger left just four days ago. Nae, Hervessen, we could still lose them both. I must go back to the fortress; perhaps he will heed my words and regain his senses."




The sky was dark when next he woke, the clouds heaped in threatening banks of smudged charcoal, heavy with tumult and tempest, long black vapourous claws raking the choppy seas into a high green wall as they came ashore. The wind shrieked from the north west, strong and fierce with violent gusts that slammed against the cottage and rattled the panes of the windows as though hoping to shatter them. Indeed, the fury of the typhoon promised devastation and destruction, threatening to tear away what remained of the sandy dunes so to inundate the forest and shift the coastline inward to lap at the very toes of Ered Lhuin.

The hearth blazed and, though the temperature was not frigid, Elladan was glad for the cheerful flames and their crackling conversation, save when a blast of air dived down the chimney and infused the room with a fume of grey ash and blue smoke, as now. He coughed and waved a cushion through the air to clear it, glancing nervously at the windows to evaluate the durability of the heavy, leaded panes as another gust shook them furiously. Asmalindë came in from the kitchen and gave a reproving frown, for he was not supposed to be up, having promised to recline on the sofa if she would permit him to leave his room. Yet he was impatient and worried, for if Maglor was recovering would he not have sent for him?

"Don't say it," he held up apologetic hands and hastened to sit down. "I only rose to add wood to the fire and check the windows. Are summer storms always this severe in Himling Cove? Is the cottage safe or ought we to move to the forest?"

"Nay the house will hold fast, as it has done these many centuries. Most weather spends itself before reaching us, yet every now and again Hîr Ulmo calls up a mighty gale and scours the beaches clean. We say he is chastising Ossë when squalls like this build into a mighty fist and hammer on the land."

"Will Jatmâ attempt the crossing in such perilous seas?"

"Aye, he is skilled enough and the distance short enough. Don't fret; he'll be here anon," she promised.

Truthfully, the seneschal couldn't hurry fast enough to suit her, for Asmalindë was finding it difficult to think of things to talk about. Elladan was anxious and edgy, wanting nothing more than to be reconciled with Maglor, yet now even the weather forbade the reunion. There was nothing wanting in his intuitive faculties, either, and he sensed the tense, apprehensive atmosphere of the little cabin easily enough. She knew his mind was filling with all manner of wild imaginings, everything from Maglor's death to the minstrel's rejection of his love. Asmalindë did not want to be the one to confirm the latter. She placed a mug of hot tea near his elbow and went to the bookcase to select a volume.

"Asmalindë, please sit and talk with me," Elladan began, trying to bolster his courage to bring up the subject of his beloved. Three days had gone by without any news but he sensed apprehension in Asmalindë's manner. Still, he would not permit his mind to form the most likely answer.

"I will, as long as you do not go on about B'rôna Kâno. I am here, as are you; there is nothing I can tell you," she said, not without sympathy but the words came out harsher than she meant. His face fell and his spirit visibly sagged. With a sigh she settled beside him on the sofa and soothed a caress across his shoulder.

"I miss him," he said quietly.

"Ai! I know it, Barjânô." She gathered him up for a hug; these days Elladan seemed very much younger than his years, which were few enough, and she could not help feel he should have family near him at such a crisis.

Elladan gratefully accepted her consoling embrace, sighing as he settled his head on her shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of the woods that always clung to her. His naneth carried that same aroma, an eternal link to the trees that had been her home until her marriage to Elrond. Elladan found himself suddenly homesick, longing to see her, to speak to Elrohir and make peace with him, to welcome his new law-sister with proper courtesy and affection. He should write and tell them, but found he had not the heart for it, not until he knew how it was all going to end.

"Does he miss me?" he whispered and his heart sank as Asmalindë clutched him tighter, the truth in her touch while her words promised reassurance she did not believe.

"Of course he does. He is just taking longer to recover, or perhaps he is spending time with Phaja Narwâ…with Maedhros."

"Is he truly that ill?" Elladan sat back to study her anxious eyes. "If so, I should go to him."

"Nay, I would not say he is ill so much as…confused," she hedged.

"What does that mean? Asmalindë, I need to know what is happening over on Himling."

"I told you; I have no more information than you."

"Nay, there is something you fear to tell me; I can see it in your eyes. Surely you know I will find out. It is about Maglor, yes?" he coaxed, forcing his mind to remain calm and his face to assume a placid expression.

"Ell-Adan, it is not for me to say."

"So there is something, quite important, too, I warrant. It is useless to persist in silence; say what you know."

"Nay!" She rose abruptly and headed back to her kitchen, Elladan right behind her.

"Fine, then I will take the boat and go over to Himling and find out for myself," he threatened.

"With this storm about to come ashore? Nay, do not make me responsible for your death. You are dear to me Ell-Adan, and not just because you are B'rôna Kâno's beloved."

"If this is true than do not keep me in the dark. You have to know this is driving me mad. Speak and I will not hold you accountable for anything that happens afterward."

"You are going over there anyway, aren't you?" She could see in his eyes that this was true and now she was truly distressed. "Ai! This is Maglor's foolishness! What is wrong with him? It is time to stop punishing himself, especially when doing so hurts others so much…" her tirade dwindled off as she saw comprehension dawn in Elladan's eyes. "Nae, Ell-Adan, he does not know what he is doing, really he does not," she insisted, gripping his arm tight for he had gone so pale she feared he would collapse. Indeed, he dropped heavily into the chair she pulled out from the kitchen table and dropped his head into his hands. Yet he remained quiet and she dared hope he would not do anything so rash as try to sail across the inlet.

"He still means to send me away," he said quietly, surprised that he could speak the words so firmly and without breaking into despairing tears. He thought about that, feeling around in his soul for the source of this unexpected strength, and found that he had suspected something of the kind for at least two days. If Maglor had been so ill that he could not sail, Jatmâ would have ferried Elladan over to tend him, hoping the presence of his mate would give B'rôna Kâno purpose to fight for life. The only reason for the two not to be together by now was Maglor's command. "I will hear this from his mouth," said Elladan and he rose, pushing past Asmalindë, "and then he will hear my answer, for I will not go. We are mated; he cannot cast me off so easily."

"Mayhap that is true but then wait for the storm to pass. There is no need to hurry and risk your life. Maybe he will come to his senses in the mean time. Jatmâ is there, trying to make him see his error. Let him work on B'rôna Kâno." She followed him, snatching at his shirt only to be impatiently brushed off.

"No, it needs to be me. If he can look me in the face and speak those words, telling me to go, telling me he does not love me, that I am not his mate, then…"

"You are not the first," Asmalindë blurted out, flinching at the horror this wrought upon his face as he turned to gape at her. "Forgive me, but you must know this. He abandoned Erestor's Nana as soon as Elros came of age." To her surprise, this news brought a softening of his features and he came and wrapped her in his arms, pressing a kiss atop her head.

"You are good to me, Asmalindë, a second naneth." He smiled kindly at her. "I know about Erestor's mother; her diary is among the relics preserved in the Gallery."

"What of her, then, for surely she is reborn and dwells in Aman? What will you do when some day we all return there, or she comes here after the Remaking, and makes her claim?"

"I will share," Elladan shrugged, blushing faintly and dropping his eyes away. "No doubt my place will not be deemed honourable among the High Elves, it certainly won't be so among my people. As long as Maglor will have me, she may have his wealth and the title that goes with his noble name. I will have his heart."

With that he went out into the gale and made his way to the beach, his spirit emboldened with hope, for surely he had only to see Maglor, to explain everything, to speak the truth at last and declare his love anew. Then Maglor would see him, Elladan, and understand who it was that loved him, whose love had healed him finally. Not Elros. Never Elros.

As for Asmalindë, she ran toward the forest to find help.

He found the shelter of the rocky berth and dragged the catamaran from its cover of canvas and sand, pushed it with effort into the sea, which relentlessly drove it back toward shore, and dared sails even near the rocks for the ocean was so high. The hollow hulls shuddered under the impact of the punishing waves, the sails wailed and strained as though to split in two, and Elladan pulled on the oars with every ounce of his strength; the craft inched toward Himling. Yet no sooner had he made deeper water than a mighty curl of a wave caught the twin-hulled craft and slammed it hard against the unyielding wall of the trough beneath it, shattering the frame of the boat and plunging Elladan into the raging surf.

The green shroud covered him, dragging him down and pulling him out, capturing him in a rip-tide, sucking him toward the open sea through a channel beneath the surface. Desperately he clawed at it, kicking off shoes, kicking to gain purchase in the shifting churning liquid, battling to get free and make for the dim glaucous sky, lungs burning for relief, eyes burning with salt and seaweed, heart thundering in terror and determination. He would make it. He would.

Arms grappled him at the waist, bare and scaly arms, the long bony hands at the ends of them webbed and tipped in sharp nails. He looked into the face of Ossë, contorted with rage and hatred. The arms squeezed harder as Elladan fought; he could not get free. He opened his mouth and screamed. The next instant they broke surface, much closer to shore than he'd have thought possible, and the sea-spirit tossed him with fury into the shallows. He landed with a painful splash, hard rock beneath him, and rolled with a groan. The water closed over his head. Sputtering, he gathered his knees beneath him in sand that was draining away faster than water through a sieve, holes forming that drew him down. A hand snatched him at the underarm and hauled him upright, the angry Maia yanking him nose to nose.

"Obstinate, arrogant half-elf!" snarled Ossë. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Leave me be!" shouted Elladan, trying with all his might to get that disgusting hand off him without effect.

"Going to him, are you? Not Allowed, pretender, forbidden! Didn't Jatmê tell you? He doesn't want you. Fool! He doesn't need you anymore." He shook Elladan till his head lolled. "Your job's finished; go home!"

"No! You lie, as ever, as always! Everything you say is false, everything you do a deceit!" Elladan shrieked, kicking out to trip the Maia and send him flailing backwards into the surf. Free for a second, he bounded toward the strand, heading further up the cove where the long boat was moored. He was easily caught, this time hoisted out of the water and carried like a sack to the sand where he was thrown down hard. All the wind left him and he lay in aching terror trying to remember how to breathe as Ossë loomed over him.

"I am not here to destroy you, though the idea is not without its temptations, yet that is not the will of Manwë," Ossë informed him coldly. "Your heart has been judged worthy of our trust; your actions at last prompted Maglor to do what we despaired he ever would: confront Phaja Narwâ and awaken his brother's mind. All this time, so many Avarin souls consumed, but he would not go in. He wouldn't risk his precious White Stone, fearing it would be absorbed by its counterpart, so dark, so hungry.

"The Powers decided that you would go in and we would see whether he would come and save you or not. As you are here, you know the answer to that. Be comforted in this, your love healed Maglor. He is himself again, in possession of the clear, sharp intellect and indefatiguable courage for which all in his lineage are known. That is what we brought you here to do. Now the brothers can combine their efforts to tame the Red Stones and drive out the last of Melkor's black thoughts from them. The greatest secrets of our world are now under your protection. We trust you will not reveal them to anyone. Mind you show sufficient appreciation for this high honour. You are free to return to your former life, son of Elrond."

"That is why you sent me in there to face that…that thing?" Elladan yelled, edging away. "What if Maglor had not come in time? It would have devoured my soul! Heartless limlug! You poisoned me! You…you touched me! Was that the will of Manwë, too?"

"Nay, that was my idea. Can I help it if you have so little self-respect and even less self-esteem? The ploy worked; you were sufficiently humbled to obey and did not question why I gave you the White Stone. Uinan made certain Maglor was free not only to make his decision but to act on it. Or not. As to your peril, numerous souls have been lost to the Red Stones; yours would be but another among thousands," he shrugged. "Regrettable, but it was a risk the Powers deemed necessary. For the rest, I have observed Maedhros feeding many times over the centuries and I know what he does is excruciatingly painful to the victims. The drug is used by the Avari 'pilgrims' to eliminate that undesirable side effect. It was supposed to render you senseless before you ever realised what was happening to you. I am not without mercy after all, you see, but apparently your constitution is particularly sturdy and the dose was insufficient."

"Mercy! How is it merciful to send me to certain death, and such a horrible one? I do not believe anything you say; I do not believe the Valar know anything about any of this!" Elladan rose and trotted on shaky legs toward the small harbour, halting when he saw the boat gone. "Neither did Maglor know of your plot; every time you open your lips, only lies spill from them."

"Valar, you are as dense as you are stubborn! Jatmâ took the skiff to Himling days ago. You cannot get there, Elladan. Even if you could, Maglor does not want you now that he knows the truth. You are finished here. Go home!" Ossë flung out his hand toward the shore, a gesture one might use to scare off a stray dog.

"Then, then I…I will…" Elladan was at a complete loss, glancing about him at the windswept shore and across to the desolate island. He had to get across somehow. This could not be true, what the despicable creature said. Maglor loved him. "I'll go to Círdan; I'll secure a boat from the Faladhrim in Harlindon. You cannot keep me from him, Ossë."

"I can and will."

"You will have to kill me then!"

On his feet, Elladan backed away and turned to run. He was caught by the ankle and ended up with a mouth full of acrid sand. Coughing and spitting, he was flipped over on his back and a heavy booted foot stamped on his stomach, once more driving the air from his lungs. He could not even cry out from the pain. Eyes bulging he gaped at the vengeful demon's face, the features twisted in savage rage.

"Be glad that I follow orders so well, son of Elrond, that trait for which you would damn me. But for my contemptible penchant for deference and obedience, I would do just that!" shouted Ossë. "How I despise you! Even after all this, you still have the gall to judge me, to condemn me and exonerate your precious kin-slayer. The Powers say you will not go to Himling now or ever lest it be Maglor's wish. And He…Will…Not…Have…You!" He bent low and screamed in Elladan's ear, then stood back shaking his head in disgust, arms akimbo. "Understand, half-elf?"

"No," Elladan felt the finality of this verdict, a vicious stab striking at his heart, tears already forming despite his verbal denial. "He would not do that. He loves me; he needs me."

"He loves Elros. He has always loved Elros. No matter how much you might want it, you will never be Elros," sneered the Maia, a malicious gleam in his cold, cutting eyes. "He does not need such as you, a pale imitation at best. Crawl back to the cabin and wait, for your people are coming for you. Will you live, I wonder, or die of shame?"

"I will hear it from him," he said weakly. Elladan's hand went to his breast and covered the tearing pain assailing him there, a choking groan competing with the howling wind for dominance, and Ossë laughed.

"No, you will never hear his voice again." He crouched down to peer into the contorted visage of agony and sorrow. "Try as you might, I will not permit you to cross and he has no wish to come here to see you. He just wants you to go away."

What began then was a fruitless contest that Elladan could not win yet neither could he fail to try. Time and again he waded into the punishing waves intent upon swimming the distance if he must or die trying. He would run, dodge, dive for the water only to be fished out and hauled back to land, Ossë cursing and defaming him, berating him with demeaning insults and cruel reminders of how inadequate he was for such an elf as Maglor. Over and over Maia let him get just beyond the rocks and then went for him, pulling him from the ocean and tossing him back on the beach. Alternately, Elladan would attack him in furious outrage and, his opponent being far more powerful and impervious to exhaustion, was pummelled ruthlessly. After such a beating he would lie gasping and moaning on the shore, calling for Maglor, and when he recovered the cycle would begin again. It went on for hours.

At last a breaking point was reached and Elladan's reason snapped, crushed between broken-hearted despair and the futility of ever besting this cruel Maia. Mad with grief, he wanted nothing more now than to force Ossë to kill him and end the horrendous nightmare his life had become. They grappled, Elladan shouting curses and fighting like a wild thing with teeth and nails, drawing blood and the Maia's rage until he was pressed into the sand, Ossë's webbed fingers curled around his throat, squeezing and squeezing, enraged and spouting epithets and damnation upon him, denying him Mandos and claiming Elladan's soul as his own to imprison until the last days, locked beneath the waves, never to see the sky or smell the forest he so loved.

Elladan barely acknowledged any of it, his hearing damped by a loud roaring he recognised as his heart pushing blood through his body at a furious pace, a last-ditch effort to ward off death until more air could be brought in. He felt cold and didn't care, content that he would not have to live with this unbearable sorrow, glad that he would be spared the pain of facing his family and explaining what he'd done, the shame he'd brought to them. How had it turned out this way when his heart was true and the goal he'd meant to support so noble? It made no sense and he couldn't reason it out. He was losing consciousness and wanted to thank the vile sea-demon but strangely found he couldn't speak. The last thing he heard was the distinctive ringing crescendo of a steel blade leaving its sheath and a voice he knew well.

"Take your squalid, squamous hands off him or I'll run you through."

The point of the sword ran convincingly along Ossë's spine, cleaving his elegant robes and drawing a bright line of scarlet from nape to lumbar. He leaped from his prey and slowly turned, eyes upon the shining sabre borne in a hand he knew, focusing on the ornate jade ring, carved with the seal and crest of Feänor, fitted round the fourth finger, a match to the one Maglor wore in the same manner.

"You know I am impervious to death, Erestor." he said, lifting his eyes to the searing glare of the last of the Feänorian princes.

"Yet you are not impervious to pain," sneered the incensed elven Lord. "Get you gone. Bother him again and I'll have Uinan boil you for a time in the hot vents out near the buried pits of Udûn."

Ossë's face darkened and for a moment it seemed he would challenge this insolent threat, yet he had known Erestor long enough to know he could do as he said, and that Uinan would comply once she learned what he was up to. She would not need any urging to punish her mate severely and while Ossë would never admit it, he did not want her to discover this fall from grace. Indeed, he had gone to great pains to make sure she was too busy rescuing elves from a foundered vessel way to the south, much too far to interfere with his actions. Only she loved him unconditionally and he lived in fear that one day he'd find out she had a limit after all. Ossë waded into the ocean and dived beneath the waves.

The storm stalled just off shore and stewed, brooding in malignant fury.

Of course Erestor and Asmalindë carried Elladan back to the cottage, the seneschal's arrival coincident with her desperate search for aid. Of course they tended Elladan and brought him back from the brink of strangulation. Of course Erestor attempted to understand his young friend's wild raving and frenzied insistence on getting to Himling with all speed. Of course Asmalindë clarified this ranting and both agreed that Elladan was in no condition, mentally or physically, to do any such thing. Of course Erestor sent at once for Elrohir.

Erestor and Asmalindë had no trouble restraining Elladan at first. Gradually, his strength returned and thereafter confining him was a lost cause. Erestor could do nothing but stand vigil, following Elladan to the beach, staying close as he called for Maglor, intervening, gently but firmly, if he tried to swim out to the island or sought to ride for Harlindon. Day by day the attempts lessened until at last Elladan sat long hours in silence staring at the dark smudge of Himling, the formidable towers rising into the sky in their majestic ruin. These quiet interludes were punctuated by bursts of terrible grieving. He tore at his hair and his garments, struck out against Erestor if the seneschal tried stop him, rent the skies with keening and wailing and calling for his mate, snatches of a song intermixed between these macabre activities, a song of love found and a heart broken, of apology and regret and remorse.