Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and no profit of any kind is earned by this story. Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Part Six - Himling

With inescapable clarity, Elladan became aware of time and realised he'd spent nearly four months in the cosy cottage with Maglor. Exactly when they had moved from the clearing to this more substantial structure he couldn't remember, and while at first that had been mildly alarming, now it didn't seem so important. They were here, they were together; shouldn't that be enough? Built just on the fringe of the woods, it was the only solid house in the region for the Avarin elves lived as did the Galadhrim, in treetop talans. What did it signify if the cabin was simple and common? He was comfortable and did not miss the luxuries with which he'd been raised. It was home; he was home.

Long ago, though really it was only a handful of weeks, he'd come to understand that these rustic people viewed Maglor as their Lord and something more. There was a deep, reverential adoration accorded him and they served his needs with great love and devotion, hunting for him, gathering wood for his hearth, bringing fishes and buckets filled with molluscs, nets bursting with crabs and shrimp. He accepted all this graciously but with the definite manner of one accustomed to sovereignty and privilege.

Elladan was not displeased by this, for his father operated in a similar vein when dealing with the human colonies surrounding Imladris, accepting their tribute with gratitude. Yet Elrond returned far more than he received, and Elladan could not fathom what Maglor supplied that made the Avari so devoted. Asking the feral elves was hopeless, as a language barrier suddenly arose whenever he spoke of things they preferred not to discuss.

The cottage itself was maintained by the Avarin guide and his wife. Childless, the couple had adopted Maglor, though he was ancient, for in his earliest time here he had surely been mad, wandering lost and broken along the shore. Knowing nothing about him, they took pity on him. Now, thousands of years later, the pair considered him family and were proud of their chosen place as his substitute parents. They cooked and cleaned and cared for him, and when he'd come home with Elladan in tow their smiles sparkled and they showered the stranger with joyous welcome. Everything was a sign to them and Elladan's arrival was viewed as a positive omen of great things to come, though they did not care to elaborate on what that meant.

This was in part a legitimate matter of translation, for while Elladan had no understanding of their obscure dialect, they found Quenya easier to use than Sindarin and he was rusty in the Ancient Tongue. Somehow they managed and little by little Asmalindë (Yellow Bird), the wife, was teaching him the primitive elvish they spoke. As for her husband, Jatmâ (Bridge), he served as everything from Maglor's personal secretary, valet, and emissary to the rest of the Avarin people. They, and all the elves of the forest, called the noble Noldorin singer 'B'rônâ Kânô - Herald who has Long Endured. Jatmâ and the majority of the Avari called Elladan 'Ohtatyaro Nessa' (young warrior) and Asmalindë called by his given name, pronounced with accented precision he found pleasing. His sudden presence was accepted without question and without suspicion and he really did not want to know what Maglor had told them about his identity.

He was on the porch, a favourite place to sit at dawn and sip his morning tea, wondering how to reconcile this, his new life, with his duty to Imladris. He could never take his beloved home for such a union was not acceptable. His parents would never approve. Perhaps he could keep his lover a secret and divide his time, spending half the year here and the rest in Imladris, assuming he resolved things with Maglor. Elladan was no longer devastated that the Noldorin minstrel loved Elros and not him, deciding that it didn't matter because Elros was not here, never ever to return, and he was. In a strange way, it seemed that he really might be Elros remade and renewed. Why else had his mother given him such a name? It was certainly unique among elf-kind; even Idril had not named her half-human child so bluntly. Elladan decided to let his resentment go and simply accept the love offered. He sighed, smiling as he thought about how to make his feelings known to Maglor.

The peaceful morning was interrupted abruptly when the strident voice of Jatmâ, scolding Maglor in loud, exaggerated tones, came from inside the cottage. Elladan smiled; he was meant to hear and comprehend for the worthy servant uttered his chastisement in slow, careful Quenya.

"You make Ohtatyaro Nessa suffer. Ten days now he sits in gloom, never smiling, never laughing. Why are you so cruel to someone who loves you? Bah! Do not give me excuses."

"I know. I am trying to fix it," answered Maglor in succinct Sindarin, and this made Elladan snort in wry mirth.

He was creative if nothing else and the great minstrel had crafted this little play to make his apologies, yet again, for scarcely an hour could pass without him humbly begging forgiveness. Elladan had grown weary of it and had snapped at him to stop it and leave him alone. Maglor had nearly collapsed upon hearing this, slinking quietly away to his own room and shutting the door. That had been yesterday and there he'd remained, worrying his harp with random and dissonant notes, until now.

"Trying? Trying? What good is that? It is simple and you know what you must do," thundered Jatmâ.

A short silence followed, Elladan's ears perked up in interest, then Maglor's voice:

"You mean…?"

"Yes, yes! That is the answer. You must take him sailing on Aearon."

Elladan could not help it, he laughed. Of course he'd been expecting the Avarin secretary to suggest something else entirely. Almost immediately Maglor burst through the door, smiling shyly, and sat beside him.

"It is good to hear that," he said earnestly. "So, will you come sailing with me? There is something I would like to show you. It will help you understand why I have hesitated." He left the rest unspoken for it was still too painful for Elladan to talk about.

"Aye, I would like that." He ignored the oblique reference to their plight and rose, offering his hand to Maglor. "I must warn you, I have never sailed, though I can canoe the rapids of the Bruinen well enough."

"That kind of manoeuvring is much more difficult than what we'll be doing." Maglor let Elladan's hand draw him up and refused to let it go. "The tides in Himling Cove are almost always gentle and calm."

At this point Jatmâ deemed it a good time to come forth, a coil of hithlain worn over his shoulder, and brought with him an oilskin bag which he held out to Elladan, passing the rope to his master. Behind him came Asmalindë bearing a wicker basket and this she presented to Maglor. Both were smiling and shared a secret, knowing look as though all was unfolding according to their own design, and the worthy Avarin seneschal spoke.

"It is about time you left here," he pointed at Maglor. "My wife and I have not shared our bodies since you brought the young warrior home. What kind of manners did you mother teach you?"

"Ai Valar, you old liar, stop trying to embarrass Elladan. We know you two mate like rabbits in your little talan in the trees," frowned the singer, but he was too happy to hold the expression and his smile broke out anew.

For his part, Elladan laughed, a touch red-faced, and glanced to Asmalindë, who confirmed Maglor's rebuttal with a broad wink. She addressed him:

"In the sack are clean dry clothes and in the basket enough food for luncheon and dinner, too. Besides, where you are going there are plenty of stores and you will want for no comfort. No need to hurry back." She issued a gentle shove to set Elladan into motion. "Go now before the tide turns."

They set off at a leisurely pace, the day sunny and warm and filled with the lazy feeling particular to summer beside the ocean, where light was brighter, colours limited to dazzling white, muted tan, and mysterious jade, where the wind was always at play. Perhaps it was the perpetual, languorous susperation of the sea, lulling body and soul into the same slow, sonorous rhythm that made hurrying unthinkable. Every step was a pleasure in itself, a world of sensations to relish: the way sand flowed beneath the feet, the subtle sound of grains compressing together; the subdued, ruffling roar of the wind bearing with it the briny breath of the ocean; the rustle and swish of saw-grass and palmetto; the sudden raucous call of a gull on the wing. They found no need for speech during the walk .

Ere long they reached the rocky beach head and Maglor led the way to a cleverly camouflaged boat. When he pulled back the sand-covered canvas and revealed it, Elladan's brows rose in consternation.

"This is a sailing craft?" he asked, not certain he wanted to try the waves in so flimsy a construction. Really, it was nothing more than two hollowed pontoons with a canvas tarpaulin stretched between them, a mast, a sail, furled tight and neat, and a rudder.

"Aye, it is perfect for light sailing near the coast. We aren't going out on the open sea," Maglor reassured. "Come, help me carry it to the surf."

Still unconvinced, Elladan set down his sack and complied, surprised and not at all comforted by how light-weight the little craft was. He feared to sink it with the stuff they piled on and lashed down to the bamboo frame. When Maglor bade him come aboard he climbed on gingerly, watching as the minstrel pushed it out into deeper water and hauled himself up, grinning and soaked from the waist down. He took one of the paddles as Elladan took the other and soon they were far enough from shore and the scattered rocks lurking beneath the surface to unfurl the sail. Maglor did so, turning it to catch the wind on the reach. With a shudder and a leap, eager as any stallion given his head, the catamaran bounded into the surf, scudding away at such remarkable speed that Elladan exclaimed in surprise and snatched at the head-stay. Maglor only smiled.

"Take the tiller for me," he said, though he could easily manage the sail and the rudder himself. He wanted Elladan to be comfortable and knew he needed something to do while he adjusted to the unique experience.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he fretted, scrambling anxiously across the canvas floor to settle cross-legged beside the singer. He laid hold of the tiller anyway, looking for approval from Maglor.

"I'll tell you what to do. It's no different from using a paddle to manoeuvre a canoe one way or the other through a stream or river. Out here, the wind supplies the power, we just need to keep the sail filled and the boat's direction due north-west," he instructed. "Feel how the wind blows in from the side? That's called abeam and it's the best wind, easy sailing, a good, broad reach. We'll be there quickly."

"Where?"

"There."

Maglor pointed and Elladan sighted down his arm and found his eyes on the distant hump of rocky land at the mouth of the cove - Himling.

"You are taking me to the island?" Elladan was not quite sure why but this set off vague alarms in his heart. "This is what you would show me?"

"Aye. It is my home, Elladan," said Maglor. "And yours also, I hope."

Elladan nodded gravely, his uneasiness not diminished despite this encouraging development. If Maglor wished to introduce him to his home, surely that implied a more permanent arrangement than the one currently in place. Unwilling to get his hopes up too soon, he focused on keeping the rudder steady as the boat skimmed along across the dimpled sea and asked nothing more, listening as Maglor filled the silence with lore about sailing the deeps. A scant hour later they were dragging the boat onto the shingle and tied her fast to a prepared mooring set amid the broken rocks.

From the beach, the shallow slope seemed greater and Elladan gazed in trepidation at the fortress looming in shadowy, ominous menace atop the highest point on the submerged mountain. Smooth, granite bricks of a fallen turret lay strewn all down the side of the hill, flecks of mica and quartz blinking bright in the sun. A jagged gap welcomed the open sky into the interior where the roof had collapsed. Once proud and indomitable, the battlements snarled a snaggle-toothed grimace at the outsider and Elladan felt a distinct undercurrent of ambient enmity, a not so subtle sense of being warned off the place. He moved closer to Maglor, eyeing the decaying ruin with disapprobation.

"I though Himring was overrun by Orcs in the First Age. Isn't it unfit for elf-kind to inhabit now?" he queried.

"True, the place was fouled by the filthy beasts, but that was Ages ago. I assure you, any trace of their presence has long been erased. It is clean again."

"It doesn't look very inviting," Elladan stated as they strolled up the wind-blown path toward the crumbling arch of the great gates. These leaned drunkenly askew, bent and broken by the foment of the Valar's wrath as Beleriand was wrenched and twisted into oblivion in the final days of the First Age.

"That is just the outside; the interior is all new. I have let the exterior decay to discourage anyone from coming here. Once, Gil-Galad had the notion to reclaim the fortress and erect his own watch tower. I convinced him that with Melkor cast out, little threat was likely to come down from the north. Sauron did eventually create his abode to the south, just as i predicted."

"You had dealings with the High King?" Elladan did not try to hide his surprise.

"Yes, and with Círdan and Ossë, but this you know for you were…" he caught himself suddenly and sucked in a hurried breath, eyes darting to see what damage he'd done to Elros ~ Elladan ~ this time. "I'm sorry," he offered immediately. "I keep forgetting."

"Nay, it's all right," Elladan assured, taking his arm and linking it through his. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Anyway, if you say the place is safe and cosy inside, I trust you."

Maglor stopped and turned to face him, eyes shining with jubilation.

"Aye, you do, so completely that it steals my courage and my very soul trembles. I don't want to fail you. I would die before betraying such faith and can do no less than to trust you as well. That was the mistake I made before, you see, I tried to keep you from finding out. I didn't mean to deceive you, yet that is how it surely seemed. This time, all will be revealed and then if you still would have me, we will forge that bond we both desire." To seal the promise he reached for Elladan and drew him close, kissing him with as much passion and fervour as he could fit into mere seconds of contact. He came away smiling, tugged on Elladan's arm to get him moving, and hurried the pace. "Come!" he exhorted.

"Ai! The place has lasted this long, it isn't likely to fall apart before our eyes now," quipped Elladan, and though he was grinning, his conscience gave his heart a fierce jab. The broken minstrel trusted him and all he had to offer was a terrible lie. Sooner or later it must be discovered; what then?

~Nay, my love for him is no lie. He has no one else; I have no one else. That is the reality here. Once we are bound, it will not matter my name is; his heart will forgive me.~

It was enough; it would have to be. He gathered his resolve, now eager to let Maglor uncover this secret he'd been harbouring, he was anxious to move past it to the promised union. Whatever it was, he would not be put off as Elros had been and finally he would know what had caused the couple to break so completely. The next instant it came to him that, because of this secret, Elros had chosen the fate of Men so as never to be joined with Maglor again. That thought sobered him and he hastened, but his heart filled with foreboding. If his uncle could not bear knowledge of this thing, could he?

By now they were picking their way carefully across the blasted courtyard, its fine paving stones cracked and broken, a rift in the ground dividing the once genteel space and forcing them to go far out of the way, approaching the main entrance from an angle that made them hug the high walls. A doorway stood open, its wooden boards long ago decayed and the iron hasps made to hold them furry with orange rust. Through it Maglor ducked and Elladan followed and found himself in the labyrinth, something he'd heard about but never seen. It was confusing and had Maglor not been there he doubted he could find the way out, for the walls were so high and the way between them so narrow one could not see over.

"I rebuilt the maze mostly because Maedhros loved it so, and you told me to so often when you were a child here, saying you needed to get away from your brother so to think your own thoughts instead of his," said Maglor, hesitant and cautious, gauging Elladan's reaction. "I didn't bother then and later hadn't the heart for it. I reconstructed it two centuries after Tar Minyatur's death. It spells out our names in Quenya. I…I didn't know what your new name would be, so I had to…"

"It's all right, Maglor. I am not displeased," assured Elladan and to prove it this time it was he who pulled Maglor close, kissing him soundly and with as much promise as he could fit into a few brief seconds. It imparted instant relief to the grave minstrel. "I am not displeased," he repeated, glad that it was so, and they continued on. "You'll give me the key?"

"Aye, but once through a couple of times you won't need it," smiled Maglor. Even as he finished, the next arch led them into a broad greensward dotted with clumps of wild daisies. The fortress seemed to have receded, though it was certainly closer, and in reality it was just not so daunting viewed from this perspective, which is what he wished. Those privileged to come this way, those who knew the key to the labyrinth were welcome and he would have them feel that. There was a rough path amid the flowers and this he took, hand still linked with Elladan's. A flurry of grey and brown wings and a frantic bit of squeaky complaining announced a covey of mourning doves' displeasure to have their scavenging interrupted and Elladan laughed.

"At least you are not entirely alone here," he said.

"No. I do have servants who dwell in the fortress, too. They look after everything for me," replied Maglor. As if on cue, a figure appeared on the high walk and called down a greeting. Maglor answered and the elf disappeared back inside. "Here we are," announced the singer, leading Elladan to a long open portico, the square columns austere in the same grey-speckled granite. They proceeded along it a short way and then came upon an alcove. Here Maglor paused and directed Elladan to watch him carefully. "Press the tiles in this order: my name, then Maedhros, then Amras, and finally Amrod." As he did so, a soft click sounded and a hidden doorway cracked open, leaning inward, and Maglor pushed it wide. "It is the order in which they were lost, though I am still here, of course."

"I will remember," assured Elladan, thinking this was a macabre sort of door ward. He followed Maglor in and found himself standing in an elegant and breathtaking foyer, the ceiling reaching the full height of the tallest tower, from which multi-coloured light streamed through a series of artful stained glass windows. The scenes looked to be a sort of visual history of the Feänorian Princes, though most were too far away to make out clearly, and a long winding stairway led up past them to the high battlements.

He dropped his gaze to inspect the rest of the room, which was furnished in mahogany and teak, the pieces decorated in gold-leaf and mithril inlay: a padded bench, a marble-topped table, a huge rack for cloaks and muddy boots, fine paintings on the walls, a gilded mirror. He spied one of the Avarin servants bowing low to Maglor, murmuring a greeting in that peculiar tongue, upswept amber eyes favouring Elladan with a curious glance that was not unfriendly. That gave him comfort and he smiled. The servant smiled back and bowed himself away, which Elladan thought very quaint and comical, though he controlled his urge to laugh.

"They have great love for you," he commented.

"And I for them. These are a dedicated and true-hearted people. When the time comes, they will show their worth, and none understand the sacrifice they make in remaining here. But that must sound cryptic indeed! Let me show you my home and as I do, all will become clear to you," said Maglor, his voice and tone rich, filled with strength and dignity, for here he was master and none could dispute it.

Elladan could not help but react to it and felt himself in the presence of an ancient power, shivering a bit with both disquiet and heightened expectation, for though he'd been with Maglor many weeks now, he had the distinct feeling that only now, today, would he truly find out who this elf was.

"There is much you need to know," Maglor answered the unspoken thoughts, as he so often did, "but what I have revealed to you is true and real, so far as my feelings for you. Let us begin in this room. It is my study, if you will, and quite harmless." He opened a door to the right and motioned Elladan inside.

It was indeed just an ordinary office, though the furnishings were of high quality and obviously also very old, relics of another Age and time.The high-backed chair behind the massive desk was carved ornately, the crest of the House of Feänor proudly worked into the elaborate whorls and scrolls. The upholstered seat was covered in velvet of a rich burgundy and Elladan sat there, viewing the leather-padded expanse of the table's surface from Maglor's perspective. He looked up to find the singer smiling indulgently as he settled in the chair on the opposite side.
Everything was neat and tidy, no papers strewn across it or stacked high to over-flowing as on his Adar's desk. The inkwell was filled and there were several quills ready to hand. He took one up and found the end sharp and trim; he sent Maglor a quick smile. A stick of ruby red wax stood next to a heavy brass seal and Elladan picked it up to examine the mark his lover used. It consisted of his initials wrought beneath the emblem of his father's House and Elladan was struck by that, raising his hand to glance upon his signet ring. Identical to Elrohir's since their initials were the same, the two letters were worked beneath the seal of the House of Eärendil. Both his seal and Maglor's bore as its most prominent devise a Silmaril.

"We are bound to what has gone before," he said sombrely, "whether we would or no. Tied to it by birth, no choice whatsoever," he mused, more than a little disturbed by it. Was he fated to live Elros' life as it would have been had he chosen the life of the First-born? Was that his purpose?

"Would you have it different?" asked Maglor. "We must accept that our circumstances are preordained by Eru, long before even our fathers' fathers existed."

"Why is it so?" demanded Elladan. "Why are we unable to change anything?"

"What would you change?"

"I don't know," he sighed, disgruntled and aggravated that he couldn't express what he felt. Elladan rose from the desk and wandered around the room, touching the edges of books in the tall cases against the wall, picking up a small framed painting from a side table. He stared into the comely face of an elleth without knowing who she was, wondering at once if this was the abandoned wife. Maglor came to join him and smiled as he looked upon the picture.

"Nerdanel," he said, voice soft and filled with happy memories. "My naneth," he explained, seeing no recognition on Elladan's face. "She accepted my differences and said they were my strengths. She would not let the others tease me for preferring to play the harp instead of practising for warfare. Besides, I was able enough with the sword."

"She is beautiful. Does she still live in Aman?"

"I would assume so," Maglor shrugged, looking away uneasily. "She would not come with us. When she learned I, too, had sworn the Oath, she knew then that the twins would follow as well, for they ever threw in their lot with mine. She wept bitterly and I fear she must have suffered greatly from grief over all that came to pass. I wish…Nae! You are right, sometimes it would be preferable to have some say in it!" he exclaimed heatedly, eyes riven with anguish.

"She will still be there when you return. A mother's love is immutable and she will be happy to see you once more."

"That, my dear young love, will be a very very long time from now!" Maglor barked cynically. He took the picture and set it back carefully in its place. "Come, there is more. I think next we must visit the Gallery."

He led the way out, a second door opening into a short corridor lined on one side with floor to ceiling windows through which the golden sunlight streamed, illuminating the plush carpet beneath their feet and the burnished walnut panelling of the opposite wall. The windows looked upon a formal garden with a central fountain and numerous flower beds. An elf was there, tending the plants, and he looked up, smiling and offering a short bow as the two passed by. At the other end of this hall was a small anteroom in which were three doors and Maglor selected the one to the left, swinging it wide and leading the way in this time. Elladan followed and caught his breath as soon as he crossed the threshold.

It was a museum, a depository for relics of the singer's family and their deeds while in Arda. There were cases upon cases and he slowly walked between them, gazing upon jewels and jewellery of exquisite design and inestimable value, including a graceful coronet encrusted with gems of astounding colour and quality, rubies and emeralds and sapphires, all within a frame of mithril worked in elegant filigree. That it could only be the crown meant for the High King of the Noldor was made obvious by the fair banner upon which it rested, though the flag was ripped and mangled, the bold emblem all but obliterated by the blood ground into its fibres.

"All that remained of Fingon," said Maglor quietly. "His death nearly broke Maedhros."

To this Elladan could offer no reply, too amazed to be viewing these things. Surely the crown had passed to Ereinion Gil-Galad, yet here it rested in Maglor's Keep.

"Elrond brought it here to Lindon after the debacle of the Last Alliance, overcome with anger and grief, and cast it into the sea, cursing just about every Vala, Maia, elf, man, and even Eru for the cruelties of fate. Ossë fished it out and gave it into my care."

"Valar! Did my A…did Elrond stay with you then?" Elladan's heart bounded painfully over this near mistake, but Maglor did not take any notice of it.

"Nay," he gave a cynical snort. "Elrond cannot abide the thought of me and has maintained staunchly that I am dead, just as Maedhros. He blames me, you know, for what happened to you. No, it is to Círdan he runs, or used to do before his marriage. The Lady Celebrian has soothed and settled him, so I have heard, and he is now a renowned and revered Elven Lord, Master of Lore and Healing, and has given up the sword, as have I. For now. But these are things you must know well, dwelling in Imladris."

"Yes." Elladan felt his mind tilt in dangerous directions, fearful that somehow Maglor had come to understand the truth and had brought him here to confront him. What would happen then? He could not let his tremulous heart dwell on that, reminding himself instead of the promise Maglor had made just minutes ago. He returned to the contents of the case wherein was a dagger in an ornate sheath encrusted with jewels, its leather stained dark with blood, and Elladan somehow knew this had belonged to Feänor himself.

"I took it from his fist when he died. Curufin wanted it but I would not allow him to take it. It was Maedhros' by right and he said I should keep it safe as he could not bear to touch the thing. I couldn't either," Maglor said sadly. He turned to Elladan abruptly. "He was not evil," he said, eyes imploring understanding, acceptance.

"No," Elladan shook his head, "he was not evil. But some of the things he did…"

"Aye, wholly evil. My deeds, too, are marked by cruelty and coldness," now his voice had gone hard and dark. "I cannot pretend otherwise. My knife is not in a case, Elladan, I still carry it." So saying he suddenly drew the dagger and held it forth, hilt out-facing, daring the younger elf to take it, smiling grimly when Elladan cringed back from the tainted blade. "Aye, you cannot touch it, knowing what has been done with it. That does you great credit, for it proves your interest here is not driven by morbid curiosity, as so many others would be."

Elladan lifted stricken eyes to flinty grey ones, feeling he did not know the elf who owned them at all. He moved back uneasily. "Maglor?"

"The same hands that caress you so passionately, these hands are the very ones that snuffed out the life of your own kind, your own people." He advanced into the vacated space, dagger still in hand.

"Nay!"

"Yes. Not just once, but thrice. I hoped to escape this doom but it was not possible. Even after I found you and your brother and swore a new oath, never to touch the sword again, I knew even then it was hopeless." He halted and slid the knife back into its sheath. "Given the chance to claim the Silmarili and avenge my father, my brothers, my father's father, I would do it."

"Daro! I don't believe it. The elf I know would not do these things." Elladan covered his ears and turned away. "I don't know what madness claimed you then, but neither do I want to know!"

"Madness? Perhaps so, but you had best take a long hard look at where you are and with whom you have cast your fate."

"I do not want to! I know who I love and he would not do those things!"

"But I did, Elladan. Look at me!" shouted Maglor. He took hold of Elladan's hands and tore them from his ears, making him hear. "How can you say that you love me if you cannot face this? Do you think I want some starry-eyed youth mesmerised by my music and swooning over my looks? If we would be together, then you must face this openly, as must I. With me, you would be forced to make a bitter choice. Be not mistaken, there is no forgiveness for me beyond Himling Cove, not yet, and not for a very long time, more time than even I can imagine. I have been alive since the time of the Two Trees, Elladan."

"Saes, daro," whispered Elladan, shocked and frightened. What exactly was he saying? "Surely we…I would be welcome in Lindon or Imla…"

"No!" Maglor grabbed him by the arms and shook him hard. "We would not be welcome anywhere; you would not be welcome anywhere. Do you not comprehend that? Who do you know that would welcome a kin-slayer or his mate to their table? We would be together, but we would be alone."

Elladan stared at his face, saw the deep fear within those dilated depths. Maglor believed he would abandon him as soon as it became apparent that he had traded all, birthright, reputation, the companionship of friends, the love of family, all sacrificed for their union. He felt sick and wanted to sit down but Maglor held him fast, waiting for an answer. He licked his lips and opened them to speak and suddenly the callused fingertips pressed them shut and he was pulled into a tight embrace, fierce and desperate in its intensity.

"Nay, don't say anything, not yet. Please. There is more, so much more." The whispered words wafted past his ears and then he was released, left swaying where he stood as Maglor moved on toward another case deeper within the room. He lit a lamp atop it and looked back expectantly. Elladan went unsteadily to him, dreading what he would see beneath the glass.

He had reason to, for upon the white silk surface lay a host of trinkets, everyday objects, and personal belongings, most of them broken, some of them whole and spattered with the gory residue of death. A hairbrush, a mirror, a child's toy horse, a lyre, a simple water flask, a ceramic pot for cooking, the collection was nothing but the mundane artefacts of everyday life. They could only be mementoes taken from the elves killed during one of the kin-slayings. Elladan felt his gorge rise and gripped the edge of the heavy case for support.

"Why?" he croaked out, shaking his head. "Why keep these?"

"To remember," said Maglor. "So that I never forget what I have done. These were not soldiers, these were not enemies, not Orcs or evil Men. These were just people, elves living quietly and at peace. Few of them even knew what the Oath was all about. None had ever seen a Silmaril, Elladan. It didn't matter; we killed them anyway. I killed them."

In the silence that followed Elladan lost track of what was happening, suddenly finding himself absorbed into the horror of it all as though standing there, watching the massacre, watching Maglor raise his bloody knife and slash the throat of a child and her mother, saw him turning to spy him there, raising the dagger to strike, and then he knew nothing, felt himself falling. It was just a second or two and he returned to find himself slumped in Maglor's arms, the singer frantically calling his name.

"Ai! Elladan, speak!" he commanded in grateful anguish, seeing comprehension returning to the elf he held up.

"I am fine now," said Elladan weakly. He got his legs back under him and then wrapped his arms around the singer. "I was there, for a minute, in Sirion. I saw you."

"I believe you. Nae, that is the one memory I would never wish you to recall," he said, pulling Elladan's arm over his shoulder and leading him to a chair. "Sit, I have some Miruvor around here somewhere." He moved away to a sideboard and brought back a small silver cup, waiting and watching anxiously as the tonic was gulped it down. They stood staring at one another in distress and sorrow and then Maglor crouched down on his heels beside the chair, taking up one of Elladan's hands carefully. "I know this is hard, but it is necessary. Now that you have seen, do you wish to leave me?"

Elladan could not find his voice and simply shook his head, mutely appealing for more time to recover, to prepare for what ever was next. Somehow he knew that dark past had been defeated, had to have been. The Silmarili were lost, the Oath was fulfilled, and Maglor was free to be a minstrel again. He could not love someone who would so cruelly and viciously destroy life and he did love Maglor, deeply. If he must endure this macabre visit through the gruesome history of the Feänorian Princes to prove that love, he was up to it. Or he would be, in time. It was granted, the minstrel standing and moving behind the chair, there to draw away the heavy black locks so to begin firmly massaging Elladan's neck and shoulders, ignoring the involuntary twitch that jolted through the bones beneath his hands. Maglor began speaking again.

"Maedhros and I, even as we did these things, were horrified by them yet could not escape the obligation of the Oath. Freely we swore it, not realising to what we had committed our lives. In the heat of the moment, our father's grief-stricken, enraged words ringing in our ears, we felt as did he, and would have vengeance of the Valar for permitting the rape of the Silmarili and the murder of our grandfather. After, at Alqualondë, it was apparent that Feänor's mind was broken, but it was already too late. We could not rescind the vow nor refuse his call to reclaim what was stolen. I think… Maedhros and I talked about this…I think Adar believed the Silmarili could restore his father to life."

"Valar," Elladan whispered, shaking his head.

"We will leave this room now," suggested Maglor. "It is here and you can return and inspect everything at your own pace. Nothing is to be hidden from you this time. I kept it locked and guarded when you and Elrond were growing up, though you had seen with your own eyes the deeds of which I am guilty. I thank the Valar your naneth fled when she did, else I might have…" He broke off and his hands gripped Elladan's shoulders tight. After a minute he regained his composure and went on. "Ask whatever you need to ask; I swear to you I will answer truthfully. If at any time it becomes…" Again he lost the use of his tongue, the words he was about to utter too terrible to speak aloud. Once was all he could manage; twice would be to tempt fate. At once the younger elf reached back and covered one of his hands, meeting his tormented gaze with grim determination.

"I am not leaving," Elladan said strongly, fervently, and wondered at the conviction within his own voice when his heart was fairly torn asunder from what he had chosen. Here was his opportunity to turn back, to escape and think on it no more, but doing so meant abandoning Maglor and the love he offered. Elladan was not prepared to do that.

With a sudden jolt Ossë's words came back, taunting him. Here indeed was the very moment and just as the Maia had predicted, he would not willingly break free from this doom. A sharp breath left him and he felt the room spinning, vaguely hearing Maglor's heartfelt words of love and thanksgiving, barely noticing when he was raised to his feet and led away.

Maglor showed him many rooms: libraries and ballrooms, parlours and banquet halls, suites and apartments; he could not focus on any of them, too lost in his own confused thoughts. He was not himself anymore, Elladan of Imladris. Now he was something new, a blend of people, souls, hearts, Elros and Elladan both. Was that what Ossë had meant when he said he would become Elros? It must be so. Yet he had no memories of Elros, did he? Then what was that vision beside the case if not the horrible destruction at Sirion seen through the child his uncle had been?

"Elladan?"

"Aye?"

"Are you well? Do you want to stop for a time?"

"Nay, I am just a little overwhelmed," Elladan gave the understatement of his life and laughed uneasily, the sound jarring and close to hysteria.

"Do not make light of it; this is no easy choice you have made today. Sit, I will get the Miruvor." Maglor was not amused and peered deep into the young warrior's eyes as he settled Elladan upon a small chair just inside Maedhros' room.

Elladan sipped the drink brought to him, noting the Avarin page hovering near watching him, serious eyes filled with concern. He wondered when he'd been called. Had he been told his name? He thought to smile in reassurance but couldn't make his face co-operate with the notion. Hazily, he took in the room, finding the space filled with memorabilia of the eldest Noldorin Prince, and it was obvious the singer held his elder brother in great esteem and even adoration. He must have spoken aloud for Maglor replied at once.

"I did idolise him. I never knew anyone with stronger convictions or greater courage." Lovingly he touched the scabbard of a fearsome broadsword resting as on an altar, draped in creamy satin, retelling the valour with which it was used in the battle of Unnumbered Tears. He did not speak of the innocents that had died at its edge. Why had Elrond and Elros been spared? He strove to remember - ah, yes; to serve as hostages against the return of the gem Elwing had carried away to Aman. The twin boys must have been imprisoned at Himring to prevent both escape and rescue.

"Surely I would not be captive here," Elladan suddenly blurted out, gazing up at Maglor with blank, bewildered eyes.

"What? No. I don't know what you mean," Maglor eyed him warily. "You think I plan to keep you here against your will?"

"Nay, but you said…you said I wouldn't be able to ever go to Imladris after."

"You could certainly go, but you would have to accept that you would not be welcome," advised Maglor. Again he dropped into a crouch, concerned about where Elros' ~Elladan's~ thoughts were leading him, and searched his lover's distraught face.

"Oh. That I know. I was thinking about it this morning, that my parents would never approve," Elladan stated flatly, gazing sadly into the sharp grey eyes he had come to love so much. "Doesn't seem fair, to find someone only to have to hide it from my family."

"Your family is here in Middle-earth? In Imladris?"

"Yes, where else would they be?"

"Aman, I thought." Maglor was stunned. "You grew up here and I didn't know it. Perhaps that is best," he mused, gaze turning inward, a light smile softening his features as a memory of Elros' youth flitted across his brain. He returned to scan Elladan's scattered expression, searching the shape of his face, the set of his eyes, looking for clues as to the elf's progenitors. "Who…? Nay. Nay, maybe it is better not to know, there are only so many of this lineage left and all of them despise…" He broke off suddenly and sucked in a deep harsh breath, coming back to his feet like a shot. "Oh, Elladan," he whispered, awe-struck at such courage, to choose him in the face of such daunting opposition, for he divined who the true parents of his beloved must be. He sank back to his heels and framed the pensive face between his hands. "Do they know where you are?"

Elladan shook his head in silent negation, not even questioning how Maglor figured it out. He always seemed to read his very thoughts; it was surprising the subterfuge hadn't been given away before now. It never occurred to him that he was the one bridging their minds, inserting his thoughts effortlessly within his counterpart's comprehension.

"Are you angry? I didn't want to deceive you but I didn't know what would happen if you learned the truth. Are you going to send me away?"

"Nay! Why would I want to do so? I don't care who your parents are now anymore than I did then."

"What?" Elladan began to grasp that nothing had been resolved at all. Carefully he removed the hands from his cheeks, gripping them tight within his own. "But I am not Elros."

"No, you are called Elladan now. We have established that, pen vuin," Maglor smiled and pressed his forehead against Elladan's, reaching behind his neck to hold him tight a moment. It always comforted him as a child and he responded now as well, instinctively relaxing and moving forward to rest his head on Maglor's shoulder. Any faint doubts the minstrel might have harboured evaporated. Besides, the final test was yet to come and that one was definitive.

They remained in this loose embrace a time and when Elladan was sufficiently recovered, visited the rooms devoted to Amras and Amrod, and here Maglor broke down and wept, for the youngest of the seven brothers were the least like their father and the most ruined because of the Oath. It was well known that they had died during the kin-slaying at Sirion, but Maglor revealed that they had taken their own lives, side by side as they were in life, rather than spill another drop of elven blood. The swords with which they had done this deed were mounted in honour upon the wall.

Elladan comforted Maglor as best he could, though he had no words to offer. He could not imagine bearing the weight of such guilt and sorrow and simply held him as he grieved. In comparison, the fight with Elrohir and their subsequent break seemed paltry and he was embarrassed over his childish self-pity. His presence was enough and eventually the singer pulled himself together, hugged Elladan hard, and kissed him gently.

"I miss them," he said simply.

"Aye."

They left the temple of the twins and in silence began to descend a spiral staircase. There were no shrines dedicated to Curufin, Caranthir, or Celegorm and no mention of them was made. Elladan did not find that strange as these Princes were better known for their cruelty than their valour. The stairs wound on and on, passing numerous landings which were ignored as they descended into the depths of the drowned mountain. He had not realised there were several stories underneath the fortress, though as he went down it made sense to him, for the castle would have had rooms for storage and dungeons for captured enemies. He fervently hoped they were not on the way to one of those and Maglor looked back with a compassionate smile.

"No torture chambers here," he joked but a wry smile was the best he could coax from his love. Yet for all Elladan's quiet, Maglor was pleased and very proud. He had worried, and sometimes Elros seemed so different, but now he realised the differences were exactly those needed, exactly what had been lacking in Elros before, what had prevented him from accepting the important role they had to play. With Elladan, things would be different. His prayers truly had been answered this time and to have Elros reborn as Elrond's son seemed the mark of the Valar's Blessing indeed.

They reached the lowest point of the fortress, deep in the bowels of Himring, and surely this part of the island must be deep beneath the sea. Elladan shuddered, imagining the great expanse of seething ocean billowing and foaming above his head, and looked askance at Maglor, who had stopped and was regarding him with intense scrutiny. "What is it?"

"We are here," said Maglor, "at the centre of everything in my world. If you remain with me, this will become the centre of your world, too."

"I don't understand. What is this place?"

"In there," he pointed to an open archway from which a clear white light emanated, "is my whole purpose for existing. For this I was spared. Would you like to understand? I warn you, from this there is no turning back. I have kept this secret from every living soul, save only my son and the Avari who serve the same purpose as I. The last person I told was you, but long ago, and really it was that I did not tell you that hurt you so. You found this place on your own and accused me…Well, that was then. You are here now and I invite you to go in freely." Maglor stood back and motioned Elladan ahead with his arm, bowing a little as he did so.

The gravity of those serious grey eyes was both unsettling and electrifying, and the words the most intriguing Elladan had heard, alluding once again to this mystery, which he had mistakenly assumed was the museum above. Of course, thinking more clearly now, the artefacts kept in the Gallery would not have driven Elros off for surely he knew that history well. No, the reason was beyond the threshold and Elladan could do nothing but enter in, fearing to find some new horror on display, determined to remain open-minded and keep his love for Maglor foremost in his thoughts, determined to succeed where his uncle had failed.

No ghastly mementoes of war and death were here enshrined. Instead he found himself in a cool, quiet sanctuary, the room a natural cavern carved from the heart of the mountain. An altar of sorts stood in the centre of the room, a magnificent flow-stone still glimmering and pearlescent though the water had ceased feeding the cave Ages ago. Draped in sapphire satin, upon it rested the source of the clean, bright light: a white gem of such immaculate perfection that it stole one's breath. There was no doubting that this must be one of the lost Silmarili.

"The one you cast into the sea!" Elladan exhaled the words even as his feet bore him closer. He could not tear his eyes from the object and circled the altar, viewing it from every angle. He was consumed with the desire to touch it and raised his hand to it. Even as he did, the light around it became warm, filled with golden welcome as its aura extended to meet his fingers. There was heat there, but not enough to hurt, and he let his fingers caress the smooth facets, a soft cry escaping him as a definite sense of presence met his mind. "It is a living thing!" he whispered in shock and joy, smiling as he looked up to find Maglor beside him.

"Yes, you speak the truth and that you can feel this tells me all I need to know. You were meant for this, Elladan. Here, take it." With that Maglor reached around him and took the stone from its resting place, handling it with ease bound within reverence. Taking one of Elladan's hands, he placed the gem within it, wrapping his fingers over it and covering all with his remaining hand. He raised triumphant eyes to meet his beloved's stunned expression.

"You can hold it," said Elladan, a huge smile breaking out over his features. "You can hold it!"

"Aye," Maglor laughed, giddy with the knowledge.

"You have been forgiven," insisted Elladan, "else this could not be happening. It is happening, isn't it?"

"Yes, my wakeful Dreamer," assured Maglor, taking the jewel and cupping it within his own hands, "this is happening. Look into its light, do you see?"

Elladan moved closer and bent over the pulsing gem, watching avidly for whatever he was supposed to note. After a second or two he gasped, feeling his soul sucked into the heart of the gem, and he resisted at first, until the jewel calmed him, promising no harm would come to him from the experience. With that he relinquished control and let his consciousness flow into the heart of the stone.

Time and space were shattered and he could see that there was no time at all, feel that the concept of permanence was simultaneously false and the only absolute truth that held in this confusing place. Yet he was not frightened or disturbed. Everything was as it should be, everything was happening at once and yet in sequence as laid out before time came to be. He saw it all, how the strains of the Music were moulded, transformed into the universe he inhabited. He understood it all, yet only as it pertained to him and to Maglor, and though he viewed a fluid sea of scenes, shifting and changing in restless harmony, one thing remained the same: he and Maglor were together. He realised suddenly that this was their life unfolding and now he could see the starting point: himself peering into the magnificent gem. Through all they did and all they shared, it became obvious that they served this sentient jewel, protecting and hiding its existence until it was required of them at last. He saw that moment unfold, too.

Maglor willingly and with great joy gave the Silmaril into the hands of Varda and a person of such radiance and light that Elladan could not clearly make out his features, nor tell if he was Vala, Maia, or something more. In his hands, the gem disappeared, became part of him, or he a part of it, and from them burst a light that transformed the world, sweeping away all that had been, remaking it anew, and returning to it the glory meant for it at the beginning of things when Eru called the Music of the Valar into reality. When it was done both the gem and the strange being were gone.
The vision ended and Elladan found himself standing again beside Maglor, the minstrel singing softly, and he knew at once it was the song that had called him back, for he would willingly remain within the living light forever were it possible. Elladan found he had tears on his cheeks, for the beauty lost, for the beauty that would be, for the price all of it must cost.

"Now I have told you everything," said Maglor. "It is vital, what I do here, and it is right that I should do it, for I am the last Feänorion. Because of my dedication to this cause, I have been granted pardon for my crimes, at least most of them, and all will be cleansed at the final hour when I do what my father could not: give up the Silmarili for the betterment of all. I cannot leave my appointed task, not for any purpose or any cause. Not for you, Elladan. If we are to be, then we must be here. Will you stay?"

"Aye," he answered immediately, without hesitation. "I will stay. We will do this thing together."

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)