Sons of Destiny [CURRENTLY EDITING AND REWRITING]

Wayward Sons

The two oldest of the Seven Sons dragged their weary feet into camp about an hour after finding the boys. Sickly purple dawn was crawling onto the horizon.

Their rain-bedraggled soldiers hardly lifted their heads in acknowledgment. They had won, but the air of victory held a bitter tang--not just from the smoke of battle.

"We have to move," Maglor snapped to one of his subordinates.

The captain stared down at Maglor's arms. "Lord, Kanafinwë, if I may be inquisitive?" The other elf glanced at the small bundles moving uneasily in his grasp.

"Captives." Maglor answered flatly.

The captain raised his eyebrows, but spoke no further. He gestured for his superior to move on. "Your tent is by the supplies, sir."

Maglor nodded and marched in the indicated direction.

There was a sudden hum of voices at the camp entrance. Maglor glanced up in time to see his older brother jogging over to the knot of congregated elves.

A lightweight wagon hauled by a tired horse was at the heart of the commotion. Ignoring the fact that he was carrying a pair of half-asleep children, Maglor doubled back and followed Maedhros.
His brother stood rigidly in front of the wagon, fist balled and trembling.

"Neylo, what hap—"

Then Maglor noticed the bloody flag covering an irregular shape in the middle of the wagon. But only generals are covered by flags, Maglor puzzled.

"We found them near the edge of the battle, my lord. They covered our escape," the wagon master quietly addressed Maedhros.

Maglor's stomach lurched. Them!? Oh, Eru, please no!

Maedhros clenched his jaw and inched closer to whatever was blanketed by the flag. Morbid curiosity burned in his green eyes. He reached up with his left hand and peeled back a corner of the banner.

Two pale faces lay before him, glassy with the clamminess of death. Their orange hair, once their most flaunted quality, lay in faded strings about their necks. Some merciful soul had taken the time to close their blue eyes one last time amidst the bloody melee.

"How?" Maedhros asked, devoid of emotions.

"Arrow. Lord Pityafinwë begged him to go on when he was wounded, but Lord Telufinwë stayed behind to guard his brother. We tried to hold off the attack, but when we turned about--they both walked the Halls of Mandos.

Maedhros recovered his fallen twin brothers and tramped off on stiff legs.  The elven soldiers dissolved the crowd. Though their commander-in-chief showed no emotion in his sullen features, every elf knew what would happen once his tent flaps were closed.

Maglor hardly cared he was being watched by his subordinates, or that his little captives would wake any minute; he dropped to his knees and wept.

In his arms, the twins stirred and blinked awake. Elrond noticed that Maglor was crying. He rolled onto the floor and knelt in front of his captor.

"Why are you crying, Maglor?" the boy cocked his head innocently.

The elf caught his breath mid-sob. He stared into Elrond's questioning grey eyes, hardened his features, and stood. "My business, small one." Scooping Elrond up again, he headed toward his general's tent.

The inside of the stained canvas triangle was spacious--for a traveling tent. An intricate blue-and-silver carpet spread over the floor. On the left stood a small cot; on the right a table littered with battle plans, maps, and letters. A chest was shoved under the table, wrinkled clothes and healing supplies brimming under the lid.

Maglor laid the twins on the bed, both sleeping soundly now.

He looked down bitterly at the captured boys, sleeping soundly in the hands of murderers. Meanwhile, his brothers, his twins, were cold and dead. So much for a Valar-forsaken jewel!

Maglor sank to the floor beside the rickety cot. Centuries of war, of loss he caused, and loss he received, came screaming out in bitter sobs and acid tears.

He lay there genuinely crying like a disconsolate child.

Maedhros broke into his tent, unflinching.  He grabbed Maglor by the shoulder and shook him.

"Neylo, leave me be!" wailed his brother.

Maedhros sat cross-legged beside his brother. He hung his head and whispered, "They were my little brothers as well, Kano." The tears began to flow freely from the stoic redhead's eyes as well.

General, Son of Fëanor, Noldorin Lord--all those titles flew out the window and burned along with Sirion. All Varda's stars could see that moment was the embrace of two wayward sons figuring their place in a world they had been doomed to wander.

Prince, Son of Eärendil, Siron's Heir--those titles too were now made worthless. The stars alone saw through the twins' past and saw their present: two wayward sons finding out just how large and cruel were the jaws of the world.

For the Fëanorians, unused to love, a few minutes of private tears and embracing was an awkward event. The brothers realized what they had been doing and hurried to their feet.

"We leave at midday," Maedhros droned. He added somberly, "Once the Ambarussa have been honored."

Maglor nodded silently, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

When Maedhros left the tent, Maglor glanced over to Elwing's twins. They tossed and turned,  gripping each other in their sleep.  Maglor carefully knelt by the bed, but the twins bolted upright at the noise.

Without prior warning, Elrond and Elros slammed into Maglor, burrowing their tearful faces in his long brown hair.

Maglor's throat caught. They feel sorrow too. As he felt the little ones sobbing their nightmares away,  he felt a strange urge--the long-lost urge to sing.

He sat in bed with the boys, rubbing their backs but knowing he couldn't soothe them. He sang a lullaby he had never heard before. It tumbled out in the sweet, melodious moans of an elvish bard long out of practice.

Come little children
I'll take thee away, into a land
Of enchantment
Come little children
The time's come to play
Here in my garden
Of shadows

Follow sweet children
I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain and
The sorrow
Weep not poor children
For life is this way
Murdering beauty and
Passions

Hush now dear children
It must be this way
Too weary of life and
Deceptions

Rest now my children
For soon we'll away
Into the calm and
The quiet

Come little children
I'll take thee away, into a land
Of enchantment

Come little children
The time's come to play
Here in my garden
Of shadows

The soldiers were astounded to hear their lord sing again. The strains of Quenya melody rose and fell, until at last the boys slept again.

It was sunrise, literally and figuratively.

Let me start by saying that Maglor's lullaby is NOT MINE. The lyrics are from Disney's Hocus Pocus. I saw a My Little Pony rendition of the song and knew I had to use it for Maglor's first night with the boys.  Hope you like the longer chapters; I'll try to make them a habit.