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I blinked, squinting for a moment through the window. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains and onto my face, and I knew, in that way children immediately know, that this was not the sunlight of home. This place was somewhere else. After a moment of blinking confusion and puckered brow I remembered where I was. There had been screaming and danger and rage. The mud turned ruddy with the blood of the Eldar throughout the streets and in the fields beyond our home, and I held my brother’s hand and whispered that I wouldn’t let go. Metal clanged on metal, and horsemen stormed the settlement leaving rising clouds of dust in the air behind them. I could make out images in the clouds as they rose-- one looked like great bear, one like a fish, another a sail.
Elros was in the bed beside mine, sleeping. The morning light did not yet reach that far into the room. A puppy was nestled in the sheets at his feet, and another by mine. I reached out to stroke the young hound as it arched against my calf and blinked up at me. Then the door opened silently, and for a moment I wondered if I still dreamt. All doors and windows make a subtle sort of noise as they move, though this shifted on its mounts in true silence -- the kind that rings. Looking around, I was sure I was awake. A tall nér, with long hair like some rich red metal, or mercury infused with blood, entered. His hair was pulled back loosely, and he wore simple brown leggings and boots. They were worn, and had been used for some time, yet the making was nigh perfect for all their simplicity. He held himself erect, like a king or a warrior, the hand he raised to brush an errant strand of hair back was calloused from hard work and crafting as well as from battle. I thought the man looked like a king from the old tales of the Eldar who traveled across the sea, or even as one of the Ainur from beyond the bounds of the world. Of course, across the sea and beyond the world were not so different to me, back then. The man met my gaze and nodded minutely.
“There are fresh clothes laid out for you on the dresser, little one. I’m afraid we had to do a rather rough job after taking your measure, but they will do in a pinch. Breakfast is waiting down the hall when you are ready; you are welcome to wait for your brother to wake should you so wish.” I found myself smiling and nodding. Elros and I often had to explain to adults that we wished to stay together and then prove it by example for some time before we were believed. This nér did not even need to be persuaded. He knew. And what’s more, he understood. As Elros began to turn and wake the tall Elf ducked out, shutting the door as silently as it had opened.
“Brother?” Elros sat up quickly, taking in the room around us. It was dressed in browns and greens, and while it reminded him more of a forest than a shore, it was peaceful and comforting and cool. Sitting in the room felt like sitting in a sun dappled clearing on one of the trips to gather berries that we had gone along on. “It’s nice.”
“It is.” I slid out of bed, and ran my hand along his puppy’s back soothingly. My feet touched the floor quickly, like one touches water to check its warmth. Though I was climbing from a comfortable, warm bed the floor was not cold, and I walked over to grab our clothing, dropping Elros’ on his bed and pulling on garments in an unfamiliar design. The fabrics looked heavy, but were soft to the touch, and rather than wooden buttons they were held together with metal buttons and clasps-- tiny, ornate pieces in silver and gold. Elros reached out to brush his thumb across a rearing stag with a minuscule jeweled eye that emitted a hazel glow.
“Who are they?” Elros asked quietly as he slid into a tunic. “I know who they are meant to be, or I think I do, but that is not who we’ve seen.”
“At least not in total.” I helped Elros with the last clasps on his garment, and he scooped up the puppy on his bed before we left the room. The other animal jumped to the floor, landing lightly and trailing after us. Thinking back, I remembered people running, and dust and shouts and blood. Someone had knocked into us-- one of our own people-- and sent us sprawling. Elros’ head was bleeding and my own leg was cut by something or someone in the madness. We clenched our hands together as we ran, trying to stay out of the main part of the fray. Everything became a little blurry and dizzy, and then a tall lord dressed in silver and red rode down on us. He swung Elros onto the horse in front of him, then grabbed me, still clinging to Elros, and pulled me up as well. He nudged the horse gently, and spoke in a language I did not know, and then it was like soaring through the air as we danced in and around people, flying beyond the fight to a place where we were handed over to gentle folk who eyed us strangely. The Noldor lord’s -- for that he surely was -- clothing was strange -- opposite what our own people wore, and I realized why as he drew a blade left handed and rode back towards the settlement, eyes aglow. A kindly woman had given us each a warm drink, and began to clean our wounds (scrapes, and a few bruises) and then… nothing.
“They saved us.” Elros tilted his head slightly. “By mother’s words I would think we would be dead. Do you think she’s been killed?” We entered an airy hall, with shelves of books along one wall, and food and a bowl of fresh fruit set out at a table where the hall opened to an outdoor area.
“If she died, ‘twas by her hand alone.” Both of our heads jerked to the side, where a dark haired elf lounged, writing in a leather volume he held propped up against his thigh. He looked up at us, and he looked both old and weary, and young and bright. He looked ageless and sad, I thought. And he, too, looked very regal-- playing at relaxing more than actually doing so. As quickly as a snake striking he could be on his feet with blades drawn. “She cast herself into the sea rather than yield up the Silmaril she carried.” Elros squeezed my hand. We said nothing.
The tall Elf walked into the room with brisk strides. “That’s enough of that Kano.” He rapped the seated elf gently on the head. “Breakfast is ready if the lot of you are?” Kano shook his head in amusement, his eyes lightening as he slid out of his chair and made his way to the other end of the hall where it opened onto a patio.
We sat, and Kano grabbed a plate and began filling it, sneaking a bite of a pastry before he set it down. “Perfect, Russandol, as always.”
“Please, help yourselves,” the lord -– Russandol -– said. “I’m afraid you are likely to be here for a time, until we can determine what became of your parents. I truly hope that they are well and that they will be reasonable." Kano grimaced at him.
Elros began to eat, but I couldn’t stop looking between the two Elves sitting with us. Russandol raised an eyebrow in inquiry, inviting me to speak.
“Are you who you appear to be?” I was hesitant, but then, by the stories I had been raised on these two would be murdering demons, if my guess at their identities was correct. And two more were missing-- I imagined the twins would be interested in meeting another set of twins.
“Appearance is as much at the discretion of the observer as it is in the power of the observed. Regardless of what Atar says,” Russandol added quickly with a Look at Kano. “But know that you will come to no harm here. I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo of the line of King Finwë of the Noldor. My brother here is Kanafinwë Macalaurë.”
“Where are your brothers?” I cringed at Elros’ question – a rather loaded question given the size of that family and the ends most of them had met. Russandol looked out over the hillside.
“Gone.” Kano said tightly. “For a time. One lost to arrows, one to knives in the back, one brought down by many enemies, many of whom he felled.” Kano paused, and I cringed. “The last two were released from their hröar the day we found you. I suppose it will be some while before we find them again.”
“Though knowing them they’ve bargained their way into watching us stumble about on this side of the sea. You’ve no idea how grateful I am that should they be here”-- he glanced around, “I neither see nor hear them. A few years peace we’ll have. Unless all sets of twins are similar and we’ve merely switched out our red-haired demons with night-haired ones.”
I had never heard my people speak of death like that, especially when death came to one who was dear. And they did not suffer the bonds and curses this family was under. It was… like they were something utterly different. Something alien.
“Hardly table conversation, though,” Russandol added, and looked to the two of us. “I suppose we are to be stuck with one another’s company for a time, until you can be exchanged for our property-- and we do apologize for the necessity of that, captivity is something no one should endure.” His voice was grave at the last, and I thought of a story of Fingon the Valiant and Thangorodrim in the north, of an Elda begging for a swift death before his beloved friend separated his hand from his arm in a desperate attempt to free him.
“However,” Kano continued, “our fëar, and those of our brothers, and that of Atar, are rather bound to us getting the treasure of our house back. And when we avoid working to do so, we are compelled in rather unpleasant ways to more unpleasant means.” There was truth in his voice, and yet I sensed he spoke lightly of things that were much deeper. He did not hide that he did so, and for that I was grateful.
“The immediate problem, is that of what the two of you would like to do. We can teach you to hunt, to fish, Kano can teach you lore and song, and I can teach you crafting such as you have never seen. You should learn the High Tongue (at the very least it will be quite useful when you eventually reach Valinorë) and the linguistics and etymologies of the Sindar and Noldor. We still have some of Atar’s original notes, with what additions I have made in the interim years.”
Aside from the horror of being held captive by my grandfather’s killers, the offer was incredible, and it would be tempting even if we were given the option of leaving. To learn song from the greatest musician in general (Daeron surpassing him solely when he sang to Luthien), and linguistics from Fëanor’s own notes, and crafting from his firstborn… but then, I was born with a love of lore, or so my mother claimed, and I was in the presence of Eldalië who were both heroes and villains of old.