Kissing My Cousin

Babes In The Wood

“But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.”

After the bloodshed, an eerie silence hung over the ruins of Menegroth, the house of Dior.  Maedhros picked his way through the ruins in search of his brothers. He had already found Celegorm and Curufin, lying together in death as they had stood together in life. Now, here he found Caranthir also slain.  Beside Caranthir’s body knelt Amrod and Amras, weeping in one another’s arms. Maedhros knelt beside the twins in their brother’s spilled blood, and wordlessly touched them in acknowledgement of shared grief.

The scent of blood turned his stomach and he went inside Dior’s house, but there was as much death inside as there had been outside.  Here though, he found Maglor and he laughed with relief that his closest brother was still alive and uninjured.  Maglor’s face was pallid and he suddenly looked much older than he had done the day before.

“What now, Nelyo?” he asked quietly. “All this, for nothing, the Silmarils remain beyond our reach.”

Maedhros closed his eyes. He’d all but forgotten the reason for this battle, despite the unshakeable oath they’d all sworn along with their father.  “We are damned, Macalaure,” he replied quietly. “We are no better than them.”

Two soldiers came into the room, their clothing bearing Celegorm’s insignia. They approached Maedhros anxiously, as though unsure of their position now their liege was dead.

“What are your orders, Nelyafinwe?” one of them asked.

Maedhros was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “See that the bodies of my fallen brothers are respectfully burned,” he said at length. “And then burn this place to the ground. I do not want it’s presence to become a monument to what happened here.”

“The children…” Maglor was whispering quietly. “The children…”

“What children?”  Maedhros demanded.

Maglor looked at his eldest brother. “Dior has twin sons, Elured and Elurin. What of them?”

The other of Celegorm’s soldiers gave a hearty laugh. “Dior’s brats are already dealt with.”

Maedhros turned on him. “Dealt with? What do you mean?”

“We took them into the forest and left them there,” the soldier said. “The wolves will do the rest.”

Anger flashed in Maedhros’ face and he struck the soldier in the face, hard enough to break his nose and loosen half of his teeth. The other soldier backed away. “I should leave you to the mercy of wolves, or worse, for such a deed.” He dragged the soldier back to his feet and pressed his knife to the quivering elf’s throat. “Now, you will tell me exactly where you left them”.

An hour later Maedhros was preparing to ride out of Doriath,  Maglor tried to persuade him to stay but he would not.  “I cannot rest while knowing those boys are lost out there,” he said. “I may be famed as a kinslayer, but I will not be known as a killer of children.” And he spurred his horse and galloped out of Dior's house, towards the forest.

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Celegorm’s men had taken the boys deep into the forest, to ensure that they would not be able to find their way back. The undergrowth grew dense and Maedhros was forced to abandon his horse and instead he carried his supplies on his own back. He hoped that come nightfall the wolves would find the horse before they found the children.

Maedhros hoped the twins would have had the sense to remain where they were but when he reached the spot where they had been left, he was disappointed to find that they were no longer there.  He called their names but neither child nor wolf responded to his calls.

Day became night, but Maedhros did not rest nor sleep. He searched through the night, in every sheltered spot, expecting to find the boys sleeping peacefully and unharmed. But with every passing hour his hope dwindled and by sunrise he realised that the children were more likely on the move, and so he started to spread his search wider.

Had he brought Arod and Amras with him, he might have had more success, for Maedhros’ skills at hunting and tracking were inferior to those of his youngest brothers. But this was a quest he felt was for him alone; he felt responsible for the deaths of the boys’ parents and he was determined not to be responsible for the deaths of the boys themselves.

Days passed, and then weeks, but the guilt that ate at Maedhros’ heart would not allow him to give up the search. He barely ate, save for whatever game he managed to catch. No longer was he hoping to find the boys alive; while he could hunt for food he doubted that small boys would be able to do so, and even if they had escaped the wolves they would surely have starved to death by now.  Still he could not rest or abandon his search.

One evening he found scraps of clothing caught on a thorn-bush. The scraps were fine and elven-made, and were stained with blood.  He took the scraps into his hand and fell to his knees, weeping with despair.

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Eight months after leaving Menegroth, Maedhros rode alone into Maglor’s camp. He was so weakened by hunger and so soiled from his travels that Maglor barely recognised him. What spark of light had once lived in Maedhros’ eyes was extinguished.

“Did you find any trace of the children?” Maglor asked quietly.

Maedhros opened his hand and showed the scraps of blood-stained cloth he still clutched.  “We are damned, Macalaure,” he replied. “We are damned.”