Work Text:
Maedrhos trudged ahead, even his long legs becoming impossible to drag through the rising snow drifts. The small children had apparently fled much further than where they'd been left by Celegorm's accursed servants.
The blizzard rapidly covered what few tracks he had of them, and even the thick fur cloak he wore, made of thoroughly washed dyed warg pelts and trimmed with black sable, was no longer keeping him warm. The snow ceased to melt on contact with his skin, so his eyelashes were filled with cold snow, and he felt as if even the mucus in his nostrils was freezing.
He had long since flicked the second eyelids over his eyes, sacrificing clear vision for the ability to go longer. He growled angrily as the howling of wolves was heard in the distance, ears lowering. He cursed the Valar under his breath as the wind picked up, whipping around him. Finally, he found a divot, a bit of a hollowed out area. It was much too small to protect his large frame from the screaming storm, but he noted a pair of odd shapes in the shadows, and he was filled with equal parts hope and dread.
His lips had gone darker with cold, but he managed to pry them open enough to softly sing a comforting song. He thought he saw a twitch, so he reached his hand in, and groaned as he felt flesh. It twitched away, but he held it firmly and pulled it out. The pale face of an elfling appeared, and he growled as he took in the blue tone the child's skin had taken on.
"Easy now." He murmured, then tucked the child under the thick fur cloak, and then into the first, outer layer of his clothing. He felt the child press into the warmth of his skin, a gift from Feänor that had never been tainted by evil, fortunately. "Where is your brother?" He asked himself, then lowered himself easily to the ground.
He smiled as he saw the young one. He smiled more as he saw the tiny knife in the child's grasp, but the look on his face fell as he saw the color his fingers were turning. "Come now, little one." He rasped out. "You will be safe with me, come, come on." He coaxed gently. "The winds are so cold, you will not love much longer out here. I am warm, and I will take you to my home."
The little prince slowly crawled out, and Maedrhos tucked him inside his clothing too. Now, his quest successful, be it narrowly, he trudged back to the camp. He blew his horn when he came close, and soon soldiers appeared, and his brother.
Maglor was astride one of the massive, primordial mares he was so fond of, and he held his hand out. "You bring good tidings of the missing princes?" He asked, concern etching lines into his features. "Fortunately, I do. I do not know how I would've lived with myself if I did not find them." He took his brother's hand, and pulled himself on top of the mare with ease. The children groaned, and tried to burrow further into his clothing, causing him to hiss when their freezing hands came within a few layers of his skin.
Maglor led them all back to camp, pressing the heated stones they'd invented upon arrival in these lands into his hands. He quickly pressed them to the chests of the elflings, who curled around them instinctively.
Maedrhos sat as close as he possibly could to his brother with the children still tucked as close to him as he dared. He barely even noticed the jaunty bouncing of the horse as he focused all his thoughts inward, gently nudging the weak tendrils of the feä of these small beings.
They surged out, and wrapped around his cracked tendrils. His spirit shook in shock, as it felt the elflings seek the nursing their feä needed. He hesitated, then allowed them to take what they needed, gasping softly as his vision seemed flooded by a distinct light.
The silmaril..
They had seen it, imprinted it in their memories. He almost felt the warmth it exuded, the light of the long dead trees within it. He bathed in the light, feeling so different as it cast sparks in his eyesight then when he saw them embedded in Morgoth's crown.
Maglor shook his shoulder after a few minutes. "Brother, wake up now." He urged him softly. The silver haired twins pulled away from his soul with an eerie synchronization.
"Yes?" Maedhros asked roughly. "You were sleeping." "I was not.." he felt choked up, then narrowed his eyes. The smell of burning flesh rose up around him, the massive cremation pyres throwing up dark smoke and ashes.
Other fires were cooking meat and boiling water, and all the noise of the grieving war camp made the twins dig further into his flesh. Maglor gently pushed aside his cloak, and hummed soothingly to the children as he pulled them free. "What are their names? Elurin and Elured?" Maedhros nodded. "It doesn't suit them. They look like grandmother, almost." Maglor decided.
"If you insist." Maedrhos looked down at them, the jagged scars on his face contorting with his expressions. "Then this one I name Mirináro, and his brother I call Ñaulenáro. May they be blessed, and shake off the curses of their forebears." "All of them." Maglor agreed, before gently leading the children into his warm tent.
Maedhros sat by a fire, thinking deeply, barely looking up, even when his soldiers pushed a hot cup of a revitalizing bitter liquid and a mug of a thick soup into his hand. He enjoyed the taste of nuts and various game meats floating in the thick broth, but it was only cursory.
He looked up into the sky. For three brothers lost, two small jewels were obtained. Not the kind he wished they had found, but he hurt, remembering the last time a child had clung to him so. Perhaps they were monsters, but maybe even monsters deserved gifts.
Fingon had thought so. And these precious children were gifts indeed, and had a feeling he would not let them go. No, he never would, not these perfect, pure things found out in the snow.