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There was nowhere to run.
She discovered true fear when she was only six years old. Of course, she had been afraid before, afraid of the dark, afraid of the strange sounds in the forest, afraid of the scary stories about the evil monster who haunted the land, but she knew that all she had to do was go to her mother's arms, or ask her father for a song, or place herself behind her older brothers, who swore to protect her, and all would be well.
At six, she lost her mother's embrace, her father stopped singing, and her brothers became ghosts.
They all vanished in a storm of swords, killed not by an evil monster, but by soldiers that looked like the heroes of her tales: tall, fair, and mighty.
She was only six, but despite the mortal blood in her veins, she had an elvish mind. Not only did she look younger than the humans her age, but she also had a stronger memory.
She remembered everything about that day.
She remembered the sound of the horns and the screams that followed, piercing cries that made her heart beat faster and faster, and her eyes well with tears.
She remembered her father carrying her away and asking her to close her eyes. She didn't. It was the last time she disobeyed him.
She remembered the metallic smell that permeated the air when an arrow hit one of the soldiers behind them in the stomach. Her name was Glaniel. She fell, her skin turned waxy, her eyes sunk, and she became still like a statue.
They reached the edge of the forest, and the king said:
- My little swan, I must find your brothers and nana, please, follow Ethuillos and Nestoreth, obey them as you would obey me and your mother, and keep this safe. - He handed her the Star, the light that her grandmother had taken from the Dark Lord, as the songs said. She usually wasn't allowed to have the Star, for it was the greatest treasure of her father's kingdom, and she was still very little. Calling it a necklace wouldn't do justice to what looked like the night sky in one's hand, with countless jewels glistening and the most beautiful glow the girl knew right at its centre. - Gi melin, Elwing. - Ada gently kissed her forehead before grabbing his sword and turning away.
She remembered the cold she felt when he left, despite the warmth of the Star.
Although she could still count her years with her fingers, she understood the weight of the responsibility, and when the kind guard Ethuillos told her they had to move, she followed him; even if she didn't want to leave her family behind, she wanted to make her father proud. She was the princess of Doriath, after all, as long as her people lived.
News of her parents' passing came days later, while they were still on their perilous journey. Ethuillos himself told her. They had died bravely, he said, and took three kinslayers with them. She didn't care that they were brave; she wanted them with her, but because she didn’t want to disappoint Ethuillos, she kept quiet.
As for their souls, the guard could not console her, for by all accounts King Dior was a Man, born after the powerful Luthien had made her choice to share her fate with Beren's, while Queen Nimloth was an Elf, and their paths were to be separated in death.
- And mine? What is my path, Ethuillos? - She asked in tears. Was she going to be reunited with her mother in Aman? With her father in the mysterious gift offered to Men? Or was she cursed to wander Middle-earth until the end of time?
He could not answer, for Elwing was growing up too fast for an elf, but too slowly for a human. She did not appear to get ill with the afflictions of Men, but she was more easily tired and required more sleep and sustenance. It was as if the Valar hadn't yet decided what to do with her.
- I do not know what your path will be, princess, but I do know that as long as I live, I will protect you and guide you as best as I can. It is my oath to you. - the guard said.
For months her caretakers feared she would fade, as she became more and more quiet, and her health worsened, but she survived the journey to the coast. Nestoreth, her handmaiden who had been by her side since she could remember, credited her Mannish blood. However, Elwing was convinced that it was her promise to her father, a promise to keep Doriath's legacy alive.
Now, only thirty-two years later, death was looking at her with wild eyes, and she was about to get an answer to her questions.
- Give it to us! End this madness Elwing!
The elf had dark red hair, like the burning metal she often saw at the forge, his entire skin covered in scars, his right hand missing.
Maedhros.
There was nowhere to run.
She carried with her the Star, the Silmaril, as she knew it now, still embedded in Nauglamír. Its light reflected on Maedhros's face, making his scars even more visible, and his skin whiter. She had considered doing the same thing her father did, give the treasure to her sons while she fought the enemy, but then, when would this end? Would they be chased too, another home destroyed? No, this had to stop, one way or another. She sent them with her protectors, Ethuillos and Nestoreth, praying for their safety, and she took the cursed Star herself. She had hoped to lure them, set a trap, and end with the kinslayers once and for all. It had worked at first, for even some of their soldiers betrayed them, and refused to participate in more killing. Yet in the end, it wasn't enough; she underestimated their strength, their will, the power of their oath, and now, she was cornered, at the top of a precipice too tall to survive the fall.
The salty smell of the sea, so comforting, so like her husband, became a warning of how close she was to death. Oh, Eärendil! When she met him, both so young, a spark she hadn't felt since the slaying of her family returned within her, another light other than the accursed Silmaril willing her to live. He understood what it meant to lose one's home, to be divided by two paths, to not know what fate had in store for him. She couldn't even say goodbye! Why wasn't he by her side? Always obsessed with the sea...
She chased away that thought. Even her strong father had fallen, after all, fighting Faënor's sons. Eärendil at least was safe. He was safe and alive, and that brought her some small amount of peace. He could take care of their boys...
Her boys, her beautiful boys! Nestoreth was so mad when she got pregnant! She was only thirty-two, more than old enough for a human, far, far too young for an elf. For a half-elf? Hard to say, although it is true that both she and Eärendil looked younger than humans their age, barely grown. Nestoreth was mad, for she thought she had planned it, the way Elves plan their children, but it wasn't true! She hadn't planned it at all.
When she found out, she didn’t know what to think. She loved Eärendil, and she had considered having children in the future, but it all seemed so soon... she didn't have time to get ready.
She almost died. The pregnancy lasted eleven months and left her weak. During the birth, she was in a haze of pain, completely lost to the world. When she woke up four days later to the worried faces of her loved ones, they announced that she had beautiful twin sons.
The news unexpectedly broke her heart. She hadn't thought of her brothers in a long time, or to be more truthful, she had purposely blocked their memory, for as excruciating as her parents' death was, the mystery of the twins' fate hurt even deeply, an open injury that could never be cured with answers.
And now she had given birth to another set of cursed twins. Elrond and Elros, Eärendil had called them; fearing for Elwing's life, he had chosen to honour her with star names for their boys, Star-Dome and Star-Foam, as if one belonged to the heavens and the other to the seas, perhaps hoping their children would guide her back to life. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that their names to her were a reminder of how much of her life seemed to be dictated by those celestial bodies, and how he had condemned their twins to the same fate.
She adored those boys and made sure they knew how cherished they were, particularly when their father was away on his voyages. How could she not love little Elros, always looking at the waves, dreaming of travelling to faraway lands like his Ada, or sweet Elrond, asking another story about naneth naneth Luthien? She could hardly believe that she had made such wonderful beings, but that love was darkened by a touch of guilt, for she felt lacking, lacking the strength of her father, and the wisdom of her mother. She tried to hide it, shelter them as much as she could, but they were so smart! She would see Elros drawing a little Vingilot, her husband's ship:
- For you, nana, so you won't be so sad when Ada is away.
Or Elrond helping Nestoreth to braid her hair and singing to her in those days when her mind would wander to the darkest places of her past, present, and future.
If she could not shield them from her sadness, how could she shield them when danger came?
And indeed it had come. When the sons of Faënor demanded the Silmaril, a selfish part of her considered giving in, saving herself and her family, but her people had sacrificed so much for the jewel, their home in Doriath, their loved ones, how could she betray them? How could she betray her father, who had asked her to protect it? How could kinslayers deserve the very light of Valinor that only her grandmother could snatch from Morgoth himself? No. She had to be brave.
She refused and started preparing, hoping Eärendil would return in the meantime, but they arrived sooner than expected, perhaps knowing her answer in advance.
And now, there was nowhere to run.
Her boys would be safe with Ethuillos and Nestoreth, just like she had been. Maybe even better, away from a doomed mother who could never give them what they needed. That was her only consolation.
The smell of the sea became stronger, the salty breeze enveloping her completely as if calling to her.
That's when she knew.
Only the Valar could decide what to do with such a treasure.
- We will not hurt you if you hand it to us, Elwing, please! - another voice insisted.
The brother, Maglor, she thought. There was a twinge of sadness in his request that despite her fear, she couldn't help but notice. Maybe he was truthful... Then again, why trust the figure from her nightmares? Since she was six, when she thought of monsters, she didn’t imagine a dark lord with a crown, but tall soldiers, fair and terrible, with bloodied swords.
No, she wouldn't fall for his tricks.
She jumped. Maybe there was a special place for souls like hers, maybe she would go to the same place her brothers went.
Whispers say they became birds.
The last thing she heard before the wind overwhelmed her senses was Maedhros's desperate scream.