Waking of the Arda's Sleeper

It had been several weeks since the violent siege that left the Havens of Sirion in ruins. The once-thriving city, a beacon of hope for the Elves and Men who sought refuge there, now lay desolate, its streets lined with the wreckage of shattered homes and broken families. The dark forces of Morgoth had swept through like a merciless storm, driven by their insatiable lust for the Silmarils, those legendary jewels that had long fuelled war and betrayal.

The orcs had descended upon the city with savage fury, their black banners fluttering like the wings over the blood-soaked earth. The air had been thick with the clash of steel and the cries of the fallen. Buildings crumbled under the weight of their relentless onslaught, and once-clear waters of the River Sirion ran red with the blood of its people. Elrond and his twin brother, Elros, had hidden amid the chaos, their hearts pounding as they witnessed the unimaginable.

The two young half-elves had watched, powerless, as their mother, Elwing, the lady of the Havens, faced off against the infamous Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs. Flames had danced across his cruel blade, illuminating the darkness with an eerie glow as he struck down anyone who dared stand in his path. In a desperate attempt to protect the Silmaril, Elwing had prepared before and had given them to her children to hide them.

Before their tear-filled eyes, the monstrous Gothmog had brutally slain her, his fiery whip snapping through the air as she fell, lifeless to the ground. The scene had burned itself into their memories, each second stretched into an eternity of horror and helplessness. The weight of their mother’s loss hung heavy in the air, mingling with the smoke and the stench of death. All that remained for them now was survival, and a burning question of what fate awaited them in this dark, ever-shifting world.

But just as the last hope seemed to have faded, salvation came from an unexpected source. Maedhros, eldest of the Sons of Fëanor, and his brother Maglor had arrived with their forces, cutting through the ranks of the orcs like a wrathful tide. Once driven only by their Oath to reclaim the Silmarils, Maedhros’s mind had been healed by the influence of Harry, now known as The Sleeper, whose healing had restored his heart. Instead of seeking destruction, Maedhros had come in peace, hoping to negotiate with Elwing to obtain the Silmaril she possessed.

However, the orcs had caught wind of the Silmaril’s location and launched their devastating attack before any peaceful resolution could be reached. Now, with rage tempered by purpose, Maedhros and Maglor fought with fierce precision, their swords flashing in the firelight as they drove the remaining orcs from the city. Though they managed to save what remained of Sirion’s people, over half of the city had been lost, including Elwing. With the battle finally over, the sight of her broken body haunted Maedhros, who had come seeking reconciliation, not bloodshed. And now, Elrond and Elros, mere children, were left orphaned in the wake of the devastation, their fate uncertain, their hearts burdened with the memory of the mother they had lost.

Taking pity on the twins, Maedhros hesitated before deciding to take them under his wing. He was no father, nor did he have any great skill in nurturing children, but something in their grief-stricken eyes stirred a long-buried sense of responsibility in him. He glanced at Maglor, who gave a solemn nod of agreement, and then beckoned one of his soldiers. "Send a messenger back to Himring. Inform my husband... tell Fingon that we will have guests." His voice wavered slightly, unused to discussing such personal matters amid the aftermath of war, but there was no turning back now.

As the children huddled together, their faces pale with shock, Maedhros steeled himself. Slowly, cautiously, he approached them as though they were frightened animals that might bolt at any moment. He fumbled inside his tunic until he found a handkerchief, which he held awkwardly before him. “Child... may I?” he asked, his voice gruff yet attempting gentleness. His eyes focused on Elrond, the older twin, whose face was smeared with the blood of the fallen.

Elrond blinked at him, confused, too numb to respond. When Maedhros gestured again, the boy slowly raised a trembling hand to his face, feeling the sticky wetness there. He froze, staring at his red-stained fingers as the horror dawned on him.

He shrieked.

Startled, Maedhros instinctively jumped back, his eyes wide as if faced with a threat far more formidable than any orc. "Ah--" he stammered, trying not to appear as out of his depth as he felt.

Elros rushed over to his twin, immediately wrapping his small arms around Elrond's shaking form. He pulled him down onto the floor and rocked him back and forth, whispering words of comfort between his own sobs. The sight was enough to make Maedhros’ heart ache, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

Steeling himself once more, Maedhros crouched down beside them. With a strange mixture of resolve and uncertainty, he gently wiped away the blood from Elrond's face, dabbing at the boy’s pale skin with the handkerchief. His movements were as careful as possible, though his large hands seemed out of place performing such delicate tasks. "Better?" he asked, offering what he thought was a reassuring smile, though it came off more as an awkward grimace. The twins did not respond, merely staring up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Maedhros hesitated. The silence stretched on, and the weight of it pressed down on him. What was he supposed to do next? Fingon had always been the one better suited to matters of kindness, of comforting others. Maedhros, a warrior, felt like a giant among fragile beings. He raised his hand again, this time patting both boys gently on the head as though that might help somehow. “There... there?” His voice came out questioning, as if he wasn’t sure if that was the proper thing to say.

Elros stared up at him, sniffling. Elrond’s sobs had quieted somewhat, but he was still trembling in his brother's arms. Maedhros shifted his weight uncomfortably. What now? Should he try... hugging them? That seemed too intimate, too soon. Talking more? That seemed unlikely to help. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping for some sort of guidance from Maglor, but his brother was busy helping the other survivors.

He sighed inwardly, trying to imagine what Fingon might do if he were here. "I... uh... we'll figure this out," Maedhros finally muttered, as much to himself as to the twins. He stood up, looming awkwardly over them as they clung to each other on the bloodied ground.

Clearing his throat and forcing a smile, Maedhros took a breath and tried again. "How about we head back to my home?" he offered, attempting a tone of warmth though it came out slightly strained. “It’s a bit of a journey, about a month, but the sooner we leave, the sooner I can get you to some nice, warm, clean beds.” His smile stretched awkwardly into a crooked grin, forced and far too stiff, as if it were an unfamiliar gesture he was trying for the first time. He hoped desperately that the promise of comfort would entice them to come along without protest.

The twins exchanged glances, whispering between themselves. Elrond’s brow furrowed as he glanced at his brother, and Elros whispered something in return. Then, to Maedhros’ surprise, they both giggled, their small bodies shaking with muffled laughter.

Caught off guard, Maedhros glanced around, unsure of what had sparked their amusement. Were they laughing at him? His eyes darted from the children to his surroundings, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, he frowned and asked, “What? Is something wrong with me?” His voice was gruff, but there was a faint, underlying note of vulnerability.

Elros, still trying to stifle his giggles, pointed up at Maedhros’s face. “You look like you're... uh... con... constie-uh, CONSTIPATED!” he finally managed to say, bursting into a full fit of laughter, with Elrond joining in.

Maedhros blinked, momentarily frozen. Of all the insults or mockery, he had faced in his long life, none had ever come in the form of being compared to a man suffering from constipation. He felt his face flush slightly with a mix of confusion and mild offense. Constipated? Was that really how his face looked when he smiled? His stiff, humourless expressions always betrayed him, and now even children were laughing at it. He raised a hand self-consciously to his jaw, as if that might somehow fix the odd grin that had caused such hilarity.

Still, there was something about their innocent laughter, so unexpected in the wake of such tragedy, that made him hesitate. Their laughter felt like a small flicker of life amidst the ruin, something untouched by the horrors of the battle. A slow, genuine smile began to form on his face this time, though it was still lopsided and awkward. “Well,” he said with a dry chuckle, “at least you’re laughing again.”

The boys continued to giggle, their voices bouncing off the ruins around them. But the moment passed quickly, and Maedhros, eager to move on from his failed attempt at charm, cleared his throat once again. “So,” he said, more briskly this time, “are you ready to head off?”

The twins exchanged another look, but this time they were more serious. The brief moment of laughter seemed to have helped ease some of their tension, and after a long pause, they both nodded hesitantly. Elrond gave a small, shy smile, while Elros stood up a little straighter, as if trying to seem brave.

“Is there anything here you can’t leave behind?” Maedhros asked, glancing around at the wreckage of the once-great city. He wasn’t sure what they could possibly want to keep from this place, but he didn’t want to leave anything behind that might bring them some measure of comfort.

The boys thought for a moment, their expressions thoughtful and sad. Then, without a word, they both darted off in opposite directions. Maedhros raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by their sudden energy, but he didn’t stop them. He watched as Elrond disappeared into the remnants of what had once been their home, while Elros headed toward the edge of the riverbank where they had played as children.

Maedhros exhaled softly, allowing himself a moment of stillness. This task, caring for these children, would not be easy, and he doubted his ability to do it properly. But he had made a promise, however silent, to keep them safe. As he waited for them to return, his thoughts drifted once more to Fingon, who would no doubt know how to soothe their fears when they arrived at Himring. For now, all Maedhros could do was try his best to protect them on the long journey ahead.

He glanced toward the horizon, already calculating the safest route back to Himring, his mind racing with plans and contingencies. His heart, however, remained with the two small figures now searching through the wreckage for the last pieces of their old life.

By the time the twins were back he had decided on a route which would be quickest with their numbers. It did include passing through the Sleepers Forest, so he decided to grab a brush in order to clean the area for the being. When the boys came back to see the seasoned war lord holding a brush for in their mind no reason, they burst out laughing again.

“Hehe… what’s with the brush?” Elros asks point to it as his brother almost collapses on the floor in a fit of giggles. Maedhros looks like a deer caught in headlights as he turns beet red with embarrassment. He pouts before turning to the boys withs serious of a face as he can manage while suffering this level of embarrassment.

Maedhros paused, looking between the two laughing boys and the broom in his hand, face still red from embarrassment. His voice, serious but tinged with an awkward attempt at patience, continued, “Cleaning the area will show respect to the Sleeper who protects the forest. It’s the least we can do for safe passage.”

The twins, still giggling but more curious now, exchanged glances. “The Sleeper’s Forest?” Elrond asked, his laughter fading as interest took over. “What’s that?”

Maedhros knelt down, meeting their eyes as he explained, “It’s a forest that no orc can enter. Someone or rather something is asleep there. He’s protected the forest for years, and the magic around him keeps out all danger. People leave gifts or clean the area where he rests, as thanks for his protection.”

Elros, still grinning, tugged on his brother’s sleeve. “Does he wake up if you’re too loud?”

Maedhros gave a small, hesitant smile, still holding the broom awkwardly in his large hand. “I don’t know if he ever wakes. But he saved me once, and now… we’ll clean his resting place to make sure he stays undisturbed.”

Elrond’s eyes widened with a mix of awe and excitement. “So, we’re going to see him?”
Maedhros stood up, brushing off his tunic, trying to sound composed despite feeling out of his depth with the children. “Yes, we’ll pass through. But it’s not a place for playing or shouting, understand?”

The boys nodded, though a sense of adventure glimmered in their eyes. For now, it seemed, the promise of visiting a magical forest was enough to distract them from their grief. And as Maedhros led them toward their journey, the broom in his hand didn’t seem quite as ridiculous anymore. It was a small token of respect, a way to honour a mysterious force that had once saved his life, and now, it would be part of ensuring the safety of the two young boys in his care.

As they prepared to leave, Elros glanced up at Maedhros, the mischief still twinkling in his eyes. “Do you think if we leave something, the Sleeper will give us powers too? Like growing back hands?”

Maedhros couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension easing from his shoulders for the first time in days. “Let’s hope you don’t lose a hand to find out.”