Harm

Canon-compliant.  "Of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells."  Quenta Silmarillion: the Ruin of Doriath.  Let's just pretend that they somehow managed to survive the winter in Nan Elmoth and crossed over Ered Luin without being captured or killed, and that they somehow wandered into Eriador and encountered the other sinda who chose to travel over the mountains before the ruin of Beleriand.  Takes place in the First Age, probably not more than a year or two after the second fall of Menegroth.  Somewhat introspective.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the Silmarillion

Pairings: none

Characters: Daeron, Eluréd and Elurín (mentions Fëanorions, roundabout Dior and Nimloth, Lórien, Estë and Nienna)

Warning: canon-compliant, canon character death, mistreatment of children, mentions mass murder, possible mental illness

Song: Halleluja (not a happy song; look up the lyrics)

Words: 946
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harm (noun): physical or mental damage: injury; mischief, hurt
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/harm

The pair was attempting to hide from him.

And failing.  Daeron could sense them from miles away without even trying.  At a scant distance of ten yards away, they hadn't a hope of remaining undetected by the adult elf, so loud were their tiny footsteps upon the dry leaves and wet earth, but the musician did not have the heart to confront them and scare them out of their wits.  He never even glanced over his shoulder.

Instead, he allowed them to follow him through the forest, pretending at obliviousness as he hunted for his dinner, as Anor began to sink below the horizon and plunge the hostile, merciless world into blackness, as he lit his fire to roast his fat rabbit dinner and warm his chilled hands when the temperatures of the forest plummeted with the loss of golden light.  At all times, they were nearby, their huge blue eyes watching him as twinkling stars from the darkness of the world, waiting for him to drop off into the arms of the Lord of Dreams and the Lady of Rest so that the little ones might remain undetected scavengers.

When he bedded down for the night, Daeron did not rest and did not dream, but when two tiny shadows stole into his camp, filching the (purposefully) abandoned remains of his dinner and huddling near the lit fire, he did not rise to speak to them, or even move.  Instead, he breathed slowly and deeply as one asleep, silently observing.

Two elflings, alone in the wilderness with naught but tattered remains of tunics and torn leggings, their feet bare and badly in need of washing.  Their hair was long and matted and so filthy that Daeron could not pick out its natural color except that it was originally lighter than the muddy brown hue it currently sported.  The pair squeezed themselves together, touching constantly, and shared the extra strips of roasted rabbit flank between them, nibbling, their eyes occasionally darting back to the fully-grown elf "sleeping" some distance away.

Other than being skinny, they did not appear to be injured in any way.  No infected gashes or wounds, no broken bones or bruises.  They were just terrified.  So terrified that even a stutter in the measured tempo of Daeron's breathing made them jump and flee back to the safety of the shadows.

That they could not even trust a grown elf--And what elf would do harm to a young child of their own kin?  He could not help but wonder in horrified fascination, ill to the depths of his heart--spoke volumes about what had happened to separate them from their parents and leave them homeless wild creatures traversing the forest, hiding before what they perceived as threatening eyes, surviving in the only way such young children knew how without guidance.

Every night, Daeron left out a portion of his meal and thanked the Lady of Mercy that they did not realize they had been caught and he was merely humoring their thievery.  Much safer, the little ones were, under Daeron's silent and watchful care than sneaking about trying to take food and warmth from the camps of wandering vagrants and bandits.

When the news came of the destruction of Menegroth by the hands of the Sons of Fëanor, Daeron knew what had happened to the children, and his belly had filled with ice.

Many ways there were to harm that did not involve fists or blades.  Well he could imagine an elven lord from across the sea towering over the unprotected little ones, snarling curses in their young ears, threatening to have them ripped apart or tortured or worse, riling them into such a state of fear that they lost all sense of safety and memories of caring hands and soothing voices and adults who sang them to sleep in the night and did not yell or drag or hiss insidiously in the dark--adults who were not monsters.  And any elf who could heartlessly slaughter innocent men and women simply because their king refused to sully his pride by forfeiting a ridiculous glowing rock was a worthy of the title.

The children were afraid of monsters.  And to them, all adults were monsters.  The only people they could rely on in the world were each the other, and none else.

It was heartbreaking, Daeron found himself thinking as he again watched them and wished with all his spirit that he could wrap them in his arms and keep them safe, that he could clean their smudged little faces and wipe away their tears and somehow mend the cracks and lacerations littering their minds and souls.

Harm had been done to them indeed, but it was not the kind so easily fixed with a gentle kiss and crooned reassurances.  These wounds went deeper than any other, unhealed by time and medicine, left to fester and drag the unsuspecting, naive spirits down with their weight of fear and broken trust.

And when the little ones finally stopped coming in the night, Daeron wept and wondered if there was anything more he could have done to help them or heal them.  He wondered if any words would ever be as a balm upon their fractured young souls, if they would ever fully leave the shadows of the past and rejoin their kin.

Or, perhaps, they would spend eternity alone in their togetherness, lost in the black cloud of sin descended upon the world.  Perhaps there were no words which could heal the harm that had been grievously inflicted.

And that was perhaps the saddest thought of all.
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I completely blame the "Dark Prince" AU by Spiced_Wine for all interaction between Eluréd and Elurín and Daeron.  It's just so incredibly tempting.  Of course, I haven't decided what might happen to the twins, if they do end up surviving to adulthood or not, and whether they ever reveal themselves to other elves or men or if they just fade away in the end.  Well, it's something to think on, in any case.

Was listening to Kyle Landry's arrangement of Leonard Cohen's Halleluja.  For some reason, I absolutely love this song, many of the versions of it, the lyrics, the chordal structure... it just pleases me greatly.  It's one of the mysteries of the world.  Even though this arrangement was done two years ago, it's still very beautiful.  It reminds me of a rain-storm, actually.

Children of the Forest by =Gold-Seven on dA.  Fascinating idea, though perhaps a bit of a stretch.  Still, I would like to believe that they survived somehow and didn't get picked off by orcs or die in thee destruction of Beleriand.  And I hope this picture does one day indeed become a painting; this pair of twins needs more love.