Work Text:
Maglor thinks he’s being strong, but he barely sleeps. And that’s not being strong, is it?
We always slept more than anyone because Athair didn’t make us take watches.
But Maglor isn’t Athair. Or Maedhros.
It’s been two weeks since Maedhros died.
I don’t want to talk about that.
Amrod-in-the-water doesn’t change expression, but Amras knows what he looks like when he smiles. He wouldn’t smile like Curufin does, poking at a fresh hurt until blood spots up. No, Amrod would smile like Maedhros always tried to—encouraging, and yes, poking at the wound, but only to say, see how it is well again.
See how all is well.
Amras, half against his will (always half), picks up a stone and makes the water break and shiver. Amrod returns in a moment.
When Amras smiles, Amrod-in-the-water smiles too.
You look lonely.
I am lonely. I hate all of them.
Not Maedhros.
Maedhros is dead.
I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.
You’re me. I can make you go away if you don’t—
You don’t want to do that, either.
Amras cries. Amrod-in-the-water cries too.
“How did they let that bitch nose around the fort for days, as if she wasn’t a spy—didn’t you notice, Maglor?” Celegorm speaks like every word is a bullet. He only calls his brothers by their names to draw their attention; a leash snapped tight.
Huan has never known a leash. Huan is the only one who wants to be close to Celegorm, these days—
Other than Curufin.
“I was watching you sweat half to death,” Maglor snaps, tearing his bread savagely. They take most of their meals in private, making appearances at the long Mithrim table on the basis of tacit agreement between Maglor and Celegorm, who appear to agree otherwise on almost nothing.
A strong front. Maglor is putting up a strong front.
You don’t even sound like yourself.
I suppose I’m not.
Celegorm’s eyes skim over Amras, who is pretending to eat his stewed beef. “We’re not safe with her around.”
“Do you think she is a threat?” Curufin asks, peeling an orange.
“I think she’s a sick animal,” Celegorm answers, keeping the storm behind his teeth, if not the ugly words. “Those, you keep outside. They can’t be trusted.”
Amras is just grateful he didn’t say those, we kill.
“I can ask Ulfang why he has permitted her to stay,” Maglor suggests, somewhat calmer. “But none of you trust him to give a fair reply.”
“Aye.” Curufin narrows his eyes. “Even if he is hoping to coax her into softness, she won’t know much about Bauglir. Just how to carry a message.”
Caranthir frowns. The silence that falls is one that means that they are thinking only of Maedhros, even if they speak of everything else.
She is scared. That’s all. Just scared.
I know. And so are you.
Yes, but it doesn’t do any good. It just means you—
Die?
Please, Amrod. Are you really—
Yes. I’m sorry.