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Chapter Text

When the first letter arrived, Elrond was in his mother’s study, playing with his brother Elros on the soft rug. The messenger who had carried it had not been granted passage through Sirion's gates. Elrond stretched to glance at the letter and saw that it was addressed to Princess Elwing, their mother, and made of thick expensive parchment. Each tengwar on the envelope was elegantly rounded. The seal showed an eight-pointed star.

Elrond didn’t understand its significance at first, why his mother’s face went pale with fear as she looked upon the letter. He watched as Elwing quickly read it, then folded it, as if to hide the words away. He noticed how her hands shook as she stuffed the message in a drawer. Then he heard her whisper “Maedhros,” and terror took root in Elrond as he realized who the letter had come from.

They’ve found us, he thought to himself, fear twisting in his gut. The kinslayers have found us.

Their mother had always attempted to spare them, to protect their innocence. They were, after all, only six years old. But they often understood more than the adults knew, and they had heard the horror stories of the massacre in Doriath. There the cruel Sons of Fëanor had slain their mother’s parents, King Dior and Queen Nimloth, and left her young brothers to starve to death in the wintry woods.

They were after the Silmaril, the prize that Elrond’s great-grandparents had wrestled from the crown of the Black Enemy, the treasure that Elwing had held as she fled Doriath, the jewel that was said to bless their seaside settlement and keep their ships safe. They would stop at nothing to have it, Elrond had heard told. They were without conscience. In pursuit of the Silmaril, the Sons of Fëanor would raze Sirion to the ground.

The next day another letter arrived. And a third one the day after that. Then a fourth one. Soon mothers told their children to stay inside. More guards than ever patrolled Sirion's cobbled streets. Elwing had summoned the town's council, and, behind closed doors, they held meetings that to Elrond seemed endless. Afterward, she would come to Elrond and Elros' nursery. She would brush their hair and kiss their cheeks before putting them to bed. Her bedtime stories were the same ones, but there was a new lost look in her eyes. It felt as if she, like all of Sirion, was holding her breath. All of the Havens dreaded the day when the Fëanorians would stop asking nicely.

“If only Adar were here,” Elros whispered to Elrond one night as they were lying in bed side by side. Elrond had been thinking the very same, maybe their father could come back and protect them all. They both knew it was nothing but wishful thinking. Eärendil the Mariner was far away on the sea.

That night Elrond laid awake and overheard his mother and her advisers discuss their options once again in the adjacent room. “We’ve sent the plea for aid to Lord Círdan and High King Gil-galad on Balar, my lady, but their fleet can’t possibly reach us in time. The elves and men of Sirion stand alone.”

Elrond suppressed a whimper and clutched his blanket tightly. The High King, his and Elros’ distant cousin, who ruled from an Isle in the bay, had been their last hope. The Havens of Sirion was no military stronghold. The exiles from fallen Doriath and Gondolin who dwelled there were crafters and fishermen. They had few warriors, nothing like the infamous Fëanorian troops that had once held the Enemy besieged in the east.

“I will not surrender anything to my father’s murderers,” Elwing’s voice was unwavering.

“The people of the Havens will stand by you to the end, Princess Elwing.”

“Let us pray it doesn’t come to that. We’ll evacuate the city at first daylight.”

Elrond clung to his mother’s words. They would flee at first daylight. Launch every last ship so that the kinslayers couldn’t follow them. They would be safe, him, and Elros, and Naneth and all of their people. With this comforting thought, he finally fell asleep.

Outside Sirion, something was stirring. An evil power was awakening. The Sons of Fëanor came before the dawn.

***

In the Fëanorian camp, Maglor, second son of Fëanor, was pacing aimlessly back and forth. There was no rest to find when the oath was at play. Across the tent, his brother Maedhros was fidgeting with the claps on his prosthesis, brows furrowed as he awaited Elwing’s correspondence. As the eldest of the House of Fëanor, the final decision would fall to him.

Maglor had stood by Maedhros as he’d withheld this particular choice for decades. Maedhros had ordered them all to let Dior’s daughter be, though they’d both known it was only a matter of time before their oath would drive them to Sirion. Now they were camped outside the Havens with what was left of their army and Maglor wished fervently to be anywhere else in the world.

Amrod and Amras, almost identical and ever inseparable, returned from their patrol with somber expressions on their faces. “Nothing,” Amrod answered Maedhros' questioning look. “I don’t believe we’ll hear more from her.” The four of them exchanged solemn glances. They all knew what this meant.

“She may yet change her mind,” Maglor said, not believing his own words for a second. They’d done nothing these past days but lie to themselves: Elwing might agree to negotiate, she has a family to protect... The people of Sirion value their lives… If they would just hand over the damn jewel!

Elwing was her father’s daughter through and through. There was no way she would accept their claim to the Silmaril. None who laid hand on one of their father’s greatest creations would ever willingly part with it. Once again they would have to take up arms against their kin. They would send no more letters pleading for a peaceful solution. Any moment now, Maedhros would order the attack.

Maglor shuddered as he remembered their disastrous assault on Doriath: Elvish steel meeting elvish steel, Sindar against Ñoldor in nightmarish chaos, countless lives lost, three of his younger brothers lying dead in pools of their own blood on the floor of the glittering caves. And it had all been in vain, they’d failed to recover the Silmaril. It had gone exactly as the Doom had foretold:

“Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.”

But not this time. This time they would take their birthright back. They had to.

Maedhros rose, his face an expressionless mask. “We cannot linger for much longer. Gil-Galad’s host will soon be on their way. We do not have the strength to fight both Sirion and Balar”

And you do not wish to have to face Fingon’s son on the battlefield, Maglor added in his thoughts, recalling a time when Maedhros was younger and less burdened and always found in the company of the half-cousin who had been dearest to his heart. Now Fingon was long-dead, crushed into the ground at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears as Maedhros’ Union fell, and it seemed like part of Maedhros had died with him. He had never been the same again.

We are nothing but shadows of ourselves, Maglor thought as they made their final preparations. The walking dead. A pale and twisted version of what we once were.

“I’ll inform the captains.” Maedhros continued “Amras, go rally the archers”

That left Amrod and Maglor in the tent, donning Fëanorian red and fastening their armor. “Let me,” Maglor offered as he noticed Amrod struggling to braid his copper-red hair back. He carefully removed his travel harp from the nearest stool so that Amrod could sit and began braiding his hair with practiced hands.

He’d done this for all his younger brothers when they were little and a few times for Maedhros too, shortly after his rescue from Thangorodrim, when he hadn’t yet adjusted to braiding one-handed.

“I remember how you used to play that in the Great Square in Tirion” Amrod gestured towards the harp. His voice was soft as he spoke of their homeland. Perhaps, unconsciously, he’d spoken in Quenya, the mother tongue they’d all but abandoned long ago when it was banned. “The crystal stairs shining in the treelight, the crowds of people flocking by and your music enchanting all of them.”

Maglor tried not to reminisce about Valinor. It was too painful, too many memories filled with people he would never see again. Amrod had nearly been one of them, their mother had begged their father to let the twins stay with her. But in the end, all seven of them had gone with Fëanor to Beleriand, where war and violent death had awaited them.

“I’ll play you something. Anything you’d like.” Maglor promised his little brother as he secured the last braid. “Once we return with the jewel.”

They left the tent and joined Maedhros and Amras at the front of the host. There were no speeches or rallying battle cries. The four remaining Fëanorian brothers and their followers marched towards the Havens in silence.

If only I could be free of this, Maglor thought. If only I could free my brothers from this. He then pushed the thought away as he drew his dual swords. There’s a Silmaril in that town, that is all that matters. All that mattered was fulfilling the oath they had sworn.

He would do it. For his father. For his brothers. For the oath.

Chapter Text

Elrond and Elros were woken by the warhorns, the screaming, and the loud metallic clanging of sword against sword. At once, Elrond’s chest grew tight with dread. The kinslayers had come! The young twins ran to their window and watched in shock and fear: Everywhere they looked red-cloaked soldiers were advancing. Wooden houses stood in flame and corpses filled the streets.

Suddenly, their bedroom door opened with a slam and their mother came storming into the room followed by a group of the town’s councilmembers. Around her neck, Elwing wore the Nauglamír, the necklace wherein was set the jewel that had brought all this destruction upon them. Even now it shone with a bright and brilliant light.

“There’s no ship for them to leave on, my lady. They’ve cut off every path to the docks.” The elf Elrond recognized as the harbormaster had a trembling voice and a blade in his hand. 

“We’ll die before we let them harm you or your sons.” said one of their mother’s lords. A former warrior of Gondolin, equipped with longsword and bow. “And hopefully we’ll be able to take the kinslayers with us.” 

“All to their posts,” Commandeered Elwing and drew Elrond and Elros into her arms.

Tears were streaming down their mother’s face as she stroked their hair and kissed their cheeks. “I love you so so much.” The three of them held on to each other, and Elrond wished it could last forever. “Dolthriel will hide you. Promise me you’ll take care of each other.”

Dolthriel, one of the young girls who served their mother, took their hands in hers. They were hurrying up the winding stairs when they heard it: The loud crash of the Fëanorians breaking through the front door. 

They ran to the small room at the top of the tower where a balcony overlooked the sea. A year ago, Elrond and Elros had stood there with their mother, joyful as they saw their father’s ship, the Vingilótë, appear on the horizon. Now they held onto each other and panted for air as Dolthriel hid them away in a broom closet. “Don’t make a sound.” She said to them before closing the door. “I’ll protect you.”

Elrond lost track of time as he clung to his brother in the small tight space. How did it come to this? He asked himself. Are we going to die here?  

He could hear the distant sound of battle from the lower floors. He could hear the crashing of the waves far below them, ever-present background noise in seaside Sirion. But suddenly another familiar sound was approaching: their mother’s hurried footsteps on the stairs. Are we winning? Has she come for us?  Carefully Elrond pushed the door slightly ajar.

The sun had risen and light poured into the broom closet. Through the narrow opening he watched his mother run into the room, and out on the balcony. He had never seen her like this. She was still wearing the Nauglamír around her neck, but she looked defeated, in anguish. All hope abandoned Elrond when he heard more people rapidly mounting the steps. 

When he laid eyes on his mother’s pursuers he clasped his brother even tighter. His skin was crawling. His eyes were wide with horror. Maedhros the kinslayer, easily recognizable on the scars, the metal hand, and the red hair, had entered the room, looking grim and cruel and mad with hunger. There was another Fëanorian warrior with him, smaller and dark-haired, but with the same hungry look in his eyes.

Both were brandishing bloody swords as they slowly approached Elwing. The dark-haired elf held a blade in each hand. Watching from the closet, Elrond fought the urge to scream.

“If you come any closer I’ll drop it.” Elwing held the Nauglamír in one hand, dangling it beyond the balcony railing. Her voice was strained, but she bravely met Maedhros’ eyes.

“You’ll be dead before the jewel hits the sea,” sneered the dark-haired kinslayer in a thunderous voice

“Hand me my father’s Silmaril and I’ll call off my troops.” Maedhros seemed to be trying to appear calm and calculating, but there was a hint of desperation in his words. “It’s all we want from you. We’ll leave you in peace. If you would just give it to me”

Give it to him, Naneth. Elrond thought from his hide. Anything to make them disappear.

But he realized that same moment that his mother would stand her ground. These were the kinslayers that had destroyed her kingdom, murdered her parents, and sent her brothers to their death. In one swift movement, eyes shining with defiance, Elwing, the lost princess of Doriath, slipped on the Nauglamír, climbed the railing, and cast herself into the sea.

Vaguely, Elrond registered the kinslayers screaming in despair as the Silmaril fell with his mother.  Vaguely, he registered that Elros was screaming too. Everything felt distant. The only thought on his mind was Why? Why? Why? 

The broom closet door was now wide open. Elrond and Elros had tumbled across the floor.  From the door, they could see the ripples in the water where their mother had hit it. It’s so far down. She couldn’t have survived that fall. He clutched Elros’ hand tighter, not wanting to believe it.

The Fëanorians hadn’t noticed them, they were leaning over the edge as if they were considering jumping too. Shaking, as they cursed Elwing and the jewel and fate itself. 

And then the miracle happened. 

Kinslayers and children alike gasped in disbelief. From the flowing sea below the cliffs, a large white bird emerged. Soon it was soaring over the water. The Silmaril in the necklace shone brightly on its breast. 

They saw how it flew west, away from land, wing beat after wing beat, further and further till it disappeared on the horizon. That’s when the dark-haired kinslayer turned around and saw Elrond and Elros in the doorway. His eyes turned wide with surprise at the sight of them. “Brother,” he said, in a tone that was impossible to decipher. “We are not alone up here.” 

Maedhros turned, his sword raised, his eyes blazing. Elrond took a step back. His heart was in his throat. His brother’s hand in his was cold and clammy. Yet he held onto it even tighter, as reality sunk in. 

They’d been left at the mercy of the Sons of Fëanor.

***

As the Fëanorian army advanced through the Havens of Sirion like a flood of blood and fire and scarlet uniforms, Maglor heard the words of their oath echo in his mind.

“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean...”

He felt as if it might be the only thing that kept him going. The other kinslayings had been atrocious, but this was somehow so much worse.

“...Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth...”

He defended himself with one sword and attacked with the other, easily defeating the young Sindar elves who’d stood watch. They were unprepared and almost untrained. What am I doing? Maglor thought as he continued up the hill. I should be protecting these people, not slaughtering them.  Then new foes came at him and he raised his swords once more.

“...Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, Dread nor danger, not Doom itself...”

Amrod and Amras were close behind him, their arrows flew with deadly precision, honed from centuries of orc-hunting in the forests of Beleriand. Maedhros was further ahead, leading the charge towards Lady Elwing and Lord Eärendil's house at the edge of the cliffs. 

The elves they were battling now were clearly Ñoldor. Turgon’s people, exiles of Gondolin. Everything from their fighting technique to their ink-black hair was achingly familiar. The oath cared not.

“...Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin...”

Hating every moment, he dodged one more arrow, advanced one more meter, took one more life.

“Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, Finding keepeth or afar casteth, A Silmaril. This swear we all…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an enemy archer approaching, nocking an arrow. “Amberussa, watch out!” He yelled to the twins. It was too late. He turned his head and saw Amrod fall, an arrow in his heart, crimson spreading on his chest. 

Beside him Amras shrieked and threw himself into battle with newfound fury, sending a rain of arrows down on Sirion’s warriors, taking down the archer and several others, then raising the sword he otherwise rarely used. Maglor was right behind him. They cut and thrust without stopping, leaving a trail of corpses behind them.

By the end of the street, Maglor could see the square in front of Eärendil’s house. They were nearly there when Maglor heard his youngest brother scream in pain. The swordsman Amras dueled had gotten the better of him. Amras fell to the ground, bleeding from his shoulder and stomach.

After killing the two enemies still standing, Maglor knelt at his little brother’s side. “Amras talk to me, please…”  No no no. This can’t be happening. Why didn’t I protect them? Why didn’t they stay in Valinor?

Amras’ skin was turning pale as his blood dyed the pavement red. “Amrod,” He whispered faintly “Amrod”. Then, in the moment before he took his very last breath: “The Silmaril, Maglor, the Silmaril.”

And later Maglor would grieve that his little brother’s last thought had been about their father’s accursed treasure, but now he hurried through the street, swords raised, tears staining his face. Find Maedhros, he thought. Tell him what happened to the twins. Protect him. 

I can’t be alone in this.

Suddenly a red-cloaked warrior was blocking his way. He recognized him as Heriion, one of his captains. “Lord Maglor,” Heriion began. The two of them had fought side by side countless times. They’d defended Maglor’s lands in the Gap together for more than 400 years. Now Heriion looked at him with wariness and clutched his sword. “This is madness, hîr nín. These people aren’t our enemies. I cannot be part of this.”

You’re right , Maglor thought. “Step aside, Heriion,” He said.

Heriion didn’t move. He pleaded, using Quenya now. “Prince Kanafinwe, have mercy. What we’re doing here is wrong.” 

Across the square, Maglor caught a glimpse of Maedhros’ red hair. My brothers died for this, He thought. I cannot let them down.

He made quick work with Heriion and hurried to Maedhros’ side, once again hearing the oath in his mind:

“Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end!”

***

Clarity didn’t fully return to Maglor’s mind until way later. It was after they’d pursued Elwing to the top of the tower and watched in shock as she leaped from there. Even more shocked, had they been when she rose from the ocean in the shape of a swan. A strange divine power. Ulmo must have been looking out for her. 

When the Silmaril was just a faint light on the distant sky, the oath seemed to fade into the background of his mind. That was both a blessing and a curse.

What have we done? The twins are dead. What have we done?

He couldn’t bear to look as the Silmaril disappeared. 

We’ve done the most horrible thing imaginable. And it was all for nothing.

He turned his head in defeat, then gaped in surprise when he realized that there were two children standing on the balcony with them. Two little dark-haired boys, still dressed in their night-clothes, petrified from shock and all-encompassing fear. In some cruel twist of fate, they were twins. Twins like Amrod and Amras. Twins like…. 

Taken aback, he alerted Maedhros - now his only living brother - to their presence. For a fraction of a second, Maedhros seemed stunned too. Then he took to surveying the children, his eyes narrow. “You are the sons of Elwing and Eärendil, are you not? He asked them. The boys nodded, hesitantly.

Maglor felt dread rising in his stomach. “Maedhros, surely you do not mean for us to…” He spoke in Quenya, a language he assumed Elwing’s sons wouldn’t understand. Killing defenseless terrified children minutes after said children had watched their mother cast herself from a cliff. An evil deed if there ever was one. Had they really fallen that far?

Maedhros looked from Maglor to the children and then back to Maglor. He lowered his sword and proceeded to speak in Sindarin, clearly not caring what the children overheard. “We’re not killing them, they’re valuable hostages. If Elwing returns with the jewel, we can make an exchange. Till then they’re coming with us.”

The children cowered at Maedhros’ words, but Maglor felt nothing but relief. They’ll live. We won’t have to kill them. They’ll live. He sheathed his swords and sat down on his heels in front of them. “I am Maglor son of Fëanor.” He said, trying to sound gentle. “This is my brother Maedhros. What are your names?”

“Elros” 

“Elrond” 

Their answers were barely hearable. They didn’t meet his gaze. Of course, they didn’t, after what they’d seen him do. He wouldn’t if he’d been in their place. 

At the top of the stairs, Maedhros was waiting impatiently. “Come here,” Maglor said to the children, rising to his feet. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

That much was true, he figured. Until their mother came for them, if she would come for them, Elrond and Elros were under the protection of the House of Fëanor. Maglor took both boys in his arms. As kinslayers and children descended into the devastated Havens, he promised himself that he wouldn’t let any harm come to them. 

Chapter Text

The kinslayers took them through the smoldering ruins of what had once been their home. The dark-haired kinslayer - Maglor Fëanorion - carried them. He had draped his red cloak over Elrond and Elros' heads. They couldn't see a thing, but they could smell smoke and blood, hear yelling, hurried footsteps, and groans of pain from injured elves. After a few minutes, their abductor stopped. He called someone over and gave them brief instructions, using Quenya, the same language he had spoken in on the balcony. Elrond hadn't the faintest idea what was said.

They continued, and after a few minutes, Maglor sat them down. Elrond registered that they were now alone with Maglor, and outside the town's gate. With gloved hands placed firmly on their shoulders, Maglor led them to the nearby Fëanorian camp. It was crowded with soldiers in red, already working on packing up tents and horses. Elrond figured the kinslayers wanted to leave in a hurry before the High King arrived with reinforcements.

After a moment another Fëanorian soldier arrived, carrying a heap of clothes. After bowing her head in respect, she handed the clothes to Maglor, who then handed some of them to Elrond and Elros. “Go in there and change your clothes. Then come back here at once,” He said sternly, gesturing to the largest of the tents. The clothes were their own, Elrond realized as he put it on. While he was happy to get out of his nightclothes and to put on socks and shoes, especially, he didn’t like the thought of the kinslayers searching through their room, stealing their personal items without a second thought. 

They exited the tent hand in hand and saw that the rest of the Fëanorians’ followers had come. Maedhros was with them, surveying their progress and giving out commands. Elrond recalled the things the storytellers had said of the eldest Fëanorian. A beast, a cripple, ferocious, half-mad. The sight of him made Elrond’s mouth go dry with fear. He won't hurt us, he needs us to as hostages. He repeated to himself, trying to believe in it just a little.

Maglor came and greeted them. “Let me take your nightclothes. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back later.” 

Then his face turned solemn, his voice softer. “I know you’re very scared. I won’t ask you not to be, this is an awful ordeal. But know that no one here will harm you. You’re safe with us, that I guarantee.” 

He continued talking, telling them that one of them would have to ride with him and the other with Maedhros. Elrond felt a small surge of relief when Elros squeezed his hand reassuringly and let him ride with Maglor. 

When the last tent was taken down, Maglor led him to a black horse, larger than any Elrond had seen before. “His name is Cúron.” Maglor said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “You need not be frightened. He’s very gentle.” Elrond cautiously reached out and touched the horse’s flank. Then Maglor lifted him onto the horse’s back, climbed up behind him, and took the reins. Elrond had never ridden before and he clutched the horse’s mane tightly in fear of falling off.

The Fëanorian host took off, riders in scores moving as one. In an attempt to catch one last glimpse of his home, Elrond leaned to the side and looked back over his shoulder. He looked away quickly, at the sight of the rising smoke. He stared stiffly ahead and felt the cold metal of Maglor’s armor press against him as they rode off along the mouth of the river.

They journeyed at a quick pace, pausing only briefly by the water, where the Fëanorian soldiers cleaned the blood and dirt off their armor and let their horses drink. For the entirety of that time, someone was keeping a close eye on Elrond and Elros. 

After hours and hours of riding, the Fëanorians stopped to make camp for the night. As soon as Elrond’s feet hit the ground he was back holding Elros’ hand. Saddle sore and too exhausted to stand, they sat down in the dewy grass. Maglor soon came to see them. In the darkness, his eyes shone with a bright glow. Silver, like the light of the moon. Had he not been so terrified of him, Elrond might have found it beautiful. Before returning to his troops, Maglor handed them each a cloak. They were made of green fabric, not red, worn and way too long for them, but warm and soft.

Most of the soldiers seemed to be planning to sleep in the open, but Maglor and Maedhros had a tent raised. They brought Elrond and Elros there, then gave them food to eat. It was military rations, served with waybread, and tea. Elrond and Elros had a silent conversation and determined that it was probably safe to eat. The meal was bland, uninteresting, but they had had nothing to eat for the entire day and were awfully hungry. When Maglor, who had barely touched his own food, asked them if they wanted to share his part of the bread, they both nodded. Who knew when they were going to be offered food again?  

Staying in the same tent as Maedhros turned out to be less horrible than Elrond had feared. He had acted strict and commanding toward the soldiers, but he didn't converse with his brother and he barely acknowledged the twins’ presence. The few times he’d look at them, Maedhros looked almost unnerved as if he was the one who was frightened of them, which of course, made no sense at all. But most of the time he just ate in silence, his gaze somewhere far away.

Maglor was different, oddly talkative, asking them questions in his strange lilting dialect. They answered them warily, afraid of repercussions if they didn't, but Elrond didn’t understand what the point was. What did it matter to Maglor whether they liked honey in their tea or what their favorite animals were? On top of that, the kinslayer was unusually good at telling them apart despite their identical clothes. 

Maglor did look a lot less scary without his armor and the red bloodstains that had covered it. With his long braided black hair, sharp features, and high cheekbones, he looked no different from the Ñoldor elves Elrond had known in Sirion. As he talked to them, he gesticulated a lot, he constantly fidgeted with something, a nervous habit of a sort, and when he smiled he’d scrunch his nose in a funny way. Elrond told himself over and over again to not be the least bit fooled. He threatened to kill Naneth. He must have killed so many people in Sirion. He’d kill you too if he wasn’t planning to trade you for that jewel.  

***

After tossing and turning for a while, Elrond fell asleep next to his brother on a pile of furs and blankets in the Fëanorians’ tent. The next morning, when everyone was occupied getting the horses ready, the two of them finally had a chance to talk out of earshot. “I don’t think Maedhros slept at all,” Elros whispered. “That’ll make it a lot harder to escape.”

“You mean run away? We can't! Who knows what they’ll do to us if they catch us?”

“We just have to make sure they don’t find us,” Elros said under his breath, putting a hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “We’ll go back to Sirion, we’ll find some survivors or maybe the High King’s forces.”

Elrond nodded. It did sound like their best chance.

Soon they were moving again. Elrond once again rode with Maglor on Cúron. Elros was in the very front, riding with Maedhros who cut a powerful figure on a large silver horse. His armor gleamed in the sunlight and the wind in his red hair made it look like he bore a crown of flames. 

He’d been High King once, for a short period of time, Elrond suddenly remembered. The loremasters who had provided his and Elros schooling had made them memorize the list of High Kings of the Ñoldor, and Maedhros' name had been the third one. Elrond couldn’t quite recall the events that had led to Maedhros abdicating, but he knew that those who followed the House of Fëanor still considered him the rightful High King of the Ñoldor.

The Fëanorian host rode all day beneath the burning sun. They crossed the river Sirion north of the delta and continued North West. When twilight fell, they’d reached a forest where they made camp in a clearing surrounded by large willow trees. 

That night, Elrond and Elros looked on as the Sons of Fëanor lit a funeral pyre for the two of their brothers who had fallen in the attack on Sirion. The ones who had been twins. 

“You two can just stay in here.” Maglor had told them, but they ended up watching from the tent door. At first, Elrond and Elros didn't know what they were witnessing. No one had explained it to them. A heap of wood was suddenly set on fire in the darkness and Maedhros said a few words in Quenya to the assembled elves. To Elrond’s surprise, someone then brought forward a small harp for Maglor.

When Maglor began to sing and play, Elrond couldn’t help but gape in wonder. Maglor’s music was ethereal, wonderful, like nothing he had ever heard before. As the melody rose and fell, Elrond saw images in his mind of two little redheaded boys, playing in a blessed realm, and of the large lively family that adored them. The tones turned deeper, wilder, as the two boys grew into fiery young elves who would hunt and track and explore the wilderness, but always come home to their brothers at the end of the day. 

The final part of the song was simple and sorrowful, an elegy. Elrond understood then, that the twin boys were kinslayers, that they were dead now, and that Maglor was lamenting them. When he was done the music seemed to hang in the air. Elrond didn’t know how to feel. It seemed terribly unfair that someone who was evil at heart should be able to sing that beautifully.

In whispering voices, he and Elros had gone over their plan multiple times. They’d pretend to be asleep, crawl under the tent canvas, take some of the rations from Maglor's saddlebag, sneak past the guards and get away from the kinslayers as fast as possible. They had to try. When they returned to the tent, Maedhros and Maglor were both very quiet, their faces drawn in grief. For a moment Elrond almost felt sorry for them. But their brothers wouldn’t have died if they hadn’t attacked us. He thought. Why did they even come? All this for some shiny gem...

Eventually, both Fëanorian brothers fell asleep. Elrond and Elros took one last wary look at their captors. Elrond thought once again that he didn’t understand them at all. With their hearts racing, they snuck out of the tent and escaped into the night.

***

It felt as if they had been walking in the darkness for hours. Thick, black clouds had hidden the stars away. Elrond couldn't even see his hand in front of him. 

All around them the forest seemed to have come alive, crickets were chirping, bugs were swarming, some small animal was rustling in the undergrowth. Elrond shuddered. What if are were wolves in these woods?

As they struggled through the thicket he was trying hard not to think about Eluréd and Elurín, his mother’s lost brothers. Like him and Elros, they’d been twins. They’d been six years old. They’d been alone in the wilds of Beleriand and no one had ever found them. 

A sudden nearby sound made them both startle in fright. “It was nothing,” Elros’ voice was trembling slightly and he clasped Elrond's hand. “Just a bird flapping its wings.” 

They began moving again, and Elrond still couldn’t keep his thoughts from running wild. Something dangerous could be right in front of our faces, he thought. This darkness is so impenetrable that we wouldn’t even realize it before it was too late.

Anywhere is better than with the kinslayers, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that running away had been a terrible idea. 

Suddenly he felt his brother’s hand slipping out of his. Elros had fallen to the ground and was groaning in pain. He must have tripped over something.

“Ow, I think I twisted my ankle!” Elros sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "It hurts!"

Elrond was close to panic as he helped his brother get to his feet and hugged him tightly. “Can you walk? Elros, you can walk, right?” What would he even do if Elros was badly hurt? 

“I’m alright, it’s fine.” Elros insisted, gritting his teeth, but as they continued through the forest he moved notably slower. 

They hadn’t walked far when they heard a noise. Something was clearly approaching. Something big. They heard heavy footsteps on the woodland floor and sort of low growling roars. 

Elrond had frozen in terror. “Is that a bear?” He whispered. 

That’s when they heard the thing speaking. Words in a harsh guttural language that they didn’t understand. Elros was the first to comprehend what that meant. “No. Orcs! Run! Run!”

***

Maglor felt sick with worry. Maedhros had just woken him up, gesturing to the tent floor beside them and its distinct lack of sleeping half-elven children. In the blink of an eye, he’d gotten up, grabbed his weapons and one of his father’s lamps, and run into the forest the way they'd come.

He’d expected the children might try to run. But out here, in the back of beyond? They were days of journeying from any kind of settlement. What was worse, the scouts they’d sent out earlier had seen tracks after orcs not far from here. He had avoided mentioning it to the children because he didn’t want them to be more terrified than they already were. Now Elrond and Elros were alone out there, unknowing that monsters worse than Fëanor’s sons roamed these woods.

Close behind him was Maedhros, also holding a Fëanorian lamp in a chain. Aided by the light from the crystals they quickly searched through the underwood, looking for any sign that the boys had passed through. 

Maedhros looked pale and tensed up. Even more tensed up than usual, that was. Maglor could all too well guess what he was thinking back too. “We’ll find them. It won’t be like... They can’t have gone far,” He reassured his brother. 

The search went on.

“Here, look”  Maedhros was bending over a twig near the ground. A few green threads were stuck there, a sure sign that a child in a much too long cape had been passing through. They headed south, and hurried through the woods, then stopped abruptly. Maglor had registered two things at the exact same time. The distant sound of a child screaming and the blades of their swords suddenly glowing bright blue.

They stormed in direction of the sound and soon reached the horrific scene. The Peredhel twins had climbed a tree and were clutching to the branches. At the ground, a pack of yrch surrounded them. Maedhros and Maglor were upon the orcs at once. 

Maglor fought them ruthlessly. Moving swiftly through the darkness he beheaded one orc and slit the throat of another. He felt lighter and less burdened without the usual weight of his armor. Or perhaps it was because he knew these foes were Morgoth’s fell creatures, not innocent elves or Edain . He took down two more using precise bone-breaking blows. He then looked up and saw the few remaining orcs fleeing and Maedhros setting off after them.

He waited by the foot of the tree and after a moment he heard a frail voice coming from above him. “Are they gone?”

“Yes, you can come down.” It had been good thinking on the children’s part, to climb a tree. It wouldn’t have sheltered them from the orcs forever, but it had bought them time and probably saved their lives.

The two boys emerged, slowly climbing down. They looked rough, exhausted, and dirty, with scratches on their faces and twigs in their hair. One of them, Maglor thought it might be Elrond, had lost his cape in the fray and was trembling in the cold of the night. Of course, half-elves probably felt the cold more than the Eldar.  “Are you injured?” Maglor asked them.

The cloak-less one, Elrond, mumbled “Elros hurt his foot,” and looked at the ground. Maglor didn’t miss the betrayed look Elros sent his twin, clearly not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of Maglor.

“It’s alright, Elros,” He said. “Will you allow me to look at it?”

Elros nodded warily. “Here, hold this.”  Maglor handed Elrond the Fëanorian lamp and went to look at Elros’ foot. He was no healer, but throughout the war, he’d had to deal with his fair share of accidents and minor battlefield injuries. Elros was clearly in pain, his ankle was swollen and slightly bruised. Thankfully it didn’t look like it was broken.

“I think it’s sprained. Do you know what that means?” Elros shook his head. “It’s not bad. You’re gonna be fine, but it’ll heal faster if you avoid walking on it.” 

Maedhros appeared between the trees, having dealt with the fleeing orcs. He was covered in blood again, but thankfully black instead of red this time. Beside Maglor, Elros’ eyes were filling with tears. “Does it hurt very much?” Maglor asked.

“It was my idea to run away,” Elros whispered.  “Elrond was just following along. Please don’t hurt him.”

Maglor felt a sharp pang of guilt for being the reason the boy was this terrified. “Elros, I’m not going to hurt Elrond or you. Maedhros isn’t either. See, he’s just lending your brother his cloak.” 

The black fur-lined cloak belonging to Maedhros, who towered over most elves, looked comically large on the little boy. The sight made Elros smile just a little.

“But please refrain from running again. Tonight could have ended very badly.” Maglor doubted Elrond and Elros would make another attempt at escaping any time soon, but he needed to make himself clear. They couldn’t very well go chasing after the children like this every night. Elros nodded then yawned. Maglor carefully picked him up so that he wouldn’t have to walk.

He walked towards Maedhros just in time to hear Elrond gasp. “What happened to you?” Elrond asked Maedhros, his eyes wide. Maglor winced. Maedhros was not wearing his prosthesis, Elrond was gaping at the stump where his hand had been cut off. Now was definitely not the right time for the children to hear that particular tale.

Maedhros seemed to be of the same opinion. He simply told Elrond “Don’t worry about it,” in a tone that was dry but not hostile. He added. “We should head back to camp,” and Maglor could not agree more.

With the blue light illuminating the path, the four of them slowly made their way through the forest. “Thank you for helping me find them,” Maglor quietly said to his brother as they approached the camp.

Maedhros looked at him with a raised eyebrow that was surely meant to convey: “We can’t exchange them for the Silmaril if they’re dead.” 

Maglor looked from his brother to the child walking beside him wrapped in his cloak. He then sent Maedhros a look he hoped would translate as: “You’re not that coldhearted, brother, and we both know it.”

When they reached the clearing and were back in the safety of the camp, Maglor looked up and noticed that the clouds had parted, revealing the starry sky.

Chapter Text

“Look, that’s where we’re headed, Amon Ereb.” Elrond and Maglor were at the front of the host, riding in walk across the windswept plains. Maglor was pointing to a place on the horizon, where a large fortress was built on the top of a broad hill. 

Obviously, that’s where we’re going. It’s not as if there are any other giant looming fortresses in front of us, Elrond thought sourly. The Fëanorians could drag him and Elros across the continent to this miserable fortress of theirs, but they couldn’t make them be happy about it. He pouted, said nothing, and patted the horse’s shoulder. He had gotten used to the horseriding and he had come to rather like Maglor’s horse. It wasn’t Cúron’s fault he had a kinslayer for a rider. 

Beleriand had turned out to be so much bigger, harsher, and wilder than Elrond had ever imagined. They’d ridden day in and day out, through forests, heath, and scrublands, in the shadow of the high Andram Hills. 

Though the landscapes were beautiful, the journey had overall been awfully boring. In Elrond’s opinion, the most exciting thing that had happened was an incident a week earlier, when some of the soldiers had tethered the horses carelessly. They’d spent a chaotic morning finding and rounding up the stray mounts. Elrond and Elros had heard Maedhros swear under his breath in at least five different languages and been glad that they weren’t the ones he was mad at.

Five days into the journey, Elros, scared and in pain, had worked himself halfway into a tantrum, calling out for their mother, demanding to be taken home right that instant. Maglor had looked at him with pity and had hesitantly tried to get him to calm down. Maedhros had shot Elros an annoyed look and told him, “You’ll attract every orc in the area with your shouting, child.” Elros had quickly fallen quiet and the twins had hidden underneath their blanket as Maglor and Maedhros traded tense words in Quenya.

When they rode off the next day, Elrond had dared to tell Maglor, “I want my mother.” He had said it quietly so that no one could protest. 

“I know,” was what Maglor answered. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now. Try and think of something else.”

Elrond tried to do that, but he found that most of his thoughts were frightening. Elros and he had made no further escape attempts since the time they ran into the orcs in the forest. Elrond had tried all he could to forget about that night and how scared he’d been, but when he tried to fall asleep, thoughts of the fanged monsters who had chased them through the woods would mix with pictures of his burning home, his people dying in the streets, and his mother casting herself into the sea.

Particularly that last one.

Why?  Had Elrond asked himself as it was happening and he still didn’t understand. Why had she jumped? Why hadn’t she tried to bargain? Did she really hate the Sons of Fëanor more than she loved him and Elros? 

No, she loved him and his brother, she had always told them that. She simply didn’t know they were there. She must have thought they were dead. She had thought the kinslayers would kill them.

But the Sons of Fëanor hadn’t killed them, they’d just brought them along, and later, in the forest, they had gone on to save their lives. That was another moment Elrond was trying his best not to think about. The brief moment when he, from the branch he'd clung to, had seen Maglor and Maedhros charging through the woods, bathed in blue light, and felt nothing but relief. He didn’t want to owe the Sons of Fëanor anything, but if it hadn’t been for them, he and Elros would have died that night.

Elrond had found that it was hard to be terrified of two different things at the same time. Maedhros and Maglor were his enemies, cruel and deadly dangerous, but they’d made it clear they wanted to keep him and Elros alive and unharmed for now, and that they would shield them from any danger. These last weeks of traveling the Fëanorians had mostly seemed weary, impatient to get back to their fortress, and strangely protective of him and Elros. They had carefully let Elros’ ankle heal and though the food wasn’t in abundance Elrond and Elros were always given plenty to eat. In Elrond’s eyes all that made Maglor and Maedhros just slightly less scary than the Enemy’s orcs.

***

A few hours later, they were riding up the hill towards the fortress’ entrance. The large gate was flanked by crimson banners that each bore the eight-pointed star. The emblem of the House of Fëanor, Elrond had learned. 

From behind the battlements a voice greeted the returned lords. The gate opened wide and the Fëanorian host rode into a large outer courtyard. As the gate closed behind them, Elrond looked around at the tall ivy-covered stone walls. He’d never been in a fortress before and he didn’t like it one bit. 

The riders dismounted, Elros and Elrond were helped down, and some stable hands emerged from one of the buildings to deal with the horses. Maglor told them to follow him and led them through another gate into a smaller cobbled courtyard, then down a staircase to the baths. Behind a partition screen, Elrond and Elros washed off the worst of the traveling grime, changed into new clothes, and combed their hair.

“Come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” Maglor said to them once they had finished. He’d bathed too, braided his hair neatly, and changed into a blue tunic. 

They followed him up several flights of stairs into a dimly lit hallway. Elrond surveyed it and found once again that this place was nothing like the airy buildings they had lived in at the Havens. Here there were few windows and the thick grey walls were covered in faded tapestries, which showed battle scenes and historical events. 

After turning a corner, Maglor opened a wooden door. “This will be your room,” he told them. “Mine is around the next corner, second door to the right, and Maedhros’ is at the end of that hallway.” 

Elrond peered into the room and found that it was large and completely ordinary. It had two beds, a closet and some empty shelves, a dining table with four chairs, and a large window, framed with claret-colored drapes, which brought in sunlight and offered a view of the plains. The part of Elrond that had been fearing a dark underground cell breathed a sigh of relief.

Maglor gestured for them to enter the room and sit down on one of the beds. “It’s been a long journey, you should rest. Later you’ll be free to explore the fortress should you wish to. I’ll have to attend our council, and then see to a few things, but I’ll be back once that’s finished.” 

Elrond and Elros both nodded. Maglor made to leave the room.

“Um, Lord Maglor?” Elrond hesitantly began.

“There’s no need for titles,” Maglor assured him, waiting for him to continue.

“Can we move the beds together? We… We used to do that at home.”

“I don’t see why not.” Maglor had a faint smile on his lips. “Do you need my assistance?”

“No,” Elrond and Elros said in unison.

“I’ll be seeing you soon.” Maglor left the room, leaving the door closed but unlocked.

It took Elrond and Elros a good while to move the beds. They were made of cast iron and terribly heavy. It would have been a lot easier if they’d accepted Maglor’s offer of help, not that either of them would ever admit it. 

They didn’t have much to unpack. Their few personal possessions consisted of their clothes from home, a few pretty pine cones they’d picked up during the journey and carried in their pockets, and the glowing blue crystal in the chain that Maglor had handed Elrond in the forest. Elrond figured it didn’t quite count as a possession, but Maglor had never asked for him to give it back and he’d gotten used to having it. After some consideration, he put it on his bedside table. 

Then, of course, there was the old silver ring that Elros carried in a chain around his neck, an heirloom passed down to him from their mother. It was shaped like two serpents with emeralds for eyes. Weeks ago, when Maedhros and Maglor had first noticed the ring, they’d both frozen and looked at it with clear recognition and sadness. Elrond had feared they’d take it from his brother, but they hadn’t. As soon as they had looked away, Elros had stuffed the ring back underneath his tunic for safety’s sake.

They collapsed on the beds and rested for a few hours until they heard a knock on the door. Maglor had returned, bringing with him Maedhros, who’d also changed out of his traveling clothes. They had a box with them, it was made of wood and painted intricately with tiny silver stars and flowers. Elrond wondered what could be in it. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything bad.

All four of them sat down at the table, and Maglor briefly recounted the council they’d had. Elrond understood that the Fëanorians suspected that his mother had flown to the Isle of Balar. They’d written to High King Gil-galad who resided there, informing him that they held the sons of Elwing captive and were willing to exchange them for the Silmaril.

“I hope you’ll be reunited with your mother soon,” Maglor said. 

He sounds so sincere . Elrond thought, but it might be some sort of pretense. Maglor always acted polite, almost kind when he was around them, and Elrond still couldn’t figure out why. 

“Until your mother makes the trade you’ll stay here in Amon Ereb. We’ll find a tutor for you, you’ll have daily lessons. The rest of your time you can spend however you like, as long as you stay within the fortress.”

Maedhros took over. “You shall lack nothing. And you have nothing to fear from anyone here. That said, you aren’t allowed to cause any trouble, or be in the way. This stronghold was built for war, not for children. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Elrond and Elros nodded. It didn’t sound that bad. They could live with this until their mother came for them. 

“Good,” Maglor said. “You are welcome to come and eat with our household in the Great Hall, should you eventually wish to. Till then your meals will be brought to you here.”

The mention of food caught Elrond’s attention, he’d been aching for a meal that had been cooked in a proper kitchen instead of out in the wilds. “When is dinner?” He asked, though it felt more than a little strange to ask the kinslayers such mundane questions.

“In half an hour, or so,” Maglor answered. “Meanwhile you can take a look at this if you want” He lifted the lid of the box. Elrond opened his eyes wide when he saw that it was full of toys. “It’s yours while you’re here, something to pass the time.” 

A sad look in Maglor’s eyes and a reluctant one in Maedhros’ left Elrond wondering who these toys had belonged to.

“Thank you,” He and Elros both said, more out reflex than any actual gratitude. 

When Maedhros and Maglor had left, Elrond and Elros remained at the table, looking at the box of toys as if it could start to sprout fire at any moment. One thing was accepting food from the Fëanorians, but playing with their old toys? That didn’t feel right. 

After a while curiosity got the better of them. Naneth wouldn’t want us to die of boredom, would she? Elrond thought as they began unpacking the contents of the box.

The toys were the finest Ñoldorin craft, each piece a tiny work of art. There were model houses and palaces, little elves and horses and carriages, wrought in wood and metal and painted in bright colors. There were board games, marbles, beads and string, charcoal pencils and thin sheets of white paper. 

There were no toy soldiers or wooden swords. That struck Elrond as odd until he came to the realization that these toys had been made before the war, that the Fëanorians must have taken them with them when they crossed the sea. Then he was completely perplexed. In Beleriand, Valinorean crafts were considered to have priceless value. Why in all of Arda would Maglor and Maedhros let them, their prisoners, borrow these? 

Elros prodded him, grabbed a toy from the table, and got to his feet. “I’ll take this castle, you take that one!”

“Hey! Who said you got to pick first?”

Elros grinned. “I did!” 

“That doesn’t count!”

They spread the toys all over the floor and played with them until dinner arrived.

***

To Maglor, Amon Ereb was a cold display of the past. It had been built by Caranthir more than a century ago, and every room, every stone, every blade of grass, reminded Maglor of his brothers. They had all withdrawn to this fortress after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. They’d been defeated and miserable, constantly at each other’s throats, but at least they’d been together. Seven Fëanorian brothers. Now only two of them remained.

No place brought back more memories than the hall on the fourth floor, the one Maglor headed to after they’d dismissed the council. The place had come to double as a private armory and a depository. It was full to the brim with the devices and inventions that their father or Curufin had worked on: rune-engraved weapons, astronomical and geographical equipment, smithwork of every art. 

It also contained some of Maedhros’ and Caranthir’s many notes and records on trade and politics, tons of hunting gear that had belonged to Celegorm or to the twins, and most of the instruments Maglor had made or bought over the years. The walls were covered in maps they’d made and in bookcases containing the volumes they didn’t want in the open library. 

Maglor made for the furthest corner, where Celebrimbor's old stuff was hidden away in a wardrobe. No one had touched it in decades. He opened the doors and smiled sadly at the sight: The shelves were full of old clothes and toys and the earliest of Tyelpe’s creative projects. After a moment of hesitation, he took a wooden box, elegantly painted by Curufin’s wife, and started selecting playthings to fill it with.

“Are you planning on helping me, Maedhros, or are you just going to stand there?”

Maedhros, who’d been watching silently from the door, crossed the room and joined him in front of the wardrobe, looking utterly unimpressed. Maglor could practically hear what he was thinking: Really, Maglor? Giving our nephew’s old toys to the poor child hostages in some pitiful attempt to feel better about yourself?

He’d be right. Maedhros usually was.

At the council, they had decided to send two of their heralds off to Balar with a letter detailing their terms for the exchange: The release of Elrond and Elros for the return of their father’s Silmaril. The letter also emphasized that if the heralds were harmed, Elwings’s sons would pay the price. Maglor knew that was mostly for the purpose of intimidation. Maedhros, who had known Ereinion Gil-galad well once, was sure he wouldn’t lay hand on their messengers. 

It was no less awful. Those parents were going to wring his neck and he absolutely deserved it.

Trying to think about something else, he opened a new drawer and looked through the contents. “Do children even play marbles these days?” He asked Maedhros, weighing the small bag of marbles in his hand.

Maedhros shrugged. “How would I know?” Then, after a moment, he reached into the closet and handed Maglor one of the board games. “Here, take this one”

“ Limë as canta? I hated that game.” 

“That’s just ‘cause you were terrible at it,” Maedhros said, a hint of a smile in his voice. 

“I was not!” Maglor objected with mock-offense, before stuffing the game in the box with the rest of the toys. They’d been an entire family of terrible losers.

“Didn’t Tyelpe beat you at it before he’d learned to walk?” Maedhros teased him, before going very quiet.

Celebrimbor's name was never said out loud in Amon Ereb. His absence was a hole in the household that was never addressed. “I have no son.”  Curufin had snapped whenever anyone had dared to speak of him. Proud to the last, he hadn’t even mentioned Tyelpe as he laid dying in Doriath. 

Tyelpe had indeed beaten most of the family in every strategy game starting at a young age. He’d always been such a clever child, Maglor thought, wise and with a good heart. That was the whole reason he’d forsaken them, why he wanted nothing to do with them.

I know, Maitimo. I miss him too. He wanted to say. I hope he is well .

Instead, he sighed and said “This has got to be enough toys. We should go talk to them.”

Going downstairs to tell the terrified children that their future depended on a jewel and their missing mother. That they were little more than means to an end. Maglor found that he almost couldn't bear it.

***

Elrond and Elros were solemn and quiet when Maglor and Maedhros came to see them. Quieter than children should ever be, Maglor thought, though he could hardly blame them. Their eyes, which he couldn't help but notice was so much like Turgon’s and Idril’s, were filled with thinly veiled fear as they listened to him.

He wished there was something, anything at all, he could say or do to soothe them, but he knew that they didn’t trust him anywhere near enough for that. They wanted no comfort from those that had slain their kin and set their home ablaze.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Maglor thought their faces brightened a bit at the sight of Tyelpe’s old toys. To them, Amon Ereb had to seem strange and gloomy. As Maedhros had rightly pointed out, the place hadn’t exactly been built with children in mind. Hopefully having something to play with could provide them a little solace in this unwelcoming place.

When they left the children’s room they went straight to their shared study. There was no lack of work to be done. The Enemy’s forces never slept for long, the fortress’ scouts had seen packs of orcs near their eastern borders. Tomorrow, Maedhros and a section of their warriors would be riding out to deal with them.

Maglor had wished that his brother could get at least a few days of rest, but Maedhros, who the orcs feared more than any other, was badly needed out there. Their position as the last Elven stronghold in Beleriand was a vulnerable one. Even more so now that they had sacked the Havens. As much as he hated to admit it, Maglor wasn’t sure how long they would be able to hold the fortress.

Their following was greatly diminished, many had fallen in the attack on Sirion. Some, like Heriion had deserted in the heat of battle and died aiding Elwing. Maglor knew Sirion’s casualties had been much greater than theirs. I did that. He thought. I brought death upon all those innocent people. And more horrifying yet: If a Silmaril comes within reach once more I’ll shed blood for it again. 

They sharpened Maedhros’ weapons, discussed the dwindling food stores, planned the appointment of new captains, and pecked at their dinner. “It’s late,” Maglor said after a good while of dead silence. “I should go and make sure the children get to bed. I’ll be there to send you off tomorrow morning.”

Maedhros nodded and bid him goodnight. He looked exhausted, strained, so very different from the handsome statesman he’d once been. He appeared kept together by the oath alone, but every once in a while Maglor would catch a glimpse of the big brother he loved so dearly. The brother he would follow to the ends of the world. If only he could hold on to him.

He walked to the children’s room and knocked. One of them, Maglor was pretty sure it was Elros, opened the door. Elrond was peering out from behind him. “It’s time for bed. Change your clothes, I’ll find you some more blankets.”

Maglor carefully tucked them in, side by side on the joined beds. He lingered for a moment. There was something he wanted to say to them, but he didn’t know exactly what. 

Finally, he managed “The door, if I close it, it’ll be pitch-dark. Do you want me to leave it open?” 

“If you leave it open, will anyone come in here?” Elrond, the one on the right, asked, looking up at him with large eyes.

“No, no one will, I promise.”

“Then open it a little bit”

Maglor rose to his feet. “I will. Goodnight you two.” 

He left the door ajar behind him and walked through the familiar hallways. At the end of the day, he thought, Amon Ereb, though dismal and ridden with memories, was a safe place to stay. For him, his brother, and the remains of their people. And for the children who somehow mattered more to him with every passing day.

Chapter Text

When Elrond woke up it took him a brief moment to remember where exactly he was. Rubbing his eyes and looking around the room, he was met by cold grey stone walls and elegant Ñoldorin furniture. A bright blue crystal was lying on the small table beside the bed. A shiver ran down Elrond’s spine when at once it all came rushing back. The Sons of Fëanor. Amon Ereb.

Not knowing what else to do, he burrowed himself beneath the warm blankets, laid his head back on his pillow, and closed his eyes. Elros was still sleeping peacefully beside him, his breathing soft and rhythmic.

Eventually, Elrond realized there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep again. Careful not to wake his brother, he rose and tiptoed to the windowsill where he pushed one of the curtains aside and sat down to look out on the surroundings. 

It was, of course, the same lowlands they’d ridden through yesterday, rolling terrains of green grass, now partly hidden by white mist. In the distance, he could catch a glimpse of a herd of deer passing by. He smiled slightly, thinking that from this faraway vantage point, they looked no bigger than the toy figurines on the floor.

For a while, he felt almost at ease. He wished that he and Elros could just go on ignoring the rest of the fortress, that they could just stay in here until their mother came to save them. Then the three of them would finally be together again. Naneth would agree to the Fëanorians’ terms and make the exchange. He and Elros would be free to leave and the Sons of Fëanor would get their precious Silmaril. 

Their father’s Silmaril, they called it. Maedhros and Maglor claimed it was their family’s by right, that the Sindar had stolen it. Elrond didn’t know if he believed them. His family weren’t thieves, they were good people. And what did it matter anyway? Heirloom or not, it was nothing but a pretty rock. In no way worth all this pain and blood and destruction, regardless of how much the Fëanorians wanted it back.

May they choke on it. Elrond thought sourly. But as he thought about it for a while, he found he didn’t quite mean it. He did blame Maglor and Maedhros for all the harm they’d done, to his people and to his family. He knew he should hate them and he did. But at the end of the day, he didn’t actually want any harm to come to them. They had, after all, saved his and Elros’ lives. If only Maedhros and Maglor would let him and Elros go, take the jewel, and then stay in their fortress forever and never hurt anyone again.

There was a knock on the door and one of the Fëanorians’ attendants entered, carrying two trays of breakfast. He sat them down on the table. “Good morning. Lord Maglor told me to inform you that he'll come by in half an hour.” Seeing the worry on Elrond’s face, he added: “It’s nothing to be afraid of. I believe he just wants to show you and your brother around.”

“Oh,” Elrond said, fidgeting with the sleeve on his nightshirt. “Thanks for the food.”

When the servant had left, Elrond eyed the food on the table. There were porridge, rye bread, and apple slices, and two cups of tea with honey. It smelled sweet. He figured it was about time to wake Elros up, he shouldn’t miss out on breakfast.

Once he had gotten Elros out of bed, they ate together, chatting about the food, and about yesterday’s play. Elrond traded his bread for half of Elros’ apple and thought that he’d definitely gotten the better end of that deal. They changed out of their nightclothes and had begun an intense game of marbles when Maglor knocked on the door. At the sight of them sprawled across the floor, he raised an eyebrow and gave one of his half smiles 

“Good Morning you two. Did you sleep alright?”

“We slept fine,” Elros muttered. Elrond nodded along with him.

“And what about the food? Did it suffice?”

“It did,” said Elrond,  his voice stilted.

“Good. Then why don’t you put on your shoes and come with me?” Maglor didn’t phrase it as an order, but Elrond doubted they'd be allowed to refuse. 

Maglor guided them out the room, through the corridor, and downstairs, stopping a few times on the way to explain where the different doors led. Elrond, overwhelmed with the sheer size of the place, only caught about half of it. They met a few elves on their way, most of them dressed in the red Fëanorian livery. They all greeted Maglor politely and looked at Elrond and Elros with ill-concealed curiosity.

“One of my soldier’s daughters has agreed to tutor you while you’re here,” Maglor explained as they walked side by side. “I’m thinking we’ll stop by the library so you can meet her.”

They walked through another hallway and then through a two-leaved door into the library hall. Elrond looked around, surprised that it was so much nicer decorated than the rest of the fortress. The windows were stained glass, there were red and white mosaic tiles on the floor, columns of white marble from floor to ceiling and rows and rows of tall bookcases full of scrolls and leather-bound volumes. Elrond figured whoever built it must have been a most avid reader.

A few of the Fëanorians’ followers were there, immersed in reading or browsing the shelves. Among them was the elleth who was going to be teaching them. She was among the youngest elves in the household, born here in Beleriand, and she introduced herself as Haeril daughter of Haenith. Elrond noted, to his relief, that she hadn’t been part of the host that attacked Sirion. 

The four of them headed for a backroom, which Maglor explained they were to use as an improvised schoolroom. They all sat down and Haeril asked Elrond and Elros questions about how their schooling had been at home, about arithmetic, reading, and writing. She seemed impressed when Elros mentioned that they knew both the cirth runes and the tengwar. She asked if they would demonstrate and when they agreed Maglor slid two quills and two sheets of paper across the table.

Elrond carefully wrote each certh and then proceeded to the tengwar. Maglor watched curiously, and Elrond suddenly became very aware that this was the Fëanorian script, that Maglor’s father had been the one to design each of those letters. He took extra care to remember the shapes and to not smudge the ink. It probably wouldn’t be great to get any of them wrong.

“That’s not bad,” Maglor said, looking down on Elrond's work. “Do you like reading books?”

“A little,” Elrond replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the paper in front of him.

He and Elros had loved learning to read, they had thrown themselves into it with life and soul, pestering the loremasters for more books and their mother for more trips to the library. Now, if he just took his time, Elrond could read almost anything.

“Haeril and I are going to draw up a plan for your lessons. You can go look at the library books if you want. There’s probably not many intended for children, but there’s some about wildlife that you might find fun.”

Elrond looked up. “Can we take some back to our room?” The words came out more excited than he’d intended.

“As many as you can carry.” Maglor said “Just be careful with them and bring them back here when you’re done.” 

Elrond almost failed to hide his smile. If he and Elros had books to read, time would pass so much faster. They might even learn something and discover some new stories too.

”Do you think you can find your way back to your room yourself when you’re done looking?” Maglor asked. “Otherwise, I can have someone escort you.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We can find our way back.” He would definitely prefer them walking through the fortress on their own to them being hoovered over by some Fëanorian soldiers.

“We can,” Elros agreed and together they left the schoolroom.

***

“Can’t we just go get some fresh air? Take a look around? Say hi to the horses?” Elros asked.

Elrond and Elros were lying on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. Each day they’d had a few hours of lessons before returning to their room. There they’d act out tales with their model city, draw or read books, play board games and marbles and the occasional round of the floor is lava. Now, after a week, they were starting to get bored.

Elrond shook his head. “Have you forgotten whose house this is? We should just stay in here.”

“We walk to the library and back every day,” Elros argued.

“And we get lost half the times!” Amon Ereb was practically a labyrinth. There were still parts of the fortress they hadn’t been in at all. “And besides,” Elrond said, “We’re only doing that because he says we have to.” 

Maglor would come by every night when it was time for them to go to bed. He was always very busy, though, and could never stay for long. He was still acting the same: graceful, patient, and strangely insistent on treating them as if they were honored guests and not prisoners. He’d ask them questions about their studies and their day, relentless despite their ever monosyllabic answers. Elrond knew for a fact that they couldn’t trust him at all. 

One wrong move, he thought, and Maglor might decide to stop pretending to be nice.

Elros was less cautious. “I’m sick of being in here all afternoon every day. It’s just a small trip. Maglor said we could go outside if we wanted to. And he said they wouldn’t hurt us.” He continued, doing his best attempt at puppy dog eyes, “Please come with me, Elrond.”

“No!” 

“Then I’ll just have to go by myself,” Elros said, sounding very satisfied with himself.

Elrond sighed. No way could he let his brother go out into the kinslayers fortress all on his own. “Fine” He rose to his feet. ”I’ll go with you. But if there’s any trouble we’ll hurry back here.”

They went down the stairs and through the fortress till they found a door leading to the castle yard. None of the elves they met on their way seemed to mind them having left their room, but Elrond stayed watchful as they walked on through the courtyard and in through the stable doors. Inside, the stables smelled like hay and leather. They were quiet, save for a lone stablehand, who was busy grooming one of the horses.

Elrond and Elros strolled up and down the stable aisles, peeping into the stalls to get a look at the animals. It was beautiful horses, large and refined, bred for rapidly traveling the plains. 

“You’re a good horse, aren’t you?” Elrond said, smiling as Cúron nuzzled his shoulder. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you, but you can’t just eat my shirt.” 

Elros laughed and petted Cúron’s head. “Please don’t eat my brother, horse. I’ve only got one of them.” 

They left the stables when dinner time was approaching, feeling more cheerful than they had in weeks.

“Where are we gonna go tomorrow?” Elros asked, beaming at Elrond as they climbed the stairs. He had always loved nothing more than discovering new places. “Cause I’ve got some ideas.” Elrond was sure his brother was going to talk about nothing else while they ate. And he was surely going to get dragged along tomorrow, no matter what Elros settled on doing.

No matter what, things aren’t all bad . He thought. Not when I have my brother.

***

Dusk had fallen when Maglor left the fortress’ training grounds, his arms aching from the drills. He walked through the quiet buildings, greeting the patrolling guards and stopping by his chambers to get rid of his weapons before heading down the hall to the children’s room.

He could hear them through the door, talking in loud voices. It felt like a shame to interrupt them, but it had gotten late and it was time for them to sleep. He knocked and entered the room, and the three of them went through what had almost become routine. Elrond and Elros were both sitting in the bed under the covers when a horn sounded from outside the fortress, startling them.

“What was that?” Elrond asked, shifting a little beneath the blankets.“Is someone coming?”

“It’s just Maedhros and his troops coming back from the border,” Maglor explained. His brother had ridden east six days ago to help rid the eastern frontier of orcs. He’d been expecting their return over the course of the day. 

“Oh,” Elrond said. Both children's faces seemed to fall in disappointment. Elros put his head on Elrond’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 

Maglor found himself trying to reassure them.“She’ll be here, your mother, she’ll come for you. But it takes a long time to journey here from Balar and it hasn’t been more than a week.” He continued, softening his voice. “It’s felt like a long time, hasn’t it?” 

Warily, the children nodded. “We miss her,” Elros said, so quietly that Maglor wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or misheard.

For some reason, it made his thoughts turn to his own mother. To her smile as the light of Laurëlin shone through the atelier’s windows, how she’d pinch his cheek with one clay stained hand and braid Maitimo’s hair with the other, the joy in her voice when she told them that yet another little brother was on the way, all the advice she’d give them, even when she knew they would disregard it. How sheltered and safe and happy they’d been then, growing up in the Days of Bliss. 

Then he tried to think about Elwing, the boys’ mother, as something other than the one who held the Silmaril. How young she’d seemed when she faced them in Sirion, barely more than a child herself in his eyes. The children sitting in front of him resembled her so strongly.

“I understand. I’m sure she misses you too.” He said without doubt. “Try to sleep. I have to go see my brother.”

***

When Maglor reached the courtyard, the returned soldiers were busy stabling their horse and helping the wounded up the stairs to the healing hall. At the sight of him, Maedhros crossed the yard, meeting him halfway. He was, thankfully, unscathed, but looked pale and worn-out after days of hard horse riding and battle.

As they walked towards his room, Maedhros recounted the last days’ events at the front. The enemy’s forces seemed to grow bolder and more numerous with every day, making the terrain increasingly dangerous. It wouldn’t be long before one of them would have to ride out again.

Maedhros kept his chamber mostly empty, his few personal items neatly organized, the windows wide open, despite the cold of the night. A stark contrast to Maglor’s room, always overflowing with books, sheet music, and items he could never make himself get rid of. But long gone were the times when Maglor would teasingly jab at his brother about the comfortless decor. He followed Maedhors through the door, leaned against the bare wall, and began briefing his brother on what had happened in Amon Ereb while he’d been away. 

Maedhros lit a candle and asked Maglor the routine questions while slowly shedding each piece of his armor, undoing his braids, and taking off his prosthesis. They quickly ran out of news to share. The areas surrounding the fortress had been quiet and their soldiers busy returning to their crafts and patrols.

“And the children?” Maedhros asked after a long moment of loaded silence. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the daggers he was removing from underneath his clothes.

Maglor considered his words. “It’s as you’d expect,” he said, solemnly. “They're frightened half to death, they miss their mother.” He looked down on his feet. “I pity them.” Though he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to find the words to express how wrong it felt, to see Elrond and Elros suffering and know he’d caused it, was causing it as they spoke.

He wished Maedhros would meet his eyes, or tell him what they should do, tell him anything at all. That they could rely on each other as they once had. 

He continued “They’re six years old, Maitimo. They're not used to being alone. We’re gonna have to...” 

They had to do something, though Maglor didn’t know exactly what. He’d wanted to give the children some sort of normalcy. Schooling, toys, a space of their own. Maybe it had helped, to make time pass if nothing else. But it could be weeks, or even months before Elwing came for her sons. The boys needed someone to care for them and the idea of delegating the task to someone else felt like cowardice.

Maedhros interrupted his thoughts, his voice hollow, resigned. “They won’t forgive you, you know. No matter what you do. We killed everyone they’ve ever known.” 

Not everyone, Maglor opened his mouth to say, before realizing just how disturbing an argument that was. He then opted for staying quiet, gazing out the open window, wondering when he’d taken a turn this wrong.

The answer, of course, presented itself as pictures of bodies in the water by a once peaceful port town, a once mighty forest kingdom, brought to ruin, survivors by a river mouth cruelly slain. 

No one will forgive us. He thought, not for the first time and undoubtedly not for the last. We shall be dispossessed forever. The damned of elvenkind.

“You’re right,” Maglor said at last. “They won’t. They shouldn’t. But my point still stands. We brought them here, they’re our responsibility. We have to try and do right by them.”

“Fine,” Maedhros snapped.  “Do whatever you want. Just keep me out of it. For their sake if nothing else. It’s not like I would be any good at...”

”Good at what, Maitimo? I mean, if anyone…” Maglor shook his head. “Did you forget the part where you practically raised all six of us?”

“‘Cause I sure did a good job at that, didn’t I?” Maedhros said, voice dripping with irony, a sad smile on his face.

“We made our own choices.” Maglor caught Maedhros’ gaze and held it. “Our hands were forced by no one. Not you, not even father.”

You blame yourself for far too much already. For the Nirnaeth, for Fingon, for Dior’s poor sons. None of that was your fault alone, Maglor wanted to say. But he knew that bringing those things up would only ever pain his brother more. Standing there, in his dismal chamber, Maedhros looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. Maglor thought that it might have been more sensible to wait until tomorrow to have this conversation with him. It wasn’t as if their struggles had any chance of disappearing over the night. 

“You should probably get some sleep,” He told Maedhros, though he knew Maedhros rarely slept well these days. An age ago, In Aman’s summertime, the two of them, kept awake by the heat, would sit side by side on the floor of their shared room, sharing secrets and dreams in quiet voices so as to not disturb the little ones next door. Now worse things than warm weather kept them sleepless and the children down the hall were victims of theirs, not treasured little brothers.

“I’ll try,” Maedhros said, tired-eyed and unconvincing, blowing the candle out.

Maglor crossed the room before pausing in the doorway. “It’s good to have you back.”  

“Goodnight, Káno” it sounded from the darkness. Maglor knew he couldn’t ask for more.

Chapter Text

Exploring Amon Ereb quickly became a favorite pastime of theirs. Once they were let off from their lessons, Elrond and Elros would wander the hallways and courtyards side by side, mapping out the fortress and its grounds in their minds. 

They went to see the animals in the henhouse and the kennels, playing with the hounds and chasing the chickens around the hen run. They walked down narrow corridors to the kitchen and the servants’ wing, looking for the best hiding places and reading spots. They quickly decided to stay far away from the dungeons, which were cold and dark and smelled foully of orcs. The wine cellar didn’t keep their interest for long either. Much more exciting was going up on the battlements and climbing the many stairs to the top of the towers where they would stand and gaze out over the plains of East Beleriand as the strong wind made the red flags flutter and made a mess of their hair. 

Leaving their room meant that they inevitably would run into Maedhros or Maglor once in a while. Usually, the Sons of Fëanor would be surrounded by craftspeople or soldiers, deep in conversation. Not sure how they were supposed to act, Elrond and Elros would mumble a greeting in their direction and leave as fast as they could.

The best of their discoveries was the fortress’ kitchen garden, which they stumbled upon on an early afternoon, fifteen days into their stay in the fortress. It was empty except for the two of them, secluded and strikingly peaceful. Vegetables and the medicinal herbs grew side by side in neat rows, the sun was peeking out behind the clouds and honeybees were swarming over the beds of lemon balm and lavender. Elrond and Elros walked through the patches on the narrow paths, naming as many plants as they could. They climbed the apple and plum trees, careful not to damage the branches. They searched the ground for bugs and picked blackberries that left bright stains on their hands.

That night, when he, as always, tucked them into bed,  Maglor seemed surprised to hear where they’d been. As if he’d almost forgotten that his fortress had a garden at all. 

“My sister in law was very fond of botany. She’d drag us all out to that garden whenever the weather was good.” Maglor told them. “She’d be happy that someone’s spending time out there.”

Elrond and Elros blinked at him, unsure what had prompted the sudden descent into family anecdotes. As a rule, Maglor would ask plenty of questions about them, but always keep his distance by never volunteering anything about himself or his House.

“My younger brother fortified Amon Ereb. He and his wife ruled these lands as well as Thargelion. They drove trade with the Casari and the Laiquendi,” Maglor explained.

“So you weren’t here then?” Elros asked after a moment of awkward silence. Elrond found himself wondering too. It was hard to imagine the eldest Fëanorians anywhere but in their hilltop stronghold, cloaked in shadows, fierce and severe as they kept watch of the north.

“No,” Maglor shook his head. “This is all Caranthir’s work. I had lands of my own then, Maedhros too,” He paused. “It was a different time.”

Elrond knew some of what Maglor was talking about. The long peace, when the Noldor had kept Morgoth at bay and green grass had grown all the way to the gates of Angband. Elven bards would lament the king and the princes who’d fallen when the great siege had been broken by dragonfire and rivers of molten flame. He’d never liked those songs much. Though they were beautifully written, they saddened him to his very core. Ruin and loss at hands of the Enemy was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially not just before he went to sleep.

“Who are the Casari? and the Laiquendi?” He asked Maglor instead, the foreign words strange on his tongue.

“Dwarves and green-elves,” Maglor translated. “I forget you don’t speak Quenya”

After a short while he added, “Would you like to learn?” There was a hint to his words that left Elrond wary. Was this some trick or test or trap?

“It’s an offer, not a punishment,” Maglor added after noticing the caution on his face. He rose to his feet. “Think about it.” He said. “After all, you’re Noldorin princes too, albeit some generations removed. Someday knowing the tongue of the west might prove useful to you.”

***

The days went by and slowly turned into weeks. The weather grew colder, the leaves of the trees in the garden turned yellow, then red. The heralds Maglor and Maehros had sent to the Isle of Balar had yet to return and there had been no sign of the twins’ mother. Some days, Elrond missed her so much his stomach ached. He’d sit and stare at the wall or wake up in the middle of the night, trembling after yet another dream of fire and blood, feeling utterly alone in the world.

Other days, when Elros and he would skip through the hallways or invent new games to play or when he was in Haeril’s lessons and found the solution to a math problem he’d been struggling with, he’d almost forget it all. He'd smile and laugh with his brother and just be.

When he caught himself doing that, he’d feel almost guilty. He’d remind himself of how they’d come to stay here, what they’d witnessed, and just whose roof they were living under. He didn’t want to get used to Amon Ereb or to the kinslayers who ruled there. 

It was hard not to, really. Maglor would linger longer in their room now, ask more questions, tell more stories, recommend them books to read. Despite clearly trying to, he never seemed quite at ease, always moving, almost fretful. If we make him so uncomfortable, why is he even here? Elrond asked himself, wondering what Maglor was trying to achieve. It’s not like taking care of us is going to get him any closer to my mother’s Silmaril. 

As more days passed, Elrond resigned himself to not finding an answer. None of Maglor's attempts at kindness made any sense.

On a cold windy day, Maglor brought them new winter clothes: cloaks and mittens and warm coats.“Winters are harsher out here than what you’re used to.” He told them. “Try it on and see if it fits.” 

“If you want, you can take it with you, when you travel back westward.” Maglor offered when they were done going through the piles. 

“We’d like that,” Elrond said, thinking back to a cold night in an orc infested wood and how close they’d been to losing their lives. There was no guarantee the journey home would be any easier, even if Naneth was with them.  They shouldn’t refuse perfectly good clothes, even if the clasp on his new cloak was shaped like an eight-pointed star. 

“If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know,” Maglor said before leaving them to their dinner. Neither of them asked anything of him. There was no point. What they wished for was their mother, their old home, their life back. Maglor couldn’t give them any of that, even if he’d wanted to.

Though Elrond was firmly determined not to let it show, there was one thing about Maglor that had him almost captivated. Something part of him wanted to ask Maglor about. Every so often, in the evening, when they headed back to their room, he and Elros would hear faint flowing music coming from behind one of the bedroom doors. Maglor’s music, Elrond had realized one night, stopping dead in his tracks and recalling how Maglor had sung at his brothers’ funeral. He felt hit by the strangest urge to walk to the door and press his ear against it, before tearing himself away and hurrying down the hall.

“I think he’s composing it, “ Elrond told his brother a few days later, after noticing how the distant melody seemed to evolve just a bit from one day to the next. “You know, writing the music himself,”

Elros eyed the door, expression uneasy. “He might be. Does it matter?”

Elrond supposed it didn’t. No pretty songs, or presents, or offers of help could ever change the fact that Maglor was a kinslayer, a murderer, a kidnapper, not their friend. He knew that. But at night, when they were lying in their bed and Maglor straightened out their blankets, Elrond would sneak a look at his hands. Long slender hands that were forever stained with the blood of Elrond’s kin. He’d wonder which of the calluses were from the hilts of swords and which were from harp strings. 

***

The twenty-eighth day of Elrond’s stay in Amon Ereb was a dreary one. Cold and heavy rain poured down monotonously for the third day in a row, keeping the entire household cooped up inside the building. Elves, of course, weren’t bothered much by the cold, but no one liked getting soaked to the skin. To everyone’s frustration, the torrent didn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. Elrond and Elros were left feeling confined, bored, and restless, missing their usual trips outside.

Desperate for something to do, they went up the stairs to the fourth floor. This part of the fortress was usually deserted, nothing was up there but locked doors and old artworks. Here they could run and play wildly with no risk of bothering anyone. That too got boring after a while. Playing tag wasn’t much fun when you were only two people playing.

They were walking through the southern hallway when they heard the sound of a door opening around the corner. Then, the sound of footsteps on the floor headed their way. More for the fun of it than from actual fear, they quickly hid behind an exhibited suit of armor. Elrond peeped out to catch a glimpse of who turned the corner, then tilted his head in confusion. What was he doing up here all alone? Maglor walked past them, headed for the staircase, seemingly not noticing them there. He looked lost in thought, distracted, and his usually so neatly braided hair was unbound, cascading down his back. 

They remained in their hiding place till Maglor was long gone, then they snuck around the corner. Trying the various doors they found one of them to be unlocked. If Maglor had meant to lock it, he must have forgotten to do so. Elrond and Elros locked eyes. “Just a quick look,” Elros mouthed. Elrond nodded enthusiastically. Finally, something exciting was happening.

They found the hall behind the door to be a mess of boxes and shelves and cabinets, most of it covered in a layer of dust. They walked through the room, gaping at all the peculiar objects that were stored there. Old books and scary-looking weapons, crystals in vivid colors, something that looked like measuring equipment, a lute, a flute, a cauldron, and countless things they couldn’t identify. 

“It’s like a museum,” Elros whispered, fascinated beyond measure. None of them had ever been to any museums, but they’d loved the stories of the ones in Gondolin, of art galleries and collections of rocks and minerals. 

“What’s that over there?” Elrond asked, tugging on his brother’s sleeve. Near the corner of the room, something was resting on a pillar of black marble, covered by a piece of thin fabric. 

As Elrond carefully lifted the fabric and let it fall to the floor, Elros sent him a warning look. ”Elrond, It’s theirs , maybe you should just let it...” At the sight of the hidden object, he trailed off. It was a large globe made of what appeared to be black glass. They stared at it, puzzled, almost entranced, never having seen nor heard of anything like it. The stone was beautiful, a perfect sphere. Black as night without a single flaw.

Elrond stretched his hand out towards it, full of expectations. Would its surface feel smooth and cold like glass? Or warm, like a dark stone on a sunny day? He lifted his hand to reach for it.

“Don’t touch it!” A loud voice tore through the air.

Elrond jumped in fright and drew back his hand at once. Maglor had appeared in the doorway. His eyes blazed silver as he crossed the room in stride. A look of shock was painted on his face. 

“Are you out of your minds?” Maglor’s words were white-hot with power and went right through Elrond and Elros. He approached them, gazing down, his posture tense as were he a predator crouching for a spring.

Elrond felt his knees go weak, his heart racing. Before Maglor could say anything more, Elros had yanked at his arm, pulling him harshly towards the door. Stricken with terror, they ran out of the room and down the stairs.

In their room, they buried themselves beneath the bedspread and the quilts. No place in Amon Ereb felt entirely safe, but this was as close as they were going to get. They huddled close together, listening to the battering of the rain on the windows and waiting for the inevitable sound of footfall in the hall.

“Elrond. Elros.” Maglor’s voice was coming from the doorway. Elrond could sense him approaching and sitting down at the foot of their bed, almost feel his strange grey gaze resting on them. Elrond clutched the sheets. Go away , He thought. Leave. Just leave. We don’t want to talk to you.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Maglor said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Beneath the blankets, Elrond could feel his brother’s breath on his face, warm and panicked. Outside, Maglor continued talking. “You’re not in trouble. You’re not in danger. I’m not going to harm you, I would never.”

As the rain kept pouring down outside, Maglor stayed in their room, telling them they were safe, his voice soft like the eye of a storm. Was he lying to them? Was he pretending? 

Maybe he wasn’t. Elrond couldn’t tell.

***

Should I be leaving? Maglor asked himself, casting another glance at where the children were holed up. Maybe Maedhros was right. Maybe I’ll never do anything but hurt them. It didn’t feel right to leave them when they were clearly so upset, but nothing he’d said had been able to reassure them. They clearly didn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.

Maglor figured they must have gone into the depository while he was downstairs, getting another pile of the twins’ stuff from his room. That, of course, being the other twins, Amberussa. Amras had had the habit of leaving his belongings lying about all over the fortress. Amrod had lent Maglor books over the summer. For weeks Maglor had been postponing putting their things away. It felt too much like a final acknowledgment that they weren’t coming back, that he’d never again hear them in the entrance hall, spirits high as they bragged about the game they’d shot out of the sky and dragged mud all over the floors.

Would they have gotten along? He couldn’t help but wonder. Would my little brothers have taken a liking to Elrond and Elros? Would Elrond and Elros have liked Amberussa, or would they have been as scared of them as they are of Maedhros and me?

It was, of course, a completely pointless scenario to mull over. Missing his brothers wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t do anything for the children, either.

Maglor sighed, shifted in his seat, and decided to try a different approach. “That stone you were looking at upstairs…” He began. “We call it a palantír in Quenya. A Gwahaedir in Sindarin. My father invented them in Eldamar and my kin brought them across the sea. They are tools of great power, used for communication and for gazing across the world.”

A small quavering voice came from underneath the blankets. “We didn’t know that.”  

“We’re sorry. We weren’t trying to steal it, I promise.” The other twin added.

Steal it? For a brief moment, Maglor was uncomprehending, then he winced, realizing that he’d given off a completely wrong impression. 

“That’s not what I thought you were doing.” He assured them, his voice a little raw, lacking his usual composure. “I mean, how would you even… I’m not accusing you of anything.”

The children were quiet as mice. Maglor wasn’t sure if they were listening or not. He took a deep breath and continued. “Most of the palantíri have fallen into the hands of The Enemy. My brother and I know how to keep him out, but if you haven’t been trained in their usage, you risk drawing unwanted attention or getting yourself injured.” He paused.  “I was worried something might happen to you.”

After a moment, the twins, Elros to the right and Elrond to the left, peered out, their faces red from warmth and turmoil. “We thought you were angry at us,” Elros said. The twins sat up against the headboard, looking at him with uncertainty.

Maglor looked back, apologetic and, though he couldn’t quite own up to it, more than a little fond. “I’m not.” He told them. “You’re hardly the first children to sneak in where you aren’t allowed. Probably not the last either.”

The children seemed to lower their shoulders in relief. “I suppose you were merely curious?” Maglor asked.

“Yes,” Elros nodded. “It’s just… There’s nothing to do when we can’t go outside. We got bored”

“Tell me about it,” Maglor said. The icy autumn rain didn't make Amon Ereb any more welcoming. He missed his training, the pale warmth of the sun, the fresh breeze on the battlements. “Though I suppose we should count ourselves lucky for not having to go out in it,” he added. “Did you see the poor patrol coming back earlier?” 

The Fëanorian troops were no strangers to bad weather, ever-cold Himring had gotten its name for a reason, but few things would make you feel or look more miserable than scouting for orcs in a rainstorm.

Elrond nodded. “They looked as if they’d swum the whole way,” 

“Exactly,” Maglor smiled. “Listen,” He began. “Once it clears up out there, would you like to go out for a walk on the plain? Get some fresh air?”

Suspicion returned to the children’s eyes. “We can’t leave the fortress,” Elros said, tilting his head. “We aren’t allowed to.”

“We’ll make an exception. And I’ll ensure your safety, of course.” Maglor promised, already pondering how he was going to convince Maedhros that this outing was a necessity. It was, in a way, wasn’t it? Even in wild untamed Beleriand, children shouldn’t have to be immured behind castle walls. Maglor’s kin in Valinor, used to peacetime and to freely roaming the lands, would be outraged at just the thought. 

For a brief moment, guilt washed over Maglor as he considered how horrified an elf of Aman would be at the idea of stealing children from their home, how horrified it would have made him before the Exile, or just a lone century ago. He did his best to banish the thought. 

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Yes,” Elrond said, after locking eyes with his brother. “We’re not scared. We‘d like to come with you outside.”

“We can go as soon as the weather’s dry.” Maglor stood up. “I’m going to go see if I can cheer my probably still drenched soldiers up with some wine and a warm meal. Join us, if you want. It must be getting tiring to always eat alone.”

Elrond and Elros shared another look. “Alright,” Elros said, getting to his feet and taking his brother with him. “But may we skip the wine?”

Maglor hadn’t counted much on them agreeing. Until now, they’d understandably wanted to stay far away. “We might have some apple juice,” he offered, feeling oddly happy about this turn of events. He quickly fixed his hair and straightened his robes before heading downstairs, letting the children lead the way.

Though it paled completely in comparison to the lost throne room in Barad Eithel or the assembly rooms of Himring, Amon Ereb’s dining hall was finely embellished. Crystal chandeliers and banners in the red and silver colours of Fëanor’s house hung from the ceilings and historical paintings decorated the walls. It must have been one the few places in the fortress Elrond and Elros had had yet to venture into. Walking close beside Maglor, they took in the room and the elves assembled there with wide eyes.

Maglor tried to see the remnants of his people through the children's eyes. They were mostly warriors, sullen and battle-scarred, fighting on because of spite or hatred of Morgoth. Though he knew that none of them would ever dare defy his orders and harm the children, he could hardly blame Elrond and Elros for being afraid. “This way,” He told them, leading them along the wall towards his place at the head table and gesturing for an attendant to bring in two more plates and two more chairs.

The meal itself went better than Maglor had dared hope. He spent most of it trying to discreetly steer his steward and captains’ conversation away from balrog fire and the most efficient way to decapitate an orc, in some attempt to spare the children from the goriest of the details, without them realizing he was doing so. 

It didn’t quite take away his restlessness, nothing really did these days. If Celegorm and Curufin were here, Maglor thought, we’d be clearing the tables away and staging sparring matches in here. He felt a sting in his chest. If the others were here, if we weren’t alone, then maybe Maedhros’ chair wouldn’t be so glaringly empty beside mine.  

He took a long sip of wine. Next to him, Elrond and Elrond were talking in low voices. Maglor had to hide his grin behind his cup when he noticed the two of them stealthily swapping food between their plates, offering the other the bits they didn’t like whenever they thought Maglor wasn’t watching. Humoring them, he downed the rest of his wine and turned his head a bit to the left, feigning profound interest in his father’s sigil on the crimson banner above them.

***

Two nights later, Maglor woke in the dead of night, breathing hard and glancing frantically around the room. In his dreams, he’d been back in Menegroth. Screams had echoed through the Thousand Caves and Maglor had been running through the arched halls, searching desperately for the Silmaril, but finding only more of Dior’s people.

He got up, heartbeat still racing, lighting the candle on his desk and surveying his hands in the yellow gleam. Foolish, he thought. There aren’t any bloodstains on them, it was a dream. The thought wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. As the fruitless battle had raged on, young King Dior, beautiful as springtime, had bled out on the floor of his throne room, side by side with the corpse of his wife. The nightmares Maglor and his brothers had brought to Doriath wasn’t the kind one could wake up from.

Maglor slipped on a rope and left the room. This was what happened when he didn’t train, or hunt, or compose. The horrors of the past tightening their grip around him, shrouding every thought in black regret. He was headed for the staircase, planning to get some fresh air even if a walk across the courtyard would leave him completely drenched, when he noticed the bright blue light of a Fëanorian lamp halfway down the steps. 

Holding the lamp in his hand was a lone boy, who turned around, startled. “Elrond,” Maglor asked, pulled from his thoughts at once. “What are you doing out here? Is something wrong?”

No answer came. Maglor slowly descended the stairs and sat down beside him.

“Is it because you can’t sleep?”

When Elrond nodded slightly, Maglor almost added me neither, deciding at the last minute that it wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, he asked “Was it a bad dream?” and then, somewhat uncertainly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Elrond said, looking down “No thank you.”

“May I just keep you company, then?” Maglor suddenly felt very aware that he’d never been alone with any of the children before. “Is your brother still sleeping?”

“Yes, he’s in there.” Elrond gestured towards the door of his bedroom. A long moment passed. Elrond rolled the crystal between his fingers and looked sicker and sicker at heart. At last, looking straight ahead, he spoke. “He was missing, Elros, in my dream. We were… we were back in Sirion and I couldn’t find him.”

Maglor took a deep breath.“I can understand why that would frighten you.” If there was anything he knew it was the pain of losing kin. Cousin after cousin had fallen, brother after brother. “But it was just a dream, right? It wasn’t real.”

Elrond turned around, briefly looking Maglor in the eyes. “Naneth made us promise we’d take care of each other.”

To take care of each other. Privately, Maglor thought that that was a lot of responsibility to give two six-year-olds in a war zone. He was distantly aware of his hypocrisy; he had been the very one bringing war and danger to the boys’ home. Fate, with Maglor acting as its instrument, had been nothing but cruel to the twin sons of Elwing and Eärendil. 

“Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, what you’ve already done?” Maglor said, remembering the boys clinging to each other, them finishing each other’s sentences and walking hand in hand. "Remember back when he hurt his ankle, and you let us know so we could help him? He is so lucky to have a brother like you. And you’re lucky to have him.”

Elrond said nothing, but Maglor noticed him straightening his back a little.

Maglor couldn’t help but ask: “Do you have nightmares like that every night?”

“Not every night,” Elrond murmured. 

Often, then, Maglor thought, wishing he had known about this sooner. Concerned, he nearly reached out to stroke Elrond’s shoulder. Changing his mind at the last minute, it became a strangely aborted movement. He let his hand fall to the stair thread and sighed. “You know, the door over there,” He said, gesturing towards the door he’d come out of. “It leads to my room...”

“I know,” Elrond interjected, adding a nervous-sounding: “We hear you playing sometimes.”

“Oh,” Maglor didn’t know quite what to say to that. He improvised.  “I guess it takes me away, the music. I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember, since I was younger than you are now, though I’ve been low on inspiration lately. Have you ever tried playing an instrument?”

“I haven't,” Elrond said, without any of his usual aversion. “Maybe I’ll try it someday,”

Maglor smiled and began to speak. “Well, what I meant to say before, was that if you should ever need my help, or need someone to talk to, then you can just knock on my door. Even if it’s the middle of the night. The same goes for your brother, of course”

Elrond was silent for a moment. Then he asked Maglor “Why?”

His voice and the look on his face were now full of what must be all the distrust he could muster. “Why are you helping me?” He repeated.   

Because the thought of you and your brother being in pain fills me with a kind of dread I’ve never felt before, Maglor thought. Because I don’t want to be the monster children have nightmares about.

The words that left Maglor’s mouth were neither completely right nor completely wrong. “My strife is with those who would keep me from my father’s work,” He said to Elrond, solemnly. “Not with children. Not with you.”

Elrond seemed only somewhat reassured. Mostly he seemed tired. Maglor supposed he might not end up remembering much of this conversation. That, Maglor thought, was probably for the best.

“At least there’s one piece of good news,”  He said, wanting to cheer Elrond up.

“What’s that?”

“Try listening.”

Elrond listened for a moment. The utter silence that met him caused him to frown a bit. Maglor waited for the moment he when he would understand .

“The rain stopped!” Elrond exclaimed. Then, after a moment, failing to hide his excitement: “Does that mean we can go outside tomorrow.”

“I said we could, didn’t I?” Maglor said with a twinkle in his eye. “I'd be happy to take you outside. But let’s get you back to bed first.”

Quiet fell as they climbed the stairs together. A good kind of quiet, Maglor thought. The kind that banishes nightmares.

Chapter Text

As he and Elros ate breakfast, Elrond recounted all he could remember of the conversation he and Maglor had had during the night, watching how his brother seemed to grow more mystified and disbelieving with every word. They had drawn the curtains, and the light streaming into their room revealed the familiar mess of toys on the floor and the drawings they had hung on the walls. It was such a far cry from last night, when Elrond’s haunted dreams had made the room seem eerie and airless, as if the shadows were growing in size.

An unsettled frown remained on Elros’ face. “Are you sure it wasn’t just something you dreamt?” 

“I’m absolutely sure,” Elrond said. Not in his wildest imagination could he make something like this up. Sitting side by side on the stairs late last night, he and Maglor had talked about music and brotherhood and dreams. Maglor had been listening to what Elrond said as if how he felt mattered, and he’d talked to him with a tenderness Elrond never would have thought he possessed. He’d been waiting for a catch, an ulterior motive, some sign that Maglor didn’t really mean well, but he hadn’t found one. Once he’d felt better, Maglor had simply led him back to bed, where he’d gone on to sleep soundly, his dreams undisturbed.

“He said that we can come to him for help if we need it,” Elrond explained between spoonfuls of warm porridge. “At night too. We can just knock on his door.”

Elros looked up from his food, his expression now even more troubled. “Well, we don't need his help, do we?” Spite and fear intermingled in his voice. When Elrond hesitated to agree, Elros scowled at him and added: “You should have told me you’ve been having nightmares, Elrond. You could have just woken me up, instead of…”

Elrond looked down, not listening to Elros’ words. Suddenly, he found himself wishing he’d kept it all a secret and not confided in his brother. Elros clearly didn’t understand anything at all. “We’re going to be late for school,” Elrond said abruptly, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. He grabbed his grammar book from the shelf and left the room without meeting Elros’ eyes.

During the day’s lessons, the two of them ended up ignoring each other, working on their spelling exercises and math problems in an almost biting silence. Home in Sirion, they had often argued, squabbled about who should get to be in charge of their games or annoyed their mother by bickering endlessly about the most trivial matters. Elrond thought it felt so much worse to fall out here, where they, surrounded by kinslayers, needed each other more than ever. 

“You’re still coming, right?” Elrond asked as they left the library in the early afternoon. He’d been looking forward to going on a walk outside the walls, but he liked the idea much less if Elros wouldn’t be there with him.

“I’m coming,” Elros said, looking like a soldier about to march into battle. “You’re not going alone.”

Maglor had sent word that he would meet them in the outer courtyard. After putting on boots, coats, and cloaks, they headed down there and found him waiting by the gate, dressed in a grey traveling cloak. Both of his swords, several daggers, as well as a silver horn were in his belt and he had a longbow slung over his shoulder. The sight made Elrond want to shy away. They hadn’t seen Maglor this heavily armed since the days following the attack on Sirion. It’s just for protection, Elrond reminded himself as they walked across the yard.  

As he greeted them, Maglor quickly seemed to become aware that something was slightly off. He sent Elrond a puzzled look, silently asking what had gone wrong. Elrond shook his head, hoping he could get Maglor to just stay out of it. If Elros were upset with him because of Maglor, his interfering would most likely just make it all worse.

“We’re quite unlikely to run into trouble this close to the fortress,” Maglor explained to them. “But I’m going to need you both to promise me that while we’re outside you’ll do exactly as I say. At once, and without question. Do you understand me?”

When they had both assured him that they understood and that they wouldn’t try to run away, Maglor signaled the guards. The portcullis was slowly lifted and the wooden gate swung open. Then they set off, going out into the world for the first time in more than a month. 

They walked down the hill on a narrow trail, breathing in the fresh cool air. The skies were still grey and overcast, the tall grass wet and the ground covered in pools of rainwater. “There’s a small lake south of here. It’s where the soldiers go in the summer,” Maglor explained. “It’s not a long way.”

Elrond and Elros went on ahead, wading through the puddles on the path. “I spy something beginning with an L,” Elrond tried when they were approaching the lake, hoping they could make peace. Beside him, Elros remained silent, not looking at him. Elrond continued. “Maybe we could ask Maglor if he’ll let us play tag?” When Elros still didn’t respond, Elrond lost his patience. “Why are you so mad at me?” He snapped, grabbing the sleeve of his brother's coat.

Elros pulled his arm back. “I’m not mad!” He said through gritted teeth. “I just don’t want you to do something stupid.” He threw a glance at Maglor who was walking behind them and spoke again in a much frailer voice. “You cannot trust them, Elrond. What would I say to Naneth if you got yourself hurt?”

Elrond felt his chest tightening at the mere mention of their mother. He thought back to how she’d held him tight and kissed his cheeks before saying goodbye to them. Then to her standing near the balcony’s edge, Maedhros and Maglor threatening her with bloodstained blades, and the seawater rippling where she’d hit it. He felt tears pressing at the corner of his eyes

 “Well, It wouldn’t be your fault,” he began. “And I’m not going to…”

“I think he can hear us.” Elros interrupted him in a whisper, casting another scared and suspicious look in Maglor’s direction.

“Wait here,” Elrond told his brother. Then he hurried back along the path to where Maglor was standing. He didn’t stop until he was so close he had to bend his neck to look up at Maglor’s face, “May Elros and I walk around the lake? Alone?” he asked. When Maglor was about to shake his head,  Elrond continued. “Please, Maglor. He’s upset. I need to talk to him.”

And he’s never going to tell me anything if he thinks you’re listening in. Elrond thought. He’s way way too scared of you. And he’s stubborn like that.

Maglor looked over at Elros, his expression concerned. Then he put a hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “Stay where I can see you. And call for me if you need me.” 

Elrond nodded. “We will.” 

“And Elrond,” Maglor added, just as Elrond was about to turn around and go back to his brother. 

“What?” 

“Don’t be too harsh on him.”

The lake was surrounded by rush and reet mace. A small bathing bridge of wood was built out into the water. The last days’ rain had made the banks overflow and made the ground around the lake soft and slippery. Elrond and Elros walked slowly through the mud. “Listen, “ Elrond began. “About Naneth…” 

“I think about her every day,” Elros said, unprompted, sounding distant.

Without even thinking about it, Elrond reached out and took his hand. “I know,” He said. “I do too.” 

They continued on, walking carefully so as to not lose footage. “He…” Elrond hesitantly began, meaning Maglor, who was still on the other side of the lake, standing on the bridge, looking out on the water and probably keeping a watchful eye on them. “He was just being nice yesterday, I think.” Being nice. As opposed to pretending to be. Elrond continued. “He said he’d never hurt us. I don’t think he will.”

Elros stopped in his track. “How do we know he’s not just lying to us?”

“We don’t. But he hasn’t hurt us so far. And I think he’ll help us if we ask for it. He already is, isn’t he?” Elrond didn’t like how vulnerable he sounded. 

“Yes,” Elros said, quiet and resigned. He gave Elrond’s hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done if it was me all alone.”

He is so lucky to have a brother like you. And you are lucky to have him.  That was what Maglor had said to Elrond last night. Apparently, there were some things all three of them agreed on. 

Elrond and Elros continued alongside the waterline, and Elrond decided to try to cheer his brother up a bit. “This place is a sorry substitute for the sea.” He said, trying to mimic the gruff tone of the sailors from home and shaking his head in mock-outrage. “ Do you think one could sail on it at all?”

Elros gave a half-smile and rolled his eyes.“That would require a boat. And we don’t have one.” 

“We don’t have one at the moment,” Elrond said, swinging their entwined hands back and forth. “But maybe in the future. Who knows?”

***

The rest of the trip passed off peacefully. Elrond and Elros played a few rounds of tag, chasing each other in circles through the meadows, before joining Maglor on the bridge and heading back to Amon Ereb. “Are you cold?” Maglor asked as they made their way up the hill. Dusk had already fallen, the days were quickly getting shorter as autumn grew late.

“Just a little,” Elrond replied. Their cloaks had become wet and stained with mud and their cheeks and ears red from being out in the chilly air.

They followed Maglor through the gates, back into the confines of the fortress, and up the stairs. He sent one of the guards to inform his brother that they were back and led Elrond and Elros down the hallway towards what Elrond knew was one of the private living rooms. He wondered about that. When he and Elros explored the halls they’d gotten the impression that the Sons of Fëanor rarely if ever made use of this place. The reason turned out to be quite harmless: Inside the room, a fire was crackling in an open fireplace, sending out light and warmth. Maglor took their outerwear and hung it to dry as Elrond and Elros sat down on the floor in front of the fire, warming their hands and watching the flames dance across the hearth.

Across the room, Maglor was absentmindedly humming as he took off his cloak and slowly removed each of his weapons. “You know,” Elros said out of the blue. It took Elrond a moment to realize he was addressing Maglor. “We know that song. The bards from Gondolin used to sing it sometimes.”

Maglor looked up. “They did?” He sounded mildly surprised. Now that Elros had pointed it out, Elrond could recognize the melody too. It was an old Noldorin folk song, one of the more lighthearted ones. It told a tale of long-past adventures in the fair highlands across the sea.

“Elrond says you write them yourself.” There was curiosity, but also skepticism and a thinly veiled challenge in Elros’ voice. Elrond hoped Maglor didn’t take too much notice of it.

Maglor sat down in the armchair closest to the fire. “Some of them.” He said, not sounding offended. “I wrote that one with some cousins of mine, a very long time ago.”

“Won’t you..” Elrond began. Against his better judgment, he was almost quivering with anticipation, hoping they could get Maglor to sing for them, just a little bit. “Like you told me yesterday.”

“I don’t have my harp with me,” Maglor said, shrugging, but after a moment's contemplation, he began to sing anyway. His voice was light, seemingly effortless, but clear as crystal and strong as mithril. It took Elrond a moment to realize that he couldn’t understand any of the words. He was too absorbed in the pictures, which rose from the song like smoke rises from a fire. Images of snow-covered mountains and of a group of young elves who trekked through them, their faces free of worries, their voices raised in song. Golden and silver rays merged all around them, bathing the landscape in light. 

When Maglor stopped singing after the song’s first verse, Elrond had a thousand questions burning on his tongue, beginning with just: How? He didn’t quite feel ready to ask them out loud. Instead, he shared a look with Elros and leaned his shoulder, enjoying the heat and images as they slowly faded away.

“It’s the Pelóri, the mountain range,” Maglor remarked, sounding faraway again. “Tyelkormo, Maitimo, and I had discovered these caves we wanted to show the others.” His tranquil smile, Elrond thought, wasn’t directed at them so much as at the memories he was thinking back on. That Elrond could understand. If he’d seen places like that, he’d never want to stop thinking about it. More composed, as if pulled from his daydream, Maglor spoke again: “You’d have heard the Sindarin translation, I suppose.”

Elros nodded. “Did your version come first?” 

“It did.” After a moment Maglor added: “Did ever you think about whether you wanted to learn?”

He means that language, Quenya, Elrond realized. Elros sent him a slightly panicked look, leaving the decision up to him. Elrond didn’t know what to say. “No one’s taught us any of it before.” He tried, timidly. “Our mother speaks Taliska sometimes, but that’s a different thing altogether, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s a language of mortal men, ” Maglor said. “But surely your father speaks Quenya? I was under the impression that the Gondolindrim used it at court.” 

Elrond stiffened. That felt like a low blow. Suddenly he couldn’t decide if he was angrier with Maglor for mentioning the father they so rarely talked about so casually, or with all the circumstances that had led to him, their family’s enemy, knowing something about Elrond’s father that Elrond didn’t know himself. Vaguely, he’d been aware that his father, as a prince, a lord, and a traveler, spoke many tongues. Of course, Quenya would be one of them. They had just never gotten the chance to talk about it. He and Adar had never had much time to talk at all.

Though he tried, he couldn’t hide his hurt. Maglor looked as if he was aware that he’d made a mistake, but unsure how to proceed. Again, it was Elros who broke the silence. “Our father is a mariner,” He said, wrapping an arm around Elrond. Elrond couldn’t decide if he was grateful or frustrated with him. “That’s someone who sails on the sea. He came home, not this summer, but the one before…”

“It’s very important. I mean, that he’s sailing.” Elrond added, trying to sound collected, the way his mother had always sounded when she talked about Adar.

“His mission is a noble one,” Maglor said, his tone strange. “What did you do when he came home then?” 

There he was again, asking about matters that didn’t concern him. Part of Elrond wished they could tell him off, another part of him wanted everyone, even Maglor, to know how good and kind and bright their father was. Maybe Elros felt the same way, because he started narrating, rambling a bit. “We helped him work on the Vingilótë and he made us and Naneth food. Then he had to go to a meeting, but later we went to the beach and he taught us to swim.” 

Elrond had tried to commit each of those events to memory, to remember every detail: the ship’s birchwood timbers, the sound of his father’s laughter, the gold of his hair. But as the months had come and gone, it had all gotten more and more muddled. It had been such a long time. How much of it happened the way I remember it? He couldn’t help but wonder. And how much have I made up since then?

“That sounds nice,” Maglor said. Elrond nodded. It had been. They had wanted Adar to stay forever. When he had set sail, they hadn’t understood why. Their mother had assured them that he was trying to save everyone, trying to aid all of Middle Earth, that he had to sail, that it wasn’t their fault he was leaving. As he sat by the fireside, close up against his brother, Elrond supposed that, despite everything he'd done to them, it wasn’t really Maglor’s fault either.

“Maglor, you are kin to our father, are you not?” He asked. He was not sure how the question would be received, but if Maglor was allowed to ask them forward questions, he and Elros should be allowed to do the same.

“Yes. His maternal grandfather was my half cousin on my father’s side.”

Elros knitted his brow. “What does that make me and Elrond to you?”

Maglor made a similar expression. Elrond imagined him mentally going over the branches of a large genealogical tree. “You are our first cousins thrice removed, if I’m not mistaken.”

They all lingered at that for a moment, their eyes fixed on the fire. It really doesn’t matter , Elrond supposed. It doesn’t change anything at all. It still got him thinking. In a very different world, a more peaceful and less marred one, he’d have living cousins and uncles and aunts of all kinds. Maglor would have been one of them, along with Maedhros and those redheaded twin brothers of theirs. He wondered if Maglor thought of them as his kinsfolk, if that was why he was so intent on trying to help them. The only way to find out would be asking him directly, an option Elrond quickly ruled out.

Maglor had gotten up from his chair and walked to the window. He was silent as he gazed out at the surroundings, his fingers drumming a gentle rhythm on the windowsill. “What are you looking at?” Elros asked him. “It’s all dark out there.”

“Nothing in particular. There’s naught but darkness between us and Ramdal hills.”

“Maybe you should teach us to speak Quenya,” Elrond said thoughtfully. Both Elros and Maglor turned to look at him. Shifting in his seat, he explained. “If it's going to be cold and dark all the time we’re not going to be able to play outside anyway.” Spending all their evenings entertaining themselves in their room or the library would not be very fun in the long run, Elrond thought. He shrugged. “We might as well...”

Maglor raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he had expected more pleasantries. Elrond didn’t plan on giving him any, Maglor had been the one to suggest this in the first place. After a moment, Maglor rejoined them by them in front of the fireplace. “Should we start tomorrow, then?” 

Elrond threw a look at his brother before answering. Elros nodded. “Alright,” Elrond said. And it was the strangest thing: At that moment, he didn’t feel afraid.

***

Afternoon Quenya lessons were soon held in the boys’ schoolroom, in the library hall. Not every day, just a few times a week when they all had the time. Though they, as expected, stumbled a bit over the many unfamiliar sounds, Elrond and Elros were quick learners. With a pang in his heart, Maglor was reminded of Celebrimbor, who, bright as he was, had picked up Sindarin in leaps and bounds by the shores of Lake Mithrim an age ago.

“Did you use to be a teacher?” Elros asked him one day, after scrutinizing the words Maglor had written on the blackboard. Maglor wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment. If it was, he wasn’t sure he deserved it. Between the two of them, Maedhros had been the one with an interest in languages, the one best suited to follow in their father’s linguist footsteps. And, even though you’d never get him to admit it today, he’d had a way with children once and often been accompanied by a trail of their younger brothers and cousins. 

“I taught music students once, but they were older than you,” Maglor answered cheerlessly. There had been many throughout the centuries: Young talents at the Tirion Conservatory, the eager idealistic bards among his father’s followers in Formenos, and much later a few Easterling youths from the March of Maedhros, learning elvish music in between their sword and spear practices. All of it had come to very little, Maglor thought darkly. No music had been able to save them from Angband’s might. 

“Back to the matter at hand.” He declared, rolling the piece of chalk between his fingers.

They ended up getting sidetracked quite often during lessons, Quenya nouns and phrases would yield to conversation, or, at least, attempts at it. Elrond and Elros told him bits and pieces about the games they’d been playing, their lessons in math and writings, and the books they had spelled their way through. They were still wary of him, their eyes uneasy. But as far as Maglor could tell, they were decidedly less so. Sometimes they would even talk of their parents, the mother they loved and the father they idolized. He tried to reassure them as well as he could. “I’m sure they miss you too,” He’d say, somewhat awkwardly. “You’ll see them again.”

They’d ask him questions too, maybe just as a way to get a break from the grammar. Elros especially wanted to hear of Eldamar. The cities, the landscapes, and the animals that roamed there. Maglor told them unworldly stories, accompanied by Quenya vocabulary and melancholy smiles. He had never thought he’d come to tell tales of The Undying Lands this way. Usually, the audience would be elves who had once dwelt in Treelight themselves and Maglor would recount the tragedies in epic verse, lamenting the great darkening and all that had led to it. Elrond and Elros were much more interested in the color of the butterflies and that one time Maglor and Celegorm had stumbled upon a tiger out in the grasslands. With an ache in his heart, Maglor felt himself getting used to it. 

***

Almost two months had passed since they’d sent their emissaries west to deliver their demands to the High King. They should easily have been able to travel to Balar and back in that time, but they still hadn’t returned to Amon Ereb. At council meetings, Maglor, Maedhros, and their captains could only make somber guesses as to what had befallen them. Gil-galad could have decided to seize and imprison them, or, more likely, they could have been attacked along the way. By orcs, by men in the Enemy’s service, or by something even worse.

As the sun sank on the horizon, the air in the meeting room grew thick with despondency. Maglor was happy to dismiss the council. Maedhros and he were left rolling up the maps and gathering the many sheets of paper, Maglor humming a half-thought-out tune, Maedhros quiet. “Come dine with the rest of us, won't you?” Maglor asked him when they were almost finished, hopeful, though he knew it was unlikely to go well.

Maedhros sighed, not deigning him an answer. Maglor tried again. “You’ve stayed gone for weeks, the soldiers are talking.” The last part might or might not be true, Maglor did not actually care much for what was or wasn’t said about them in the barracks. “It’ll be good for morale.”

“You and your morale,” Maedhros muttered, shuffling the documents on the table.

Is it everyone you want to keep at arm’s length? Maglor wondered. Or is it just me? 

He grimaced. “What’s the alternative?” He asked Maedhros, “Locking your door and shutting the world out?” He knew he was being insufferable, but he’d take Maedhors’ anger, his scorn rather than this icy passiveness. Continuing felt like twisting a knife, but Maglor did it anyway. “It won’t help you! When has it ever?”

“What is this about?” Maedhros sneered, looking at him with distaste. “I’m not joining up with your little pet project, I told you..”

Maglor took a step towards him. “Do you hear yourself? They’re people, children, and they need our help! The brother I knew…”

There was a flash of hurt in his brother’s grey eyes. For a moment Maglor thought Maedhros might just hit him. He braced himself, but the blow did not land. Instead, they both remained still and silent, watching each other with the focus of two duellists, awaiting the other’s first attack. Maglor was the first to look away.  “I can’t very well be two places at once.” He said quietly, hoping Maedhros would understand what he meant. I want to be there for you. I wish to help you, I just don’t know how to.

“What do you want from those children, Makalaurë?” Maedhros simply asked. Maglor suppressed a shiver. Maedhros’ tone and the long-lost sound of the name their mother had given Maglor somehow managed to make him feel like a schoolboy again. 

He didn’t know what to say. He breathed in, then out. “It’s… It’s a chance to do something that’s..” Not good. That was something they would never be again. “Something that’s not horrible.” Maglor tried, desperation sneaking into his voice. “Our last, I think.” The words lingered, thorny and true.

Maedhros looked pained, stricken. He opened his mouth as if to speak and Maglor had no idea what he was going to say. He didn’t want to hear it, couldn’t bear more painful slights or eerie echoes. “If you’ll excuse me.” He mumbled, hurrying out the door.

Restless, he took his bow to the training grounds, letting arrow after arrow hit the target till his heart rate was back to normal. He tried not to think and failed soundly at it. We’ll never have what we once had. We are changed and we are alone. I must come to grips with it. 

An hour or so passed before he put the weapon down and reentered the fortress. He could hear the sounds of conversation and cutlery against plates coming from the dining hall. The meal must just have begun.

To his surprise, he found Elrond and Elros waiting beside the door to the hall. “Is something wrong?” Maglor asked. Usually, the children would find their seats, even if Maglor had yet to arrive.

Elrond looked up at Maglor. “What is your brother doing in there?” 

Maglor blinked at them and looked into the hall. Maedhros was indeed there, sitting in his usual seat at the head table, cutting out his food and making conversation.

“Normally, he’s not here,” Elrond said.

“He likes to keep to himself,” Maglor explained. “But that doesn’t mean you two have to wait out here. You could just have gone in and started eating.”

“He is much scarier than you,” Elros said, nervously. “Sorry,” He added when Maglor took a moment to respond.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Maglor assured him, not quite sure if he was supposed to have taken offense on Maedhros’ behalf or his own. 

“He never talks to us,” Elrond whispered. “And he always looks angry.” Their eyes seemed to be filled with questions as well as fear. 

Maglor found himself at a loss, Maedhros’ stories were neither Maglor’s to share nor in any way suited for the ears of children.  “It has nothing to do with the two of you.” He finally said. ”He’s been hurt badly, my brother, and now he’s trying very hard to not get hurt again.” Vague, but not untrue. He gave them a moment to take it in. “Shall we?” He asked them, before leading them into the hall.

“Maglor, Elros, Elrond,” Maedhros greeted, as they took their seats. He seemed to have lost a bit of tension and he spoke again once Maglor had put food on the children’s plates and the soldiers had resumed their chatter. “You know, for someone who’s so concerned with whether or not I attend dinner, I feel like there’s some irony to you showing up ten minutes late.” His tone was surprisingly mild.

“It won’t happen again,” Maglor said with a wry smile, meaning: I’m so glad to see you here, and: I’m sorry. He filled his own plate and listened to the conversation around them, oddly overwhelmed.

“They seem better,” Maedhros said in low-voiced Quenya, looking over at Elrond and Elros. “Before, they looked like little ghosts.”

Maglor wondered. Maybe they had become a little less pale, a little less haunted. It was not easy to tell when you saw them every day. "I hope so," he whispered back. Why do you suddenly care? Maglor briefly wanted to ask, before realizing he had been judging his brother too harshly. Part of him cared deeply all along, he thought affectionately. Not caring isn’t in his nature

“My brother tells me you’re good readers, “ Maedhros began, addressing Elrond and Elros with the care one might take when approaching a frightened animal. “Which kind of books do you like?” As the boys timidly responded, Maglor couldn’t help but feel a rare glimmer of something like optimism.

If I’ve helped them at all, then let me keep helping them for as long as they need it, Maglor wished. Let me help my brother, as much as I possibly can. Let there be something in me, in us, that isn’t just killing and woe.

Chapter Text

Elrond no longer counted each day, but he knew that it had now been more than three months since Sirion had been attacked. Midwinter was slowly approaching. The weather had become so cold that he and Elros could see their breath as misty clouds in front of their faces whenever they went out to play. And they were still staying in the Amon Ereb fortress, waiting to get ransomed, waiting for their mother to come and rescue them.

Elrond wished there was a way to reach her so that he could let her know that Elros and he were alright, let her know everything that had happened. I’ve ridden across Beleriand on the back of a warhorse, he’d tell her. I’ve hidden from an orc-pack in a pitch-dark forest and I’ve explored a Fëanorian stronghold from cellar to attic. And a lot of the time I’ve been scared and miserable, but I’ve also fooled around and laughed with Elros and I’m learning a new language and I’ve heard music so beautiful it moved me to tears. Mostly he just wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how much he worried for her. 

He missed his father too, of course, but that was nothing new. Eärendil had been away sailing the sea for all of Elrond’s life. Missing him felt less like missing his mother and more like missing a hero out of a book or a song, someone he held in awe, but hardly knew at all.

At Amon Ereb, the days came and went. For Elrond and his brother, they were usually made up of lessons in math and writing, hours of play on the floor of their room, and walks about the fortress. By now, Elrond and Elros knew it inside out. 

A few times, Elrond had even ventured out entirely on his own, headed to the garden while Elros headed to the library or headed to the stables while Elros remained in their room. It had felt uncomfortable at first, walking the halls without his brother. These last months, he and Elros had been all but acting as were they adjoined by the hip. While they had been apart, Elrond had been on guard, but no one had harmed or bothered him or his brother in any way. Maglor and Maedhros had spoken the truth all along: Elrond and Elros really were safe in Amon Ereb. 

As the days had grown shorter and the nights darker, something had undeniably changed, between them and the Fëanorian brothers. Before, whenever they’d been around Maedhros and Maglor, all Elrond had been thinking about was taking up as little space as possible. He had desperately wanted to avoid angering them so as to not risk their wrath. Now Elrond didn’t think that was necessary. Maglor’s voice could steer an army or make the blood freeze to ice in someone’s veins, but he never raised it against them. On the rare occasion when they spoke to Maedhros, who they’d once found horrifying beyond all measure, he was distant, but never unkind to them. Elrond and Elros weren’t even scolded when they made messes or the occasional impertinent comment.  

Maglor continued tutoring Elrond and Elros in Quenya in the afternoon. He seemed to enjoy teaching them to conjugate verbs and making up games to help them remember all the words, and though the language was far from easy, Elrond found himself enjoying the lessons too. He’d work hard on learning it and feel a strong rush of pride in himself whenever he got a sentence right. If he and Elros felt too tired, or just not in the mood to study, Maglor would read them a story instead or let them draw while he played one of his instruments. Then he’d help them hang their many drawings on the walls of their room all the while humming some velvety song of olden days. 

Some nights, Elrond still had nightmares. Blood-curdling dreams of Sirion burning, of orcs lying in wait in the darkness, of being alone, abandoned, and helpless. On the roughest nights, he’d leave their bedroom and walk down the corridor with a blanket around his shoulders. He’d knock on Maglor’s door and the two of them would go and sit on the staircase. Elrond would tell Maglor what he’d dreamt and then they’d talk about something else, something nice, till Elrond’s fear subsided and he felt ready to go back to sleep.

Evil at heart, Elrond had thought Maglor once. Now, he didn’t know what to think at all.

Most of the time, Maedhros seemed as enigmatic and brooding as ever, going about his duties around the fortress with harsh efficiency and a grave manner, but now were be at dinner most days, taking the seat left of his brother. As they ate surrounded by the now somewhat familiar band of warriors, Maglor would make attempts to cajole his brother into a conversation, and Maedhros would ignore him or indulge him depending on his mood. It was a strange routine, Elrond thought. Almost as if the two of them woke up every morning and drew lots on whether or not they cared for each other.

When Elrond went down to the stables to look at and pet the horses, he’d sometimes see Maedhros there. Even when he was speaking softly to his horse, Maedhros’ eyes were ever sharp and alert, so unlike his brother’s. Was he never at ease? Elrond couldn’t help but wonder. Did he ever feel happy? Elrond would think back to what Maglor had told them, that someone or something had once hurt Maedhros so severely that he had never fully recovered from it. He’d try not to ponder it, not wanting to give himself more nightmares, but he’d feel something or the other when he greeted Maedhros and slipped into his favorite horse’s stall. Fear and resentment and confusion, for sure, but also a glimmering of sympathy he didn’t know what to do with.

***

Up on the battlements, the wind was ever brisk and biting, but on clear days there was no better place to play. Elrond and Elros would often don boots and coats and race each other up the stairs to the outer walls. Sometimes they would pretend that Amon Ereb was their own castle, they would play at surveying the buildings and defenses after making sure no one was around to overhear it. Other times they would lean on the stonework and gaze out on the measureless plains that were never quite as empty as they appeared at first glance. They’d spot the passing herds of deer and wild horses, the raptors swooping towards the grass for their prey, and the fortress’ many patrols as they rode out and returned. 

One early afternoon, they were looking north, playing a game of “I spy” and guessing increasingly obscure items, when a sudden voice coming from behind them made them jump. Swiftly turning around, they saw Maglor approaching, holding his hands up apologetically. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” He told them. “Only to ask if you’d finished your lessons already.”

“It’s alright,” Elrond said, quickly getting over his fright. “We were let out early today.”

Maglor gestured for them to walk with him. “What did you learn?” 

“It was arithmetic,” Elros explained as they slowly made their way down the parapet. “Multiplication tables”

“You’re learning those already?” Maglor sounded sincerely impressed. “You’re only six.” 

“Six and three quarters. And it’s not that hard.” There was a hint of a smile on Elros’ lips and a gleam of pride in his voice.

“It’s good to hear that you’re doing well,” Maglor “I remember struggling with those things as a boy”

“With arithmetic?” Elrond gave him a sceptic look.

“Yes. My father tried so hard to teach me. He had me sit down for an hour each day and practice mathematics before I was allowed to play my instruments.” Maglor smiled faintly “He meant well and I did try, but whenever I was left on my own and tried to concentrate on the tables I’d end up thinking of nothing but the songs I wanted to write.” 

That was not very hard to imagine, Elrond thought. Maglor had once told Elrond that his music took him away. The few times Elrond and Elros had seen him play he had seemed so serene, as if everything around them, the war, the stronghold, the soldiers, had been forgotten the second he put his hands to the strings. Elrond knew it from himself too. If he let his mind wander, the voice of his tutor would easily fade into the background.

Elrond and Elros’s father had never helped them with their schoolwork. When they had last seen him one and a half years ago, they had been a bit too young for formal schooling. For a brief moment, Elrond thought that Maglor was lucky, to have had a father who had a least taken the time to try.

“Did you never end up learning then ?” Elros asked Maglor

Maglor shrugged. “It helped quite a lot when Maitimo returned from court. He taught me.”

Elros frowned a bit. “That’s Maedhros’ name in Quenya, isn’t it?” 

The idea of Maedhros patiently teaching his younger brother to multiply seemed absurd to Elrond, but if Maglor’s stories were true, he too had been different when he dwelt in Valinor.

“One of them,” Maglor said with a smile. “He…” Before Maglor could tell them any more, a voice interrupted them, loudly calling out Maglors name.

Elrond turned around and saw a guardsman approaching, a look of alarm on his face. Upon reaching them, the soldier opted to proceed in Quenya and spoke a fast-paced stream of words directed at Maglor. Elrond thought he caught rokko and númen , the words for “horse” and “west,” but he didn’t have the time to contemplate the context. Maglor and the soldier hurried towards the western battlements and soon he and Elros followed them at a run, having to take four steps for each one of Maglor’s.

Suddenly, Maglor and his guard stopped and turned to look westward. When Elrond and Elros caught up with them, they did the same. Elrond narrowed his eyes. To him, the landscape looked undisturbed, but he knew it likely wasn’t. Someone or something had to be out there. Something only the eyesight of full-blooded elves could register.

When another moment had passed with nothing seemingly happening, Elrond tugged on Maglor's sleeve. “What’s going on?” He asked, a feeling of hazy uneasiness stirring within him.

When Maglor turned to look at him and Elros, there were thin lines of worry between his brows. “Could I get you two to go back to your room and play?” 

“Why?” Elros’ eyes were wide.

“Just do as I say,” Maglor insisted, uncharacteristically stern. “Stay there till I come and get you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He added, a little gentler. Then the guardsman bundled Elrond and Elros in the direction of the nearest stairs and they quickly descended, walking through the courtyards towards their bedroom, both hushful.

In their chamber, they shed their coats and cloaks, putting them in a pile on their bed. Thrown off balance, they waited restlessly for what felt like hours. 

“Who do you think is coming?” Elrond eventually asked.

Elros was silent for a while, looking down at his feet. “Do you think it’s Naneth? ” he said and his voice was so very frail. Elrond understood. He almost didn’t dare hope, but he couldn’t help it. Had their mother finally come? 

Paying no heed to what Maglor had told them, they left their room and found a window overlooking the outer courtyard. Maglor was down there, Maedhros too, along with multiple soldiers and the elf they knew ran the healing hall. Elrond’s heart was thumping as he peered out through the glass. They are waiting for someone. Is that someone coming for us? Is it Naneth?

It was beginning to get dark, when, at last, the gate opened. Three horses galloped through, coming to a halt in the middle of the courtyard. Two of the mounted elves were clearly Amon Ereb’s patrol riders. Their faces were hidden behind helmets, but Elrond recognized their mounts. On the last, unfamiliar, horse, there were two people, and Elrond felt a sting of the deepest disappointment when he saw that neither of them was their mother. It was two male elves that he didn’t recall having seen before. Both were wearing clothes in Fëanorian colors. Elrond got a look at them and winced in shock. The foremost elf had his eyes closed, as if he were half-unconscious. He was pale as a sheet and the front of his tunic was stained dark with dried blood. The elf sitting behind him had a bruised and bloodied face.

“Who are they?” Elrond asked his brother, confused and distraught. “Have they come from a fight?”

Again Elros was quiet. “I think I know who they are,” He finally said, voice doleful.

As he watched Maedhros and Maglor quickly help the two elves dismount and lead them towards the healing hall, Elrond too realized who they were. 

Two elves they hadn’t seen before, who served the Fëanorians, coming back from a perilous journey...

Elrond looked at his brother and saw silvery tears on his cheeks. “They’re the heralds they sent out to find out mother, aren’t they?” 

But she’s not with them , he thought. They couldn’t find her. As he embraced Elros, he felt their hearts sinking.   

***

The Lady Elwing had not come to bargain for her children.

To his undying shame, Maglor’s first thought upon realizing this was only of the jewel. The jewel that had once illuminated his father’s face, the jewel his kin had fought and bled for, the jewel to which their fate was bound. 

The thoughts following it were much different. They revolved around the two boys waiting inside the fortress, the ones whose life he’d uprooted, the ones who had never asked for any of this. All they want is their parents back, he thought, his chest aching. When he imagined Elrond and Elros’ crushing disappointment, it felt as if the very air around him was weighing him down.

He tried to shake the feeling off as he and Maedhros, in a tumultuous rush, brought their two injured envoys from the courtyard to the healing hall. On a cot in the healing hall, the conscious one started narrating while the fortress’ healers flocked around his gravely wounded companion. Maglor watched as his brother held a cold cloth to the herald’s injured face, but he only distantly registered the elf’s words.

Elwing of Doriath had not, as he and Maedhros had assumed, sought refuge with her allies on the Isle of Balar. Gil-galad had taken responsibility for the remaining people of Sirion, but no one had seen their princess since she had grown feathers and risen from the sea. “Lord Cirdan seemed to be of the belief that the lady Elwing had flown over the sea to seek her husband,” the herald explained, a grimace stuck on his face.

Maglor nodded stiffly. Then they must both be on their way, he forced himself to think. Elwing and Eärendil will pass through Balar, hear that we hold their children, and head here at once. All will turn out well for Elrond and Elros . It has to. It just has to.   

It felt as if it had been days since the three of them had been walking on the battlements together. Maglor found himself wishing they could return to a few peaceful moments and the more he thought it over, the more it struck him as unlikely that Elrond and Elros had done as they were told and remained in their room. How much did they see? He wondered. How much have they guessed? Knowing the two of them, it was probably far too much for their own good.

As the herald’s report continued, Maglor threw a glance towards the door. They are all alone and it is  my fault, he thought. I promised myself I’d protect them.

Maedhros, missing nothing, briefly met his eyes. His expression was forbearing. “It’s fine, Maglor. I’ll fill you in later. Just go.”

Sending him a grateful look, Maglor hurried out the door.

***

Later that evening, Elrond looked first at his brother, sleeping now, his face still troubled, and then at Maglor, who was sitting next to him on the childrens’ bed. “He didn’t mean it,” Elrond whispered, not meeting Maglor’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Maglor said, voice weary. “He has every right to mean it. I have heard worse from people I wronged less.”

When Maglor had found them, both boys had been sobbing. “Stop touching me!” Elros had croaked once he had calmed down enough to notice that Maglor was drying away his tears. Maglor had removed his hand at once. Elros’ face had been blotchy, his voice raised. “This is all your fault! I hate you!”

Maglor stayed quiet for a long time, his thoughts a burning blur. “I bear your brother no ill will, Elrond.” He sighed. “As little as you might believe it, I actually quite like him.”

Elrond made a soft noncommittal sound, not saying anything. Eventually, he covered his face in his hands. “Why haven’t they come?” He asked feebly. “It’s not fair.” 

“I don't know. And you’re right, it’s not fair.” Maglor wished he had answers, or excuses, or a way to turn back time. He slid his arm around the Elrond’s shoulders, as careful as had Elrond been made of glass. “We didn’t bring the two of you here to cause you pain, Elrond. I want to help you if I can at all.”

Elrond leaned against him and Maglor could feel the pain and loneliness streaming from him. Centuries ago, his people had been promised unnumbered tears. No one in their right mind could argue that Maglor didn’t deserve them, but it seemed so fundamentally unfair that it should apply to Elrond and Elros as well. 

They stayed like that, till a knock on the door sounded. Maedhros’ knock, Maglor noted.“My brother thinks I’ve been gone a long time,” he explained Elrond. “I can tell him to leave if you wish it.”

Elrond shrugged tiredly and when no one answered, Maedhros opened the door and entered the children's room. He took account of Elrond and Maglor sitting on the bed, before moving across the floor without a sound and sitting down on his knees beside them. “Rough night?” He asked Elrond in a low voice. A vast understatement, Maglor thought, but Elrond simply nodded. 

All three of them were quiet for a good while. “They say your father is the most skillful sailor to ever navigate the Sundering Seas,” Maedhros volunteered unprompted.

Both Elrond and Maglor looked at him with bewilderment. “He is,” Elrond murmured.

“Then I’m sure he’ll be able to get your mother safe to shore,” Maedhros said, an attempt at being consoling that took Maglor by surprise. “You’ll see them again.”

Beside Maglor, Elrond straightened his back a little.

“Your brother is sound asleep?” Maedhros asked Elrond, looking over at where Elros was lying, passed out from that exhaustion that so often followed heartbreak.

“He can sleep anywhere,” Elrond said, voice affectionate, moving over to caress his sleeping brother's cheek.

Endeared, Maedhros and Maglor shared a look.“Would you mind if I borrowed Maglor?” Maedhros asked.

“It’s alright,” Elrond said. He curled up beside Elros.

“You must be getting tired too,” Maglor said, covering him with one of the blankets. “See if you can get some sleep. If you need anything, we’re right down the hall.”

Chapter Text

By the time Elrond woke, the morning had almost gone. Outside Amon Ereb, the sun hung low on a silvery sky. Elrond sat up and stretched his arms, slightly confused as to why he and his brother had been allowed to sleep in. Ordinarily, one of the household’s attendants, if not Maglor himself, would make sure they got out of bed early, in good time for breakfast and their morning lessons. Apparently, that was not the case today.

As he yawned and pulled his hair away from his face, Elrond thought back to the tidings they’d received the night before. No one knows where our mother is , he remembered, his lips quivering. She is not on the Isle of Balar with the other elves. He clutched the bed sheets beneath him. They think she is with Ada, somewhere far from here. So Elros and I are still stranded here, so far from home, in the stronghold of the Sons of Fëanor. 

Across their chamber, Elrond saw that his brother was awake already. Elros was sitting on the windowsill, rolling his silver ring between his fingers the way he so often did when he felt out of sorts. After telling him good morning, Elrond left the bed to go sit down at his brother's side. Elros looked down and did not answer him. The only sound he made was the faint rumbling of his stomach. 

“Are you hungry?” Elrond asked him, trying to keep his chin up. “I am. Come on.” He took Elros’ hand in his, carefully put the ring in the chain back underneath Elros’ nightshirt, and stood up. Without stopping to change their clothes or put on shoes, they left the room, Elrond leading his brother down the hall to Maglor’s door.

Elrond and Elros were quiet as they walked, and the stone floor of the hallway felt cold against their soles. When they reached the door to Maglor’s bedroom and found it ajar, Elrond hesitated. He peered in and spotted Maglor, who was standing with his back to them in the far end of the room. He had to have just returned from the training courtyard, as he was busy shedding his armor piece by piece. Elrond watched him, staying silent, suddenly feeling unsure. He had gone to find Maglor here a few times before, but he had never actually been invited inside his quarters. 

And, Elrond thought with a frown, Elros had yelled quite a lot at Maglor last night. It wasn’t that he blamed his brother for that, part of Elrond had wanted to shout and throw a tantrum too. But while Maglor hadn’t seemed angry at them yesterday, Elrond supposed he might be now. Maybe he had avoided getting them up because he didn’t want to have to deal with them. Maybe Maglor was growing tired of troublesome, moody captives who kept failing at the one thing they were supposed to do: Bringing their mother here. 

“You may come in if you’d like.” Maglor’s words tore Elrond from his stream of thoughts. He hesitated, took a breath, and then pushed the door fully open. He took a few steps inside and glanced around the room, with Elros following just behind him. Maglor’s room was larger than theirs, messier than Elrond had expected, but comfortable nonetheless. There were pillows on the bed, paintings on the walls, and piles of paper scattered on the desk and the couch. “Why didn’t anyone wake us up?” Elrond asked in a small voice, once he had finished taking it all in.

Maglor, who had finished removing the last parts of his armor, shrugged lightly. “I just figured you two could use a long night's sleep. You are good pupils, one day off from school won’t hurt.”

Elrond nodded, feeling relieved. A short break from their lessons did sound nice. “Do you have any food?”

“Come sit down,” Maglor said, gesturing to the room’s couch. “‘I’ll send for some. What would you like?”

“Eggs,” Elros said softly.

“Eggs,” Elrond repeated, squeezing his brother’s hand. “Scrambled ones. And bread and tea.”

Maglor summoned the food and removed his papers from the couch, clearing room for Elrond and Elros to sit. Elrond sneaked a look at them and realized, with a little bit of awe, that most of it was sheet music. There were pages and pages of neat musical notation, the fruits of all the hours Maglor spent on his art. 

An attendant soon arrived with two trays of breakfast, a basket of bread, and a large can of tea. Maglor poured a cup for each of them and took a seat in one of his armchairs. As they ate, the twins fell silent and Elrond quickly found himself missing his brother's usual cheerful talk. How Elros, when he was in a good mood, would ask a thousand questions, barely stopping to hear the answers, or launch into long monologues about whatever had his interest. 

Maybe Maglor misses it too, Elrond wondered. Often enough, he’d glance in their direction. It was looks of worry as if he wanted to make sure they were well, a melancholy kind of affection. Elrond tried to recall how Maglor had talked about Elros last night. “I actually quite like him,” Maglor had said with fondness in his voice. An altogether odd statement, even coming from him.  

Hostages , Elrond figured. One is not supposed to like them. 

Nonplussed, he finished the last of his scrambled eggs and took a sip of tea. Turning the cup in his hands, he thought as hard as he could. It wasn’t as if he and Elros liked Maglor. They could not, could they? Maglor and his army had come to their home with weapons and with fire. He himself had broken into their house, taken them prisoner, and held them captive here for months. Maglor was a traitor and a murderer, he had slain his own kin. It should be as simple as that.

It wasn’t though. Not anymore. Elrond had confided in Maglor, curled up in Maglor’s arms. Even Elros, who had once been steadfastly determined to never trust their captors, had had fun in their Quenya lessons, listened to Maglor’s songs with a smile on his lips, and chatted with him each night when he put them to bed. That was not nothing. He and Elros wouldn’t have come here to Maglor’s room if they hadn’t had some amount of trust that he’d be kind to them. Elrond could, if he’d wanted to, have asked Maglor to let them eat their breakfast by themselves, but he hadn’t. Why hadn’t he?  

This is all much to untangle , Elrond eventually thought, putting his teacup down and leaning back into the couch. I’m giving up for now.

They had emptied their plates by the time Maedhros stopped by. Elros, who had brightened up a little once he’d stopped being hungry, was lying with his head in Elrond's lap, gently humming along to the pierce of harp music Maglor had begun playing. Elrond was carting his fingers through his brother’s hair when Maedhros knocked and entered the room. Elros sat up, looking uneasy, but beside him, Elrond discovered, with some surprise, that the sight of Maedhros' scared face no longer had quite the same power to strike fear into him. Yesterday, Maedhros, too, had been kind.

Maedhros was dressed for traveling, in armor and riding boots. He had his hair put up and a longsword by his side. For a split second, he looked surprised to see Elrond and Elros in Maglor’s room, lying about in their pajamas, surrounded by empty breakfast plates. Then he snapped out of it, and without commenting he walked across the floor and sat down in the chair next to Maglor’s.

Bidding his brother good morning, Maglor put down his harp, poured another cup of tea, and handed it to Maedhros along with a slice of the bread. Seeing Maglor’s insistent expression, Maedhros took the food and the two of them began talking in Quenya, their tones serious and austere. Elrond wondered if that was his and Elros’ cue to leave, but since neither of the brothers had dismissed them they opted to stay where they were. Silently, they played a few rounds of thumb war and Elrond’s mind wistfully wandered back to Sirion, to the many afternoons when he and Elros had entertained themselves in their mother’s study, staying quiet so that she could get her work done. Until four months ago that had been their lives. Now it felt more like a dream he’d woken up from.

When the brothers' conversation had died down, Elros looked over at them. “Maglor,” he began. “May I ask a question?” When Maglor gave him leave, Elros started talking. “Yesterday there was an elf, one of your heralds, I think. He was bleeding a lot, right here.” Elros pointed to the center of his chest, his expression concerned. “What happened to him?”

Elrond had, admittedly, almost forgotten about that. Maglor looked as if he had too. It was Maedhros who answered Elros, looking him in his eyes. “He’ll live. I just came from checking on him. The healers have done fine work.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Elros murmured, looking down on his lap.

Shortly thereafter, Maedhros drank the last of his tea and made to get up. “Are you going away?” Elrond dared ask him. He knew that Maedhros came and went between the fortress and the frontier, but he and Elros were never told anything about his goings.

Maedhros nodded. “I am.”

“But not for long,” Maglor said, getting up from his chair and clasping his brother’s arm in farewell. “Midwinter,” he added assertively, giving it the air of a private joke.

Maedhros didn’t smile like his brother, but his mouth quicked slightly as if he was too tired to smile. “Yes,” he said. “Take care, Káno.”

Hearing the diminutive, Elrond tilted his head. He had never heard it before. It was a rare reminder that while Maedhros and Maglor didn’t look much alike at first glance and often seemed to be somewhat at odds, they were the closest of kin. 

“Elrond, Elros, you as well,” Maedhros told them, before heading out the door.

***

The next days were largely uneventful. Elrond and Elros went to school, practiced their Quenya, and played in the courtyards, all of it their usual routine. To Elrond, Elros still seemed a little beside himself. He was too quiet for Elrond’s liking, especially when Maglor was around. Elrond did his best to cheer his brother up, to make up games and jokes with him, but it rarely worked as well as he had wished. Part of him feared that Elros and Maglor would start arguing again, or that Elros would cry so that Elrond would have to comfort him. As he sat in the schoolroom another day and learned his sums, Elrond quietly hoped that something would happen , that some change for the better would come along and raise his brother's spirit a bit, break this dismal monotony of theirs. In a small way, Elrond got his wish.

It was three days before the solstice. Earlier that day Maedhros and his company of riders had come back from the frontier. In the short break between their midday lessons, Elrond and Elros had watched from the battlements as the returning forces made their way up the lonely hill. Frost had set in, and without coats or cloaks the two of them had quickly grown cold and gone back into the fortress. Since then they had finished their lessons for the day and they were wandering through the third-floor corridor with toys under their arms when they ran into Maedhros.

He was standing by one of the windows, gazing out into the courtyard. Since returning, he had bathed and changed clothes, his hair was still damp and so looked more auburn than red. “Welcome back,” Elrond and Elros both told him politely, meaning to leave it at that and carry on walking. That changed when they realized what it was Maedhros had been looking at. On the other side of the glass, countless snowflakes were floating down from the sky. Already they had covered the yard and the buildings in a thin white layer

With their mouth agape, Elrond and Elros ran to the widow, entirely forgetting to be scared. Elrond pressed his nose to the cold glass looking out with delight, almost disbelief. “It’s snowing!” he said out loud, mostly to himself. “It’s really snowing!”

“Have you never seen snow before?” Maedhros asked them, sounding half amused. 

“No,” Elrond answered, without taking his eyes off the window. The winters they had lived through in the Havens had all been gentle ones and the climate there much milder than that of the open plains.

“I mean,” Elrond added, once he had thought it over. “We’ve seen snow in Maglor’s songs.” Snowy landscapes had often been among the visions Maglor had shown them, but it was different and even more wonderful to see it in real life and up close.

“Of course you have.” Elrond thought he could hear a smile in Maedhros' tone of voice. Maedhros continued, looking over their heads and out the window. “If you stay in here, you’ll miss out on the best parts.”

“We can go out into it?” Elros asked eagerly, turning around.

“Yes,” Maedhros looked down at them “Why wouldn’t you?” His tone turned stricter as he continued. “But put some warm clothes on first. We can't have you getting sick”.

“We will,” they assured him.

After hurrying back to their room to put back their toys and put on boots and coats, Elrond and Elros went like lightning down the stairs and out the door. Their feet were light on the snow and they walked slowly through the courtyard, looking upwards. The snow was coming faster now, each flake swirling through the air. 

Elrond reached out, letting a snowflake land on the flat of his hand. Almost instantly it melted and another took its place. Beside him, Elros was beaming after catching one his tongue. As the first snow of the winter and off their young lives fell, Elrond and Elros looked around at the Amon Ereb fortress, seeing it in a slightly different light. Above them, the sky was a riot of white.

***

A strange noise was coming from Elrond and Elros’ room as if someone in there was slowly dragging a piece of the furniture across the floor. Maglor, who was walking the hallway headed back to his quarters, came to a halt and looked at the boys’ bedroom door, puzzlement clear on his face.

It was late afternoon, the last day before midwinter, and Maglor had spent most of the day helping with the preparations for tomorrow's feast. It was dull work, discussing how to best stretch the food supply and discarding those of the embroidered napkins that had been notably eaten by moths. Ever since the fifth battle, all celebrations held among the Fëanorians had felt somewhat artificial and this was the very first one Maglor and Maedhors would hold without Amrod and Amras by their side to fill the silence. Still, Maglor was determined to plan it all as well as he could. He ached for some diversion and he figured the rest of the household did as well.

Maglor knocked on the children’s door, meaning to check if they were well and see what they were up to. Though the snowfall the other day had cheered them up, he knew that the last week had been harsh on them. 

When no one in there answered, he opened the door and peered inside, finding the room entirely different from when he had last seen it. His jaw dropped. It looked as if the place had been frenziedly ransacked. The children’s beds and chairs had been hauled through the room to new places. Toys, drawing equipment, schoolbooks, pillows, and blankets were scattered, almost concealing the floor. Elros was standing in the midst of the mess, alone, face flushed, looking like a bird caught in a snare. 

Maglor was thoroughly bewildered.“What is happening in here? What on earth are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Elros responded, sounding defensive and slightly panicked. At Maglor’s unconvinced look, Elros took to glowering at him. “Go away!” he said sharply, his shoulders tense. 

Maglor raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised and not overfond of being told what to do in his own fortress. When he stayed where he was, Elros crossed his arms in frustration, looking daggers at Maglor and maybe it was the immaturity of the gesture that managed to tug at Maglor’s heartstrings, just a bit. “Elros,” He tried again, neither wanting to argue with the boy nor scare him. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? You're obviously upset. Maybe I can help. If not, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Elros shook his head and bit his lower lip a little. Finally mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “It’s gone.”

Maglor took a few steps into the room. “What’s gone?”

“My ring,” Elros whispered. “I can’t find it.”

What ring? Maglor thought, puckering his brows. “Wait,” he let slip as he caught on. “You lost the ring of Barahir?” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Suddenly Elros sounded heartbroken. “I was just taking off my coat and then my necklace snapped!” He held up the thin metal chain he had worn the ring in, showing where it had come apart. “I was only trying to search for it.” He sent a fleeting misty-eyed look around the room.

“Shhh” Maglor patted Elros on the shoulder. All week, Maglor had been at a loss at what to say to him, but right now he was not in doubt. “Don't cry. It has got to be here somewhere. We’ll look for it together.”

It took them longer than Maglor had expected to find the ring of Barahir. He made a start and searched the floor, leaving nothing unturned. Elros followed him like a little shadow, seemingly still worried that they wouldn’t find what they were looking for, the priceless silver ring. Does he know its story, the doom it helped set in motion? Maglor wondered. Or does it just remind him of his mother and his home? 

Finally, as they peered in underneath the wardrobe, they realized where Elros’ ring had ended up. Maglor lifted the closet, tilting it slightly to the side, and Elros reached in below it to seize his ring in his hand. “I got it!” He declared as he got to his feet, relief and a bit of triumph in his voice. 

Now somewhat at ease, Elros sat down in the windowsill. “Thank you,” he told Maglor.

“You’re welcome. I know it is important to you.” Maglor took a seat next to him. “Another time, if you need anything, won’t you please come and find me?” He took a breath. “You and Elrond are in my charge, for now. I don’t know how long you will have to stay here, but I would hate for you to be unhappy the entire time.”

“I’m not unhappy all the time,” Elros admitted, turning his head to look out on the snow. “I don’t think Elrond is either.” Still, not looking at Maglor, he added. “You like him a lot, don’t you?

“Elrond?” Maglor asked, a little taken aback by Elros’ straightforwardness. “Yes. He is a sweet boy.” That, there was no harm in saying. Carefully, he reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Elros' ear. “And so are you.”

Elros looked as if he thought he’d heard wrong. “I get into much more trouble than him,” he said, shaking his head.

Darling, you’re a paragon of good behavior, compared to the rest of our common family tree, Maglor thought, but he figured he shouldn’t dismiss how Elros felt. “Perhaps you do,” he said, shrugging slightly. “But I don’t mind that. And I’m sure it won't be more trouble than the rest of us can safely get you out of.”

“Us?”

“You, me, Elrond, and my obstinate older brother. When he’s not out tempting death, that is.”

Elros was looking a bit overwhelmed, but not angry, not frightened. For a moment, he was quiet. Then he reached into his pocket and showed Maglor the broken necklace, looking hopeful. “Do you think we can fix it?” 

Maglor rubbed Elros’ shoulder reassuringly. “Definitely. It’ll be as good as new.” He then gestured to the chaotic state of the room. “But first we have to get all of this in order.”

***

Midwinter came, the sun set, and Maglor, dressed up in crimson cloak and embroidered festival robes, went to find Elrond and Elros in the courtyard. They were standing by the stable windows, petting the horses and chatting, their hair tousled, their cheeks red from the cold.

Elros saw him coming first and raised a hand in greeting. When Maglor reached them, Elrond asked “Won’t you teach us how to ride them?” and rubbed the nearest horse’s muzzled.

“Gladly,” Maglor told them. “But not right now. We'll be late for the feast.”

The children went with him down to the baths and Maglor took time to plait his hair while the two of them bathed. He’d brought clothes for them, garments that had been taken from their house in Sirion, in the blue colors of their father’s house. The proper color for them to wear, even if it would make them stand out like sore thumbs amidst the Fëanorians.

Maglor was immensely happy that both boys seemed to be in a good mood. Had they not been, the festivities would surely have been a challenge. Once they all looked satisfactory, the three of them made their way to the dining hall, finding the adjacent hallway packed with people. “I believe we made it just in time,” Maglor told his charges. 

All there had followed his bidding and donned what they possessed of formalwear. Silk, glittering earrings, and the gleam of polished leather caught Maglor’s eyes. Across the corridor, Maedhros stood out, having left his usual woolen cloaks and travel-worn gear behind. He was striking in robes of gold and red, conversing courteously with officers standing next to him. A finely wrought circlet graced his head and not single copper hair was out of place. He looks every inch a king , Maglor thought sadly. A scarred king, perhaps, but a king meant for more glorious times than these.

“He looks really nice,” Elrond remarked under his breath, almost incredulous, looking as if he suspected Maedhros had been replaced by a statelier and more well-dressed lookalike.

Stifling a laugh, Maglor chided him jokingly. “Don’t sound so surprised, dear Elrond.”

Elrond and Elros followed Maglor as he walked to his brother’s side. He greeted them and joined the conversation, dutifully ignoring Maedhros’ changed appearance. He knew lingering on it would only make Maedhros ill at ease.

Eventually, Maedhros cast a look at the children. “Did you bring them something to occupy themselves with?” he asked Maglor. Another time it might have bothered Maglor, to hear Maedhros talk about Elrond and Elros as if they couldn’t hear it, but he did have a point with what he was saying. The boys would probably grow bored with the smalltalk quickly and wish for entertainment. It was just a little late to only think of it now. Maedhros frowned. “It’s a long dinner.”

“All grown-up dinners are,” Elros declared, causing the elves around him to chuckle. He promptly turned red and took a step closer to Maglor.

Beside him, Elrond tugged at Maglor’s sleeve and looked from him to Maedhros. “May we hurry upstairs and get our colored pencils? They’re in our room.”

Elros joined him, looking up, excitement in his eyes. “We’ll run. Just wait up! It’ll only be three minutes!”

“Truly? Are you that fast?” Maglor smiled at them. “One,” he counted playfully. “Two. Three”

Elrond and Elros ran like arrows off the string, little sea blue flashes slipping through the crowd. Soon they had disappeared up the stairs. Maglor’s gaze stayed at the top of the staircase as the people around him started moving into the great hall. Maedhros touched his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“No.” Maglor said, feeling oddly light “I have to wait here for the next…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Minute and twenty-eight seconds.”

Maedhros shook his head, turned his own gaze to the top of the stairs, and waited alongside Maglor.

Chapter Text

Months went by. Winter held the lands around Amon Ereb firmly in its grasp. The air was crisp, the plains hidden by thick snow.

In Elrond’s book, the snowfall had significantly sweetened his and Elros’ days at the fortress. Now not a day went by without them venturing out into the courtyards and gardens to play, their hands mittened, their clothes layered so as to not get cold. With a bit of help from Maglor, they made snowmen and snow lanterns. Throwing snowballs at the patrolling soldiers turned out to result in a scolding, but tossing them at each other was harmless limitless fun.

They slept soundly at night, they both lost their first tooth within days of each other, and on their days off from school, they made a habit of eating breakfast in Maglor’s room. There they spent lazy, informal mornings, chatting and playing board games, listening to Maglor as he sang his many foreign songs. Whenever he was home, Maedhros would stop by too, to check in with his brother. He would bring up boring topics and frown into his tea, but once in a while, he’d lighten up a bit and give Elrond and Elros tips on which moves to make to beat Maglor in various games. Maglor would smile and joke, and put up a fuss as to why Maedhros wasn’t helping him. Elrond and Elros would look on, mystified, fascinated.

On one of these mornings, Maglor did their hair, starting with Elrond’s. Unprompted, as if the thought had only just struck him. “I’m braiding it back,” he explained as if asking for permission, looking Elrond in the eyes. “Then it won’t be in the way when you go outside.” 

A few months back, just the thought of this proximity with Maglor, would have made Elrond nauseous with fear. Now he simply shrugged and mumbled “Alright.” Even Elros made no complaint when the turn came to him. Maglor’s long musician’s fingers moved over their heads. Gently, precisely, as if in a dance.

Outside the same day, they played ‘follow the leader’ and rolled a giant snowball. They stretched to reach the icicles on the stables’ roofs and cracked the ice on the frozen water buckets, enjoying the satisfying sound when it shattered into pieces.

“I love winter,” Elrond declared, late that evening after Maglor had helped them hang their coats to dry by one of the fireplaces. He rolled his sleeves up and warmed his hands.

 “It loves you back,” Maglor told Elrond, caressing his hair and tugging playfully on the plait he had put there.

***

Inevitably, winter faded away. Elrond and Elros built the season’s last snowman. The snow turned to muddy grey slush, then melted completely, letting the first Winter Aconites burst from the cold ground. Elrond studied the view from the castle’s drawing-room, not quite unhappy, not quite content. By his feet, Elros was playing with their toy horses, and, across the room, Maglor was strumming the strings of his harp. 

An altogether ordinary afternoon, until the music ceased and Maglor came to join the twins by the window. “So,” he began. “It’s a big day tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Elros asked, looking up.

Maglor looked slightly self-conscious. His voice was gingerly. “It is tomorrow, isn’t it? Your birthday.”

It was. Elros sat down the toy horse, looking entirely thrown off balance. Elrond understood exactly how he felt. They had known the day was coming, of course, but they hadn’t ever talked about it. It was all just too strange.

Elrond swallowed. “How do you know that?” he asked Maglor, somewhere in between accusatory and plain perplexed.

Maglor breathed out slowly. “I asked you.” Both boys were silent. “Six months ago.”

Six months. Elrond limbs felt heavy as lead. We have been held as hostages for six months.

He stared into space. Half a year ago they had been dragged out of a burning city. Half a year ago they had lost their mother to the kinslayers and the sea. Then, Maglor had been a horrifying, unpredictable enemy, asking them odd, invasive questions as he callously stole them away from all they’d ever known.   

What is he now?

He felt his hands shaking. Their mother had gotten them cake and toys on their birthdays. Each year, the twins had worn their finest clothes and gotten to choose what to have for dinner. Naneth had sung to them, Elrond remembered. Not as skillfully as Maglor sung, but heartfelt and sweet, each word an embrace. 

Now I’m crying again, he realised. And who can possibly blame me?

Maglor took their hands and led them to the couch. As he stroked their shoulders and their hair, a stream of comforting words left his mouth. “I didn’t mean to upset you or put pressure on you in any way,” was among them. “We can do nothing tomorrow if that’s what you prefer. Or you can celebrate just the two of you. It’s all your decision.” 

Eventually, Elrond dried his eyes. He shrugged, not looking at Maglor. “We don’t know what we want,” Elros muttered.

“It’s alright.” Maglor was almost steadfast.”You’re alright.” He was still holding Elrond’s hand, and it was comforting, even though it shouldn’t be. Elrond squeezed Maglor’s hand. As tight as he possibly could.

***

It was by far the smallest birthday celebration Maglor had ever attended, but in this particular case, he reasoned that that might not be a bad thing. Maedhros was away on another patrol and had let Maglor pass on his well wishes. That left the three of them, Elrond, Elros, and Maglor, all of whom were now sitting on couches around the low table in the living room, eating thin pancakes filled with jam and dried fruit. 

Maglor liked to think that he was getting better at all of this. At interpreting mumbled requests and spotting potential conflicts, at making them smile even when there was so much to weep over. He had so hoped for Elrond and Elros to have a nice birthday, if not an easy one, and he surveyed them with veiled concern. They were both quiet now, sitting closely together as they ate. Just before, they had opened their presents with timid smiles and sweet courtesies. They were seven years old as of today, apple-cheeked, messy-haired, and still in their pajamas, one wish that had been easily fulfilled. 

Maglor broke his silence. “I never knew the Doriathrim birthday song. Perhaps you two would do me the honor of teaching it to me?” He wasn’t sure if asking this of them was wise. He had sung for them that morning as was custom, the only birthday song in Sindarin he knew, one he had learned in Mithrim. While neither of the children had complained, it had been clear to him by their faces that they were used to different traditions. Doriathrim culture was unknown land to Maglor. He had only entered the kingdom once, and that had been to help cause its downfall. Still, it seemed to be of matter to the children, and Maglor felt it would be a pity if they were to lose touch with it.

Elrond and Elros shook their heads.

“Why not? You needn’t sing, you could just recite it.”

Elrond winced. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m the only one who’ll hear it.”

“Maglor, you don’t like Doriathrim stuff.” There was a tinge of resentment in Elros’ frown.

“That’s not true,” Maglor objected, feeling guilty. “The Doriathrim music I’ve heard has all been beautiful.” Then an idea struck him and he tried again. “Can the two of you keep a secret? One of my secrets?”

The twins looked at each other. “Yes,” they replied, warily curious.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dark, but it is very important.”

Both boys nodded and moved closer to him.

Maglor lowered his voice. “Long ago, at a party during the peace, I met Daeron, the royal bard of Doriath. Surely you've both heard of him.” He paused for dramatic effect. “We were both curious as to see who was the most skillful vocalist, so we snuck off to put it to the test, with our shared cousin Finrod acting as judge.”

“Did you win?” Elrond whispered.

Maglro shook his head. “No, I lost.”

Elros scrunched his nose. “Your cousin thought that Daeron sang better?”

“He did sing better, notably better, it was plain to hear.” Maglor continued with put-on franticness “You  may never ever tell anyone I said so.”

That made them smile. “We won’t,” Elros assured him.

“I think that Daeron wrote the birthday song too, the one we know,” added Elrond.  

“Typical,” Maglor complained, still looking cheerful. “Then this becomes a matter of professional curiosity, and of feeding our old rivalry. Please do indulge me.”

“Alright,” Elrond looked half amused and half exasperated as if he found it all silly, but he raised his voice in song and Elros soon joined in.

For once, they sang and Maglor listened.

***

Late that night, a knock at Maglor’s bedroom door made him stir awake. He sat up slowly, still feeling half asleep, and called out. “Elrond, is that you?” He felt slightly irritated at being woken now that he was finally getting some rest, but he would have to set that aside if the poor boy was having nightmares again.

Elros’ voice sounded from the other side of the door. “I’m here too.” 

“Come in,” Maglor said. He lit a single candle and its yellow glow he could see Elrond and Elros enter, close the door behind them, and approach. Finally, they sat down on Maglor’s bed and he moved to sit between them.“What's the matter?” he asked.

Elros took Maglor's hand in both of his. “Maglor, we can’t sleep.” 

“We miss Naneth,” sniffled Elrond. Maglor stroked his shoulder.

“I miss Adar a little too,” Elros whispered. “I had hoped they would come and get us today. It's our birthday.”

Why must we always have this conversation? Maglor all-but despaired. This drawn-out inconclusive heartbreak.

“I understand,” he told them. “You haven’t been forgotten, I’m sure. Your mother and father must be thinking of you now too.” As usual, Maglor let, “If they are in fact alive,” go entirely unspoken. 

They sat in the quiet for a while. Elrond took Maglor’s thick blanket and wrapped it around his legs. Maglor scolded him very gently, “Don’t get too comfortable, now. You have to get back to your beds and get some sleep.”

“No.” Elrond pouted.

Maglor sighed. “It’s very late, darling. I’m tired, and you have got school tomorrow.” 

“I don’t want to,” the boy said, and Elros was quick to voice his agreement.

Maglor never relished arguing with them. It tended to feel like kicking someone who was already down. On top of that, he felt bone-weary. “Fine,” he said, lifting his hand to cup Elrond's face. “Then you can stay here and sleep next to me.” 

A couple of months ago that would have sent both of them running for the hills. The fact that it didn’t filled Maglor with a mix of guilt and flickering gladness.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Elrond and Elros let themselves fall into bed, almost synchronized.  

“Just this once,” Maglor mumbled as he went to get them all more blankets.

***

The training grounds had been converted into a makeshift riding arena. It was a cold but sunny day, and Elrond and Elros were riding around in circles on two of the stables' calmer horses, struggling with their rising trot, their faces tense with concentration. Their riding boots had been birthday presents and almost a month had passed since then. From the center of the yard, Maglor watched and gave instructions.  A few of the soldiers and servants, curious and eager for variety, watched on as well.

Their audience soon parted for Maedhros, who crossed the courtyard with an air of determination. On his face, old scars intermingled with a few fresh bruises, tokens from his latest skirmish out on the plains. “Do you have a moment?” he asked. Maglor nodded. He gestured for a groom to take over the twins' training and followed his older brother out of the ring and up the stairs to the battlements.

They walked, and Maedhros went straight to the point. As Maglor had expected, it was no social call. 

“The scouts have been reporting disemboweled deer and half-eaten wild horses.”

Maglor sighed. It would be foolishly optimistic to hope for a pack of wolves or a puma. “Wargs.” Those particular beasts had made several attempts at ravaging his terrain in The Gap. He had lost good people and countless good horses hunting them down century after century, all to fail at last, when dragonfire entered the picture.

Maedhros agreed. “They’re much too close for my liking.”

All wargs could tumble off the edge of Arda and still be too close for Maglor’s liking. He took another look at Maedhros' battered face. Was it just him or did Maedhros look awfully exhausted? 

“Send someone else, brother. You’ve only just returned.” Maglor didn’t know quite who to suggest, who to rely on with something this dangerous. That wasn’t all too strange, he concluded. The elves still sworn to them were the few willing to slay their own on command. They were dangerous and thorny, but not the bravest, the most skillful, or the most trustworthy. 

In the end, Maglor thought with resignation. He and I rely only on each other.  

He met Maedhros' eyes and guessed, “You want me to go.” 

The thought shouldn’t be making him uneasy, but it did.  Maglor hadn’t raised a sword against an enemy in seven months. He had hardly even left the fortress. Leaving Elrond and Elros had seemed out of question, Maglor was the one who knew them best out of all here. For more than half a year, his life had first and foremost been entwined with theirs. It was far longer than he had ever expected.

Before Sirion, Amrod and Amras had led most of the patrols, glad to just get out of the fort. Maedhros and Maglor had gone too, whenever their assistance was needed. By staying behind all these months, Maglor had, he realized, left Maedhros with enough work for four people. “I should, shouldn’t I?” He said, apologetically. 

“You’d be the most effective,” Maedhros said, unsentimental to a fault. “We need them dealt with fast.” 

Before they set their sight on our livestock, Maglor interpreted, Or any of our patrols. He made a non-committal sound.

“You would have to leave early tomorrow, but it would likely only take a few days. Three, perhaps. Surely your children can endure that long.” 

“They’re not…” Maglor began. He made a face. “I don’t know.” His gaze wandered.

Down in the courtyard, Elrond and Elros were still circling around, lively and clumsy on mounts much too large for them. The thought of leaving them was a painful one, but Maglor didn’t feel he had much choice in the matter. The fortress did need more than one defender. “I’d have to find someone else to watch them. I suppose Haeril might…”

Maedhros frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’d watch them for you.”

Maglor felt a flare of genuine surprise and quickly hid it. “Would you now?” he quipped. “That’s sure to be a sight.” Maedhros could manage, of that Maglor felt fairly sure, but it likely wouldn’t go entirely smoothly. He and the children still seemed to be somewhat mutually uncomfortable. Maglor had assumed Maedhors would prefer to avoid those struggles.

Maedhros acknowledged his skepticism and admitted, “You might need to fill me in a bit.”

Maglor nodded. “Sure.” They would have to meet later tonight to talk over Maglor’s foray. On that occasion, he would make sure to give Maedhros some legitimate advice. For now, Maglor meant to rejoin Elrond and Elros. As he left, he patted Maedhros’ shoulder, telling him. “If I were you, I’d start by removing the knife from underneath your pillow.”

***

Elrond and Elros had brought their toys down to the kitchen garden. Maglor found them there, busy building stables out of old pots and eagerly steering small horses on paths through the rows of plants. He smiled, thinking that this meant their riding lesson had been a success. 

They greeted Maglor cheerfully and he sat down on the edge of one of the beds. “Look, Maglor.” Elrond came over and let a black and blue painted figurine fall into Maglor’s hand. “This one looks like your horse.” Maglor smiled, turning it around in his hand. It did resemble Cúron a bit.

Elros joined them, a toy in each of his hands. “These are all Valinorean, aren’t they? You can tell by the colors!” There was wonder in his voice. ”Did you play with them when you were little?”

“Not quite. My little brother Curufin made these for his son, my nephew.”

Both boys looked perplexed. This was the first they had ever heard of this. “You have a nephew? Had a nephew?” Elrond inquired.

“Have.” 

“Is he a secret?”

“No.” Maglor shook his head. “His name is Celebrimbor. He was very young when the war began, but by now he’s all grown up.” He paused. “We have had no contact for some seventy years. The last I heard was that he was on Balar, working for Gil-galad.”

“What is he like? Do you miss him?” asked Elros.

“Well,” Maglor began. “He is a surpassingly gifted smith like his father, and my father before him. He is the only grandchild my father ever had and so the pride and joy of our entire House.” His voice grew more serious. “He grew up as the world was breaking, but managed to stay grounded, and kind. I was much saddened when I realized he had left us, but I was never angry with him.” 

Truly, Maglor felt overwhelmingly relieved that Tyelpe had been too young to swear the oath. That the boy could choose a fate other than dying for the Silmarils. Maglor only wished he could tell Celebrimbor how he wished him all the best, not that Tyeple would want to hear it from him.

A woeful thought struck him, heavy as lead: When Elrond and Elros, sooner or later, left his fortress and his life, he would come to feel much the same about them. Dolefully, he wondered. Would he and Maedhros lock all evidence of these two up in some box and go on to scarcely ever mention them?

Maglor shook his head at himself. Clearly, the prospect of departing was making him sentimental. That was likely to only get worse. He had yet to even tell Elrond and Elros he was leaving.

***

Maedhros, Elrond, and Elros all stood and waited by Amon Ereb’s gate, well over a meter of distance between him and them. As the sunrise painted the sky, Maglor and his company of soldiers arrived, now fully armored, leading their horses by the reins. 

Maglor had kept up his form during these last months, training both his swordsmanship and his archery, but putting on his armor again and grasping his keen-edged swords had felt somewhat surreal at first. He was trying hard to recapture his usual mindset, his determination to see the combat done, but it wasn’t quite there.

Yesterday in the garden, Maglor had informed Elrond and Elros of him leaving, doing his very best to explain, emphasizing that it wouldn’t be long till he was back again. There had been no tears and no shouting, just worry and disappointment on their little faces. He had eaten dinner with them and sung them to sleep, but it hadn’t made the time off his departure come slower.

He handed Cúron’s reins to one of his men and went to say his goodbyes. Elrond broke off Maglor’s formalities quickly, stepping forward with a look of deep frustration. “What if you die?” he asked, tightly gripping Maglor’s cloak.

Maglor crouched down and gently removed his hand. “Have some faith in me, my friend.” He said, keeping his tone very light, trying to divert Elrond. “There’s no way I’m getting killed by a damn warg.”

It didn’t work. “You’re leaving me,” Elrond croaked, sounding both accusing and distraught. As if looking for someone to blame, he turned his head and gave Maedhros a resentful stare. “You’re leaving us with him!”

Maglor shushed him. “Easy now. You will both be alright, I promise you.” He took Elros’ hand and pulled him closer so that he too could hear. “Maedhros is my whole family. There’s no one in the whole world I trust more. There never has been.” Elrond and Elros seemed to hang on every word. Maglor continued. “If you have the slightest issue you must go to him. He’ll help you. He wants to. Can you do that?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Somewhat relieved, Maglor moved to embrace Maedhros. There wasn’t much to say. He knew that Maedhros had heard everything he’d told the twins. Maedhros’ hands, one of flesh and one metallic, rested on Maglor’s back, and Maglor stayed quiet.

“Come back soon,” Elros said gravely when Maglor came to hug him goodbye.

“I will.” 

He pressed a kiss to each of the children’s foreheads. “I’ll miss you,” he told them.

The sound of the gate closing behind him was jarring and unmusical.

Chapter Text

Maglor had not been away from Amon Ereb for more than two minutes when Elrond lashed out. Elros and he had been watching the fortress’ gate with low spirits, but now Elrond turned his back to it. “Why did you tell him to leave?” he hissed, looking up and feeling his eyes watering as they met Maedhros’. Part of him knew that flying off the handle like this was unwise, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t even think clearly. 

For months now, Elrond had been trying to figure out what Maglor was to them. His titles were many: their jailor, their tutor, their protector, their only friend. He was even more than all of those things, in a way Elrond couldn’t quite describe. And now? Now all of a sudden he was just gone .

Maedhros spoke calmly, seemingly not surprised by Elrond’s outburst. “He is much needed out there. Ideally, we would have been able to give you longer notice, but we could not just now.” He took a step towards Elrond. “We’ll have to make do, just for a couple of days.” The words had the air of an outstretched hand.

Elrond was far too upset to want to take it. He still felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. “Everyone leaves…” he whimpered to himself. Then he forced his voice to harden, his unfocused gaze to become a glare. “If he never comes back, then it’s your fault! Haven’t you thought of that?”

At that, Maedhros’ expression grew weary, perhaps even hurt. It was hard to tell. He sighed, and Elrond felt a stab of peculiar regret. I shouldn’t be saying these things, he thought. Maglor wanted us to get along so badly. He raised his hands and rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, he halfway expected Maedhros to have gone on his way in order to avoid dealing with them. He had not. “You don’t have to worry,” he told Elrond in a gravelly voice. “Maglor will return.” 

Elros had long been quiet, standing still by Elrond’s side. Now he asked, “How do you know that?” looking both skeptical and searching.  

“Only death could keep him from returning here,” Maedhros told them, sounding untroubled. “And if he was easy to kill, someone would have succeeded at it by now.” He shrugged slightly and added. “At least, that’s how I like to think of it.”

Elrond tried to find solace in what he heard. Maedhros is Maglor’s big brother, he knows him best. If he says Maglor will come back and Maglor says so himself as well, then it probably is true. He took a deep breath.

“Come here, Elrond,” Maedhros said, procuring a handkerchief from a pocket in his robes and offering it. “Dry your eyes.” Elrond took it and dapped his tears away. He stayed silent, though he felt as if he should be thanking Maedhros for lending it to him. Maglor would have told him to if he had been there, for sure. 

“We should get you ready for school,” Maedhros declared, bidding them to follow him. 

They crossed the courtyard. Had it been Maglor walking between them, the twins would have taken his hands in theirs and held on, but it wasn’t. It was Maglor’s brother, he who had led the kinslayings in both Sirion in Doriath, he who had ordered them brought here and then all-but ignored them for months. He whose face was marred with gruesome scars and whose right hand had been replaced with one of metal. Maglor wouldn’t want me to be the least bit scared, Elrond knew. Maglor wants me to trust him, to put my trust in the both of them. Though it was a struggle, he would make an attempt to do so.

***

Maedhros came to their room that evening, and from the doorway, he inquired as to how their day had been. He also asked how they would feel about taking the evenings’ meal with him, away from the dining hall. That was a welcome idea, Elrond was not at all in the mood for noise or large crowds. 

They sat down in the same drawing-room they had celebrated their birthday in the month before, Elrond and Elros on one couch and Maedhros on the other, in what they had come to think of as Maglor’s place. Soon an attendant brought the three of them their dinner and left them to eat in privacy. 

As he made his way through his portion of stew, Elrond thought to himself that the noise of the hall might have been preferable. Talking wasn’t always easy, but this quiet gave him too much time to worry. His thoughts flew to Maglor, his safety,  his return, and then on to Naneth and Adar, and whether they would ever return to him. He wondered if he should feel guilty, for grouping Maglor Fëanorian with his honorable parents, for wishing that all three of them would come and see after him and Elros. He ate half his food and pushed the rest around on his plate.

“You look as if you are in need of some distraction,” Maedhros observed once he had finished his meal.

“Yes,” Elrond admitted, looking up from his food with a tender expression on his face. “Could you sing us a song?”

Maedhros’ lips twitched. “I’m afraid that’s solely Maglor’s sphere.” He leaned back into the couch and proposed, “I could tell you a story instead.” Elrond and Elros agreed and Maedhros asked them, “What kind of tale would you like?”

“Tell us how you got your hand cut off!” Elros blurted out, eyeing Maedhros’ artificial hand with interest.

“Elros!” Elrond gawked at his brother. For a moment he was far too scandalized to feel sad. This was a subject that they should probably leave unbreached, he thought. Maglor was always so vague when he spoke of Maedhros’ past, and Maedhros himself revealed nothing. 

Maedhros shook his head, looking fairly unsurprised. “What is it with you two and asking about that?” 

Elros tilted his head. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious, I suppose.” Perhaps he was exceedingly curious, perhaps he was eager to prove his daring, or perhaps he just wanted attention. Either way, he got up from his place and sat down beside Maedhros, moving close to him and smiling his most charming smile. “Please tell us about it. I think it’ll distract me really well.”

Maedhros’ chuckle was barely hearable. He lifted his hand, the left one, and carefully ruffled Elros’ hair. “It might disturb you a bit. I doubt Maglor would approve.”

“Did you know that sometimes, if a song has a lot of blood and fighting in it, Maglor just hums during the scary bits?” Elros told Maedhros with a wry grin. “He tells us he’s forgotten the lyrics, even though we know he hasn’t.” He leaned his head on Maedhros’ upper arm. “Can’t you do the same thing to your story?”

On the other side of the table, Elrond decided to try and support his brother’s search for answers. It might bring them diversion, and if Maedhros really didn’t want them to hear about it, he could just tell them no. He looked at Maedhros and suggested, “You can decide which parts to leave out and if it’s too scary, we’ll just say so.”

Maedhros took a deep breath. “As you wish, then,” he said, somehow sounding both cordial and tense. He turned his gaze to the lit candles on the table and reluctantly began his story. 

“I was captured once, long ago.”

“By the Enemy?” Elrond asked, scared by the mere thought. Once, he had heard that the Black Foe’s prisoners all went mad from the hardships, but he did not understand exactly why.

“Were you king then?” asked Elros, looking Maedhros up and down.

Maedhros nodded and waited for the children to fall quiet before continuing. “They had each of my companions killed.” A shiver went down Elrond's spine. Maedhros’ mouth twisted bitterly. “And eventually they chained me to a cliffside far up in the Iron Mountains so that I hung by my right wrist.”

“H-how did you get free?” 

He must have gotten free somehow. Otherwise, he would not be sitting here.

Maedhros let a pained smile show. “I was rescued.” He held a pause. “By my friend and kinsman.”

“One of your brothers?” guessed Elros.

“No. My cousin.”

The tone of his story changed then, as Maedhros told of a hero, of his valorous friend, who had ventured in amidst their wicked foes. All alone he had climbed the towering volcanic mountains and searched the wasteland, hiding in the uncanny darkness, armed with harp, sword, and bow. 

Maedhros’ rescuer had, he told, located him at last by the sound of his voice. Upon realizing that he could not reach Maedhros, he had prayed in desperation to the powers of their distant birthland. Elrond trembled from suspense as Maedhros spoke on. “...then, like lightning from a clear sky, Thorondor, king of the giant Eagles descended to bear him on his back up to where I was bound.”

Elrond moved forward in his seat. Maedhros spoke slowly now, with turmoil in his eyes, struggling to choose his words or perhaps omitting something altogether. “When he realized that the shackle was utterly unbreakable, he looked me in the eyes, raised his sword, and—” Elrond covered his mouth with his hands.

They stared at Maedhros. “Did you two fly on the eagle then?” Elros eventually managed. “To safety?”

“Yes.” Maedhros looked up and nodded. “I was unconscious, though. I don’t remember the flight.”

“Did Maglor come and see you then?” Elrond guessed, hope clear in his voice. “And your other brothers, and your friends?”

“They did.” Maedhros looked down on his prosthesis, expression indeterminable.

Elrond and Elros shared a look, trying to take it all in. The eagle, the mountain peak, Maedhros’ friend. Elrond had caught how Maedhros had not once called his savior by his name. He knew better than to ask for it and so did Elros. Though they were but little boys, they were children of Beleriand, heirs to fallen kingdoms. 

They knew a look of mourning when they saw one.

“I am glad your cousin rescued you,” Elrond said to Maedhros a little later. In his mind, he added, and I’m sorry that he is dead now. He didn’t dare say that part out loud. They were still in the drawing-room. An attendant had been by to clear the table, and for a while, the three of them had been sitting in silence again.

Elrond meant what he said, at least he thought he did. He wouldn’t wish thralldom at the hands of Morgoth on anyone. Not even on Maedhros, who had gone on to use his freedom to hurt and kill Elrond’s kin. Maedhros had looked so very pained while talking about his captivity, and that had not at all been Elrond’s intention. It didn’t feel right.

“I am too,” Elros agreed, patting Maedhros’ shoulder in a hesitant attempt to give him comfort. 

Maedhros opened his mouth to speak, but Elros beat him to it. “Do you want tea? I can go get some,”

Maedhros looked somewhat appreciative but still shook his head. “You don’t have to.”

Elros rose to his feet and insisted, just as Elrond had counted on him doing. “Do you like it better with or without honey?” he asked, raising his chin.

Once he got Maedhros to give up his tea preferences, Elros left for the kitchens. Elrond stayed behind.

“Maedhros,” he began, awkwardly. It was a rough-sounding name, almost coarse on Elrond's tongue. Maglor sometimes called him Maitimo, his name of old. And while Elrond thought that sounded noble and as pretty as wind chimes, it would be more than a little presumptuous of him to start using it out of the blue.

“What is it, child?”

Elrond moved to sit beside Maedhros, in the exact spot Elros had sat in before. “May I tell you something?” He wanted to get this over with while Elros was gone. Not because he thought that Elros would ever judge him, but because there was something nice in knowing that he could ask for help all on his own. Ask for help from Maedhros out of all people.

“Feel free.”

Elrond took a deep breath. “Sometimes, I have these nightmares. It’s not that often anymore, but it…” He drew his legs up and hugged his knees. “It’s about Sirion and… and what happened there. And it gets really bad when I wake up. I can’t stop thinking and I’ll cry and…” He bowed his head, feeling terribly self-conscious.

“And then you seek out Maglor,” Maedhros volunteered, voice low.

Elrond looked up, puzzled. “Yes... Did he tell you about that?”  Maglor and Maedroes talk about me when I’m not there, he realized . Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

Maedhros nodded. “Do you know where my quarters are? Just come by if you ever need it. There’s no shame in that.” Sounding slightly jaded, he added. “Odds are I’m awake anyway.” 

“Uh.” Elrond fidgeted with the fabric of his breechers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Maedhros appeared more relaxed now.

“What else did Maglor say to you about me?” Elrond asked after a while. He so hoped it was nice things, and he thought it most likely was. Still, he wanted to be sure. He got up so that he was sitting on his knees. Eagerly, he said, “Please, Maedhros. I just want to hear it. I miss him.”

Maedhros shook his head, but he reached out to wrap his arm around Elrond. “Using a lot more words, he told me, that you are a gentle, thoughtful boy, and that he has always found you very brave.”

Elrond beamed, inwards and outwards. Briefly, nothing else mattered. All Elrond could think of was, Maglor wants his brother to know that I am brave.

His reaction made a grin break across Maedhros’ face. He rubbed Elrond's shoulder affectionately.  In jest, Maedhros continued. “I, of course, am a much better judge of character, so I’m planning on disregarding all of that and shaping my own impression of you.”

What a mess of an impression that would be, Elrond thought. This morning he had been seething and yelling at Maedhros, just earlier he had listened to the tragedies of his past, and now they were smiling and joking together. Though perhaps he should not, Elrond liked this part much better.

In the spur of the moment, he moved to embrace Maedhros, so that he was sitting on his lap and holding onto him. Maedhros hugged him back, his arms were strong and, safe for the metallic prosthesis, he was warm. Although it was nice, Elrond grew to feel a little embarrassed. What am I going to say to him now? he thought. 

Then the clatter of cups knocking together sounded from the hallway. They both looked up. Elrond whispered, “I’m gonna go help Elros before he spills all our tea on the floor.” 

***

“It’s not too cold,” Elros insisted. They had gone on a walk to enjoy the good weather. Now they were standing on the bathing bridge by the lake and Elros was winning Elrond over to another one of his wild ideas. “We’ll just take a quick soak!” he declared as he began to remove his robes. Elrond followed along. Last summer in Sirion, they had gone down to the beach every day. The summer before that, Adar and Naneth had first taught them how to swim. Now that the weather was growing warmer, every part of them came to yearn for the water.

“You’ll freeze,” Maedhros warned them. He was armed to the teeth and flanked by the soldiers that had escorted them here, but his tone was unimposing. “I won’t stop you, but if I were you I’d surely wait for the summer to start.”

Elros shook his head. “That would be weeks of waiting.” He finished undressing, gathered his clothes in a messy pile, and handed it to a slightly flustered-looking Maedhros. “Will you hold this for me?”  

When Elrond was ready, Elros grinned and asked him. “On the count of three?” 

“On the count of three.”

They walked to the end of the pier and looked down on the muddy blue water. “One,” they counted. “Two.” They joined hands. “Three!” Their feet left the bridge and the water, cold and homely, faithfully caught them.

A few minutes later, Maedhros, having passed their clothes to one of the soldiers, reached out to help each of them out of the lake and back on the bridge. Shivering, Elrond wrapped his arms around himself and found them to be covered in goosebumps. “Was I wrong?” Maedhros teased Elros, but he unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the both of them, shielding them from the cold air.

Maedhros rubbed their shoulders through the thick fabric. The lining was furry and soft against Elrond’s bare skin. He looked up at Maedhros. “Can we go home n-” Elrond heard Elros’ quickened breath and cringed as he realized his slip-up. Gracelessly, he corrected himself. “I mean, can we go back to your fortress now?

***

They made it back to the fortress and spent the evening studying Quenya. Elrond and Elros explained all the grammatical rules they could remember, and Maedhros listened with interest even though he, of course, knew it all already. 

The next day after school, Maedhros gave them a riding lesson and after putting the horses back in the stable and bathing, Elrond and Elros went to meet Maedhros in the drawing-room. There they sat down to relax, with cups of tea, warm blankets, and a tray of cookies. There their day took a sudden, horrific turn.

It began when Maedhros fell asleep. He had sunken down into the couch where he was sitting. His red hair fell down in wild waves, his eyes were closed, his breathing calm. “We must have driven him tired,” Elros wondered, taking the measure of his sleeping figure.

“I think he’s been tired all along.” Elrond pointed out. “He almost never sleeps.”

Elros nudged Elrond. “That means more cookies for us!” 

Then they bantered and goofed around, trying to see if they could shove entire cookies into their mouths. All the while Maedhros’ sleeping expression grew more and more troubled. Without warning, his voice broke the silence, causing Elrond and Elros to cease their play. “Anyone…” Maedhros groaned, sounding distraught. “Please…”

He’s talking in his sleep, Elrond realized. He studied him, taken slightly aback. “Should we wake him up?” he asked, turning to look at Elros.

Elros looked to be in over his head. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know.”

Still dormant, Maedhros moved restlessly. He must be dreaming something, Elrond thought, worried and attentive. Something scary. Maybe he has nightmares like me.

Maedhros mumbled again. “Can anyone hear me? Are you there?”

What does he dream of?  

Elrond rose to his feet. “That’s it,” he told Elros. “I’m waking him up right now.” 

As he walked around the small table, headed for Maedhros’ place, Elrond’s imagination ran wild. He shivered as he thought of everything that might feature in Maedhros’ bad dreams. Exile and sword fights and battles. His captivity in Morgoth’s realm and all what was done to him there.

The answer turned out to be something else, and it made Elrond’s blood run cold with shock and horror

“Eluréd!” Maedhros called out, just as Elrond was about to shake him awake.“Elurín!”

Elrond stumbled backward, crashing into the table in his panic. Elros yelped in surprise. Porcelain cups went flying and shattered against the stone floor. Elrond’s head hit the tabletop with a loud clunk.

Worse yet, Maedhros woke up.

Elrond’s thoughts raced as got to his feet and clutched Elros. He had not thought of those names in many months, but now it all came rushing back to him like a sudden hailstorm. 

He remembered their mother, reminiscing sorrowfully. “I had two older brothers once. Twins just like the two of you. Elurín and Eluréd were their names.” 

He remembered an older Sinda in Sirion, telling a story that had made him and Elros shake with fright. “The Sons of Fëanor left the little princes to die in the woods to punish us all for our defiance.”

Maglor. Maedhros. What was it they had done?

Maedhros sat up, looking startled and groggy, but deeply aware that something or the other was wrong.

The twins stared at him as they clung to each other, feeling furious and betrayed and frightened anew. Perhaps they would have run, run as far away as they could, had Maedhros not been between them and the door.

“Elrond…” Maedhros began, getting up and taking a step in their direction.

“Don’t come near me!”

Maedhros stayed where he was, blinking at them. A part of Elrond began to wonder. Does he not remember what he said? What he dreamt?   

Elros gripped Elrond tightly as he confronted Maedhros. “What did you do to them? My mother’s brothers!” Elros' voice faltered as tears welled up in his eyes. “You… you…”

A horrified look came upon Maedhros. When he finally spoke he sounded achingly hesitant. “I did them no harm. I never even laid eyes on them. Elros…”

His denial angered them.“Liar!” they called him. “Kinslayer! You said their names!”

“They had never done anything to you!” Elrond whimpered. He knew they hadn’t. Eluréd and Elurín had been six years old when they died. They were younger then than we are now, he realized with a shudder.

Maedhros was making sense of what they were saying. “I said their names in my sleep?” His voice was filled with disgust, but it was not directed at them. 

"Sit down,” he said at last. “Please. I’ll explain you everything.”

***

“When we came to Doriath,” Maedhros began. The three of them were sitting on one of the couches. Broken cups and porcelain shards surrounded them, but Elrond paid them no mind. 

“Why did you come there?” Elros’ face was grim. At first, he had demurred to hear Maedhros out at all. “Why did you really attack our grandfather?”

“That’s for another time, Elros,” Maedhros said sharply. His gaze left the twins' as he continued. “My brother Celegorm was slain by your grandfather. Dior died not long after from the wounds he had obtained.” 

Elrond wrapped his arms around himself, listening as Maedhros went on. “At roughly the same time, a group of elves in Celegorm’s service apprehended Eluréd and Elurín and their escort. They slew the warriors and took both of Dior’s sons captive.” He held a pause. “When the news of my brother’s fate reached them, they rode far into the forest with the children and left them there.” 

Maedhros’ expression grew bitter and pained. “A last revenge on Doriath’s royals.”

“Why?” Elrond asked. “Why did they hate us so much?” He was a prince of Doriath, through his mother, even if he had never set foot there and never would. 

Maedhros sighed. “I don’t know how to possibly explain it to you. Our peoples were always at odds, and Celegorm’s host had suffered much for it.” Elrond furrowed his brows. He did not understand, but he listened on. “I was furious when I heard of their deed. I had meant for them to be delivered to me.”

“Eluréd and Elurín?” 

“Yes.” 

Maedhros looked at them, and Elrond thought the emotion twisting his face might be shame. 

“You wanted to exchange them for the Silmaril,” Elrond said, more sorrowful than angry.

Maedhros neither confirmed or denied it. “I was…” He shook his head in self-reproach. “I left Maglor in charge of our forces and I then charged into the woods…” He grew quiet.

“That’s what you were dreaming of,” Elros ascertained. The discovery brightened him just a bit. “Searching for them. You were asking if they could hear you, if they were there.” 

Maedhros picked up a pierce of porcelain, turning it over in his hand. “When night fell, I realised I was the only one searching. The Doriathrim had fled west, our army was still at Menegroth…” He trailed off, not able to go on.

“It was to no avail,” he said, drawing his explanation to an end. 

He did not find them. No one did.

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros told them. Elrond could not tell what he was apologizing for.

Maedhros surveyed their shaken faces. “I have upset you so.”

He had and he had not. Elrond grieved for all that had befallen his kin, for the pointlessness of it all. He also felt relieved. Relieved that Maedhros and Maglor had not been the ones to hurt his uncles.

Elrond moved to sit in Maedhros’ lap. “The people who killed them. Your brother’s men,” he asked when worry stung him. “D-do they live here?” He usually took little notice of the fortress’ soldiers, but now their faces came to flash before his eyes.

“No,” Maedhros’ voice was dark, but he wrapped an arm around Elrond, comforting him. “You don’t have to worry about them.”

“It’s so strange,” Elrond confessed, a bit later. “I hadn’t thought about Elúred and Elurín for months. It’s as if I forgot, but not really.”

“I didn’t think of them either.” Elros shook his head. “I should have, shouldn’t I? They were our kin.”

“You have had your hands full, haven’t you?” Maedhros pointed out. “I wouldn’t dwell on it. You’re so very young. You’ve been scared and you’ve been trying to adjust.”

“Don’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he told them, voice low.

***

“Maglor! Maglor!” 

The sound of them calling his name, the sight of the two of them running towards him, made Maglor jump from his horse and hurry across the courtyard. He spotted Maedhros, also coming to greet him, though at a walking pace. Just before Elrond and Elros collided with him, Maglor reached out, lifted them up, and embraced them both.

“We missed you,” Elros told him, sounding out of breath. He was clinging to Maglor’s chest and leaning on his shoulder.

“I missed you too.” Maglor pecked his cheek, then Elrond’s. “How good it is to see you again.” 

He sat them both down and then looked them over. “Did you have fun?” 

Elros smiled, nodding enthusiastically. “We got to bathe in the lake!”

“And have you had any trouble?”

Elrond shrugged. “Maybe a little bit of trouble,” he said in a small voice, “In a way.”

He would have to ask Maedhros what the boy meant by that. For now, he took Elrond’s hand in his. “Was he kind to you?” he asked under his breath.

Elrond nodded.

“And you are well now? And you Elros?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m glad,” Maglor said. “I’m so proud of you both.”

Maglor breathed so much easier here than out in the field. Hunting down the wargs had been grislier than he remembered, more exhausting. He had not relished it the slightest. His thoughts had kept straying home. He wanted to sit down at his desk and write music, to stroke Cúron’s muzzle, and to watch for Maedhros' rare smiles. He wanted to watch his children at play and kiss them goodnight in the evenings. He wanted to watch them grow up.

Inwardly, Maglor shook his head at himself. “Maitimo,” he said, moving towards Maedhros.

“It’s good to have you home.”

The four of them relocated to Maglor’s room. Maglor unpacked his saddlebags with Maedhros’ help as the children sprawled on his bed, chatting about some game. 

“Maedhros and I need to catch up. We’ll just take a walk. You can stay here and play if you’d like.”

 Elros sat up. “Are you coming back? Soon?”

Maglor reached out to tousle his hair.“Of course, dear. You have to tell me all about that swimming trip of yours”

They walked the familiar paths upon the battlements, Maglor taken aback by just how many of the skeletons in Maedhros’ closet he had managed to introduce Elrond and Elros to.  He had so wished for his brother and the twins to have some nice relaxing days, getting to know each other properly. 

“They were owed the truth,” he finally said. Even the most terrible parts of it. The parts include children their age, children from their family, dying gruesome preventable deaths. The shame and disgust made him shiver. “I just wish they could have grown older before hearing it.”

They had slowed down and now Maedhros stopped entirely. “I’m sorry. I should not have fallen asleep around them. It was careless of me.”

“Done is done, I suppose. I don’t blame you,” Maglor reassured  him. “Did they come and sleep in your bed afterward?”

Maedhros nodded “Yes they did.” 

Maglor supposed that meant Maedhros hadn’t dared sleep himself. “That’s good,” he said mildly. “They’re comfortable around you, then.”

Maedhros' gaze flickered and he mumbled something that sounded like, “Their mistake.”

Maglor shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

After a while, Maglor spoke, his voice grave.  “I should have helped you.” Maedhros turned to look at him “In Doriath. I should have gone with you to search for those boys.” 

He had not. He had cradled his brothers’ corpses and despaired and arranged their funeral pyres. He had not understood that death still hovered over the woodland.

Eluréd and Elurín, lost to the world before their seventh birthday, buried in grief.

Maglor’s chest ached. “I should have told Amrod and Amras to help. Perhaps if we all had…”

“You should have,” Maedhros agreed quietly. Then his tone turned self-loathing. “Or I should at least have asked you to.”  

They were quiet once again. “We have lingered too long, we should go back.” Maedhros looked at him expectantly. “They did miss you.”

“I don’t want to let them down,” Maglor spoke without thinking, useless regretful words. “I wish I could make it all up to them, make it better.”

“I know,” Maedhros said, putting his hand on Maglor’s shoulder. “Come. It’ll all be alright.” The last part was so transparent a lie that it made Maglor’s mouth quirk. He bit back a gloomy comment, took a deep breath, and followed Maedhros back into the castle.

Chapter Text

Summer had come with all its might. Above Amon Ereb the sky shone, light blue and cloudless. Elrond and Elros were off school and had been so for weeks. Free of responsibilities, they spent the long days racing down the hallways in wild games of tag, catching bugs in the garden, and pushing each other as high as they could go on the swing that Maglor had put up for them in one of the fruit trees. 

Whenever he or Maedhros had time to accompany them, Elrond and Elros would go to the nearby lake and cool down. They would splash and dive and practice their swimming strokes until the very moment they had to pack up and go home. Always they pleaded for Maglor to come and play in the water with them. He would, provided that they joined him on the bathing bridge for a while afterward. They held on to Maglor as he swam or raced him from one side of the lake to another. Then they sat on the bridge with their feet in the water and talked of everything and nothing as the sun traveled on across the sky.

Those same weeks they began going on rides on the plain. Maglor walked beside Elrond’s horse the very first time, holding on to the reins for safety, and Maedhros did the same for Elros. Despite that, Elrond sat stiff as a board. His hand shook and his every attempt at focusing was interrupted by his nerves. This horse sure is tall, he thought, taking quick breaths and glancing at the ground beside him. What happens if it runs off? What happens if I fall down?

Thankfully, the second time went much better. Elrond and Elros got to ride on their own, with Maglor and his guards walking a few paces behind them. Elrond felt calmer, and as he clutched the reins, he reminded himself that Maglor and Maedhros rode places all the time, everyone did, so surely he could learn it too. He breathed in deep and smiled nervously as they brought the horses to a trot. “Look, Maglor!” he called out. “Look! I’m doing it!” 

Their break went on that way. Maglor tended to Elrond and Elros’ scraped knees and bickered with them about when to tidy their room and when to go to sleep. He took them on walks in the sunshine and often joined them in their games. He would play-wrestle with them or lift them up in his arms and spin them around, but always glance back at their faces afterward, making sure that they weren’t frightened.

Kept busy by the border skirmishes, Maedhros had to move out often, returning to the fortress for a few days’ rest or just for a fresh horse. “I would have brought home some gifts for you,” he told Elrond and Elros after dismounting in the courtyard one late evening. “If there was anything out there but grass and orcs and pebbles”

“It’s alright,” said Elrond.“It’s just good you’ve come back.”

Elros reached for Maedhros’ hand. “Maglor waiting upstairs. Come! We saved you some food! ”  

***

It was the hottest day of the year, and the twins, Maglor and Maedhros, were all in Maglor’s room, Elrond and Maglor on the couch, Elros and Maedhros in the armchairs. The windows were opened wide in hope of catching a breeze, but sweat still ran down Elrond’s back. Maglor and Maedhros had been teaching them how to play cards and all morning Elros had kept winning. Elrond had had none of such luck.

“Elrond, darling, it’s still your turn.” Maglor, who sat beside him, pointed out, gesturing to the table.

Elrond sighed. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.” He felt overheated, heavy, and drowsy, so when the others agreed to call time on the game, he laid himself down with his head in Maglor’s lap, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander.

“Do you think Naneth and Adar will come and get us?” 

Little time had passed. Elrond’s thoughts had turned to Elwing and Eärendill unconsciously. Our old family. That was how he thought of them now. 

He sat up, looking back and forth between Maglor and Maedhros. Elros who had been fanning himself with his handful of cards put them down on the table with a pout. “I don’t mean soon,” Elrond clarified. He needed to know this. “I mean ever . Do you think they’ll ever come?”

Maedhros and Maglor exchanged a look. “We don’t know, Elrond,” said Maglor in a hollow voice.

Elrond hated this. Not knowing where his parents were, not knowing if they even lived. Though he looked calm, thinking of them made him feel as if some innermost part of him was panicking. Maglor rubbing circles into his shoulder could only do so much to chase the grief away. 

Maedhros urged him and Elros to drink a little water, and they did. When he spoke again, he sounded like someone wishing to get bad news over with. “By now we should probably begin to assume that they will not.” He turned his gaze to the window. “It’s been nearly a year.”

Maglor explained something or the other to them and then Maedhros spoke anew. Elrond didn’t register any of it. He thought of how his mother had brushed his hair and then of how all Sirion had celebrated his father’s return. He thought of the Vingelöte sinking, its beautiful timbers broken to pieces by an ocean storm and disappearing beneath the waves. Elrond had never considered what it would be like to drown. Is it dark? Is it cold? Are my parents truly gone?

Elrond sat frozen in place, till Maglor stroked his cheek and asked him. “Is there anything we can do for you? Anything you would like right now?” 

He shook his head. A feeble movement.

Maglor looked to Elros. “What about you?”

Elros rubbed his eyes. “No. Nothing.” 

“Do you just want to sit here then? That’s alright.”

Though they were far from comfortable, they rested. Elrond burrowed into the soft couch and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Maglor sent for more water when the carafe was empty and talked of how this heat could prove to be challenging for Maedhros’ patrol. “Won’t you just stay?” Elros suggested Maedhors in a low voice. He had to know how implausible that was. “Don’t go today.”

Looking weary, Maedhros took Elros’ hand in his. “I have to, as you well know. I can stay for half an hour or so.” When Elros nodded, Maedhros looked to Maglor, and requested, “Won’t you play something before I go?”

***

In the stables, Maglor found Maedhros tending to his horse with practiced movements, silent and intent. 

Maglor entered the stall. “Here, bring a second waterskin,” he advised Maedhros, offering up his own. “Or the heatstroke will get you before our foes do.” Maglor gave a grim smile. “A much less elevated death.”

Maedhros thanked him curtly and turned back to the horse. “Are they asleep?” he inquired as he strapped the waterskin to the saddle and checked his girth.

“Yes, both of them.”

Maedhros nodded and asked, “When will you talk to them?”

Maglor felt a pang of cold aversion which he tried to disregard. It has to be done, he told himself

They wanted to avoid crowding or overwhelming the boys if it could at all be helped, so they had decided Maglor alone would breach the subject of them leaving. 

“I’ll wait a few days,” he told Maedhros. “Let them get back on their feet.” He looked to the ground, reflectively. “There’s no reason to rush them, is there?”

Maedhros rubbed his horse between its ears. “I suppose not,” he said, seemingly not quite at peace with this either.

“I really would prefer for them to go to Balar,” Maglor complained, aware it was out of the question. Maedhros was rushed to the western border every other week for a reason. Wargs and wolves were a plague upon the land. Scouts spoke of legions of orcs moving south, scorching the earth, making any passage to the coast as good as impossible.

“So would I.” Voice affectionate, Maedhros added. “Erenion would take to them. Cirdan would as well.”

Maglor smiled slightly. In all likelihood, they would. King Gil-galad was older than Elrond and Elros, but still very young. Lord Cirdan, with who they once had had council, had famously fostered and guarded the boy monarch since High King Fingon’s death.

“Galadriel and Celeborn will too,” Maglor stated, though he knew little of the affairs of his last remaining first cousin, and almost nothing of her Sindar husband. 

Staying out of the war at every turn, the couple held power in a sanctuary just beyond the Ered Luin . Journeying there and making contact with them would be a trial, there was deep and bitter enmity between them and Fëanor’s house. Despite that, Maglor could not doubt that they would extend a hand to Elrond and Elros, their young orphaned cousins. If not out of benevolence, then for the sake of extricating Doriaths’ heirs from his and Maedhros’ influence. 

With them, Elrond and Elros would be safe out of harm’s way for the remainder of their childhoods. Still, Maglor could not rejoice in it.

When Maedhros and his company were about to leave, Maglor told him to stay safe. He wondered briefly what it would be like to be just the two of them. As long as I am not alone, thought a wounded part of him. Maglor looked to his brother, now mounted. “I mean it,” he added. “No deaths, please. Elevated or otherwise.”

***

“We’re in the middle of playing,” Elrond told Maglor when he first came to the twins' room to sit down for a talk with them.

Maglor sat down and waited for them to be done, enjoying the last of the afternoon’s golden sun. He had dreaded this conversation and he still could not foresee how Elrond and Elros would react to the prospect of leaving the fortress. Their stay here was always meant to be temporary , he all but recited to himself. Let them go, let them go, let them go.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Elrond and Elros when they eventually finished up their game and came to sit opposite to him on the bed.

“We’re alright.” 

“I’m glad.” They did seem to have bounced back well. Elros wrapped his arm around Elrond, leaning his head on his shoulder and Elrond smiled into his brother's hair.

Maglor had not wished to beat around the bush, but when he started speaking, it took him a while to get his meaning across. “You have been here, held captive here, for eleven months now. You have been much braver and more resilient than can be expected of boys your age.”  

The twins were both quiet as they listened. Maglor went on, hesitantly. “As much as Maedhros and I have come to care for you, nothing has gone like we hoped last autumn. You staying here has failed to bring my brother and me what we seek and you have not been reunited with your parents. We never intended for you to stay here this long. It is about time we help you leave this place.”

Elrond looked rattled. The look on Elros’ face was nearly blank.

“What?” Elrond managed.

Maglor explained. “Some of your kin live east of here. One of them is my cousin as well, and her husband is a Doriathrim prince. They would welcome you, let you live among their people. Maedhros and I can bring you there and arrange for you to stay.”

“I don’t understand,” Elrond's voice was but a whimper.

“I know this is sudden. I know you have gotten used to living here, but…”

Elros cut Maglor off, his face now betraying outrage. “I don’t want to go there! I don’t want to go anywhere!”

“Elros.” Maglor’s voice was strained. “You have often talked of how much you wished to leave. Don’t you remember? Now you have the…”

“I wanted to go back to my mother!” Elros sounded furious. “Not to someone I don’t know!”

“Perhaps you could get to know them.”

“No!” Moving away from his brother, Elros rose to his feet and made for the door. “Don’t follow me!” he snapped, glancing back at Maglor and Elrond before storming out the room.

Elrond was the one to break the ensuing silence. “I thought you wanted us to live here.” He looked down on the bedspread. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Maglor assured Elrond as guilt weighed him down.“ I’m only trying to help you.” 

“You’re making it worse instead.” 

Maglor cupped Elrond’s face with his hands. “You and Elros could leave this wasteland and all us wretched kinslayers behind. You could lead a safe, happy life with good, honorable people who have not and will never hurt you the way I and mine have.” There was something like desperation in his voice. “I want that for you.”

And I don’t deserve you and I can’t be the one standing in your way.

“Don’t leave me,” was all Elrond said. 

***

Maglor ventured in search of Elros, once Elrond felt well enough to resume his play on the floor. He did not prove himself hard to track down, several attendants had seen him hurry in the direction of the library. Maglor found him in his and Elrond’s empty schoolroom, sitting alone. Still distraught, he hid his face in his hands. He croaked out, “I hate you and Maedhros!” and “You’re kicking us out just because we can’t get you your stupid jewels,” when Maglor sat down beside him and asked what exactly had upset him so.

Nevertheless, not long after that he was sniffling and yawning and clinging onto Maglor like a much younger child. Quiet and weary, Maglor carried him upstairs, so that he could see Elrond and get some rest.

When dinnertime came, both boys insisted on eating in the dining hall with the whole household, though Maglor gladly would have stayed away for their sake. It is as if they want to prove that they belong here, he thought sadly. 

The next day’s attempt at easing them into the idea of moving went as well as could be expected. Though they were obviously less shocked, Elrond and Elros were dismissive, scared of leaving. It was understandable, heart-wrenching in a way. 

“It’s a stupid idea! You can’t just throw us away.”

“Just let us stay here, please. I’ll never yell at you again. I’ll behave.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing wrong with either of your behavior. You are wonderful, promising young boys.”

Maglor had thought getting them away from here, giving them a second chance, would be the best thing he possibly could do for them. He truly had. 

But now I  feel as if I’m doing more harm than good.

Maglor let his brother know all that happened, after welcoming Maedhros back to the fortress late that night. Maglor thought his account of it might border on rambling, long-winded, and far too sentimental, and that was proved certain when Maedhros got up to open a bottle of wine that had been kept in a drawer in his otherwise empty room.

His head was already aching, so when offered, Maglor declined a glass and kept talking. 

“Maglor,” Maedhros began, once Maglor had fallen quiet. He was leaning up against his desk and the tone he used was grave. “If you would rather have them stay, and they prefer to remain where they are, then make it clear to me before I prepare to send them off the continent.”

“What are you saying?”

Maedhros spoke plainly. “I take no issue with them staying. If they were to change their minds, which I doubt they will, we could simply return to the plan.”

At first, Maglor simply stared at him, processing what he’d just heard, then he got to his feet. He did not know where the fury in his voice came from. “Their parents would be turning over in their graves, Maitimo, that is if they’re even dead! This is the last thing th…”

“We’ve done worse to Elwing and Eärendill, and you know it.” Maedhros’ words and the accompanying glare fixed Maglor in his place. “Dead or alive, they’re out of the picture.” 

Candid, Maedhros added, “And based on how Elrond talks about him, I’m doubting if Eärendill were ever in the picture, so you truly have not got much in the realm of competition,” and while Maglor didn’t exactly disagree with the first part of that statement, it only made him feel worse. He stood in silence as Maedhros’ words echoed in his mind.

“Maedhros…” Maglor tried. His concerns were numerous, starting with their increasingly unsafe position here in Amon Ereb, but when he spoke, he did not speak of territory or fortresses or the war. “What life could I give them? How could I ever possibly justify…” He felt his heart racing, his throat closing up. “And what kind of people will they grow into if I…” He looked to Maedhros. “If we are all they have to emulate?”

Sighing, Maedhros asked him, “They were good, decent children in Sirion and they are good, decent children now. Don’t you think they will stay that way?” 

Maglor thought to himself that he had clearly underestimated his brother’s attachment to Elrond and Elros, his respect for them. Perhaps there were many things he had been underestimating.

Maedhros went on, unconcerned with it. “They love you, but they’re unafraid to tell you when you’re wrong.” His mouth quirked. “That will likely only grow worse, as they grow up a bit. They might even start doing the same to me.” 

As they grow up. 

“I…” 

“Enough, Maglor. You’re the only one who can make this decision. They will not stay here against your will. If you want them gone, I’ll have them fostered in Eriador. If you want them to stay, I’ll do what I can to help you raise them here. But do not leave them in this limbo, it is not fair to them.”

Maglor swallowed. “You’re right.” He should have heard them out more, assumed less.

“I always am,” Maedhros said, perhaps only half-jesting. “Now,” he added pointedly. “for the love of all that is holy, get out of my room and let me sleep.”

***

“Are you nervous?” Maglor asked.

Elrond was trying to reach some early history volume that stood high up on the library shelves. “For school to start?” He stretched and rose to his tiptoes. “No.” 

“Let me help you with that,” Maglor offered, walking over to pick out the book and give it to Elrond.

Elrond thanked him and clutched the book in his arms. Then he mumbled, “Maybe I am a little confused.”  His eyes met Maglor’s. “About everything.”

“I certainly can’t blame you for that.” Maglor looked between him and Elros, who too was in the middle of gathering books. “Why don’t we talk a bit more when we’re back in your room? Check your booklist. Have you both got everything you need?”

Back in the children’s quarters, they sat on the large bed, and Maglor listened to what was on their minds. Much of it amounted to, as Elros phrased it, “Are you sure we can stay? You’re not going to change your mind or suddenly just…”

“You may stay. I’m not changing my mind,” Maglor assured them.“And Maedhros’ isn’t changing his either.”

“You do have a standing offer, we will help bring you to your cousins, should you someday wish for it.” Maglor took their hands in his, put emphasis in his voice. “But you will always be welcome, more than welcome, here and wherever I go.” 

He continued. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt it. Forgive me.” Not for everything, just for this.

“It’s alright, Maglor.”

“So can live with you forever? And we’re not your prisoners anymore?”

“What are we then?”

“My cousins thrice removed and my much-treasured friends. My children, if that’s how you prefer thinking of it.”

They looked at him with a bit of uncertainness. Maglor squeezed their hands before rising to his feet. “Either way, I truly am glad you are staying. Now I’ll let you pack your schoolbags in peace.”

After dinner, Maglor, the twins, and Maedhros, walked on the battlements below a setting sun. Bit by bit, summer was already fading, the wind, though gentle, had a coldness to it. 

Maglor was lost in his own thoughts when Elrond pulled on his sleeve. “What about the Silmaril, Maglor, I just remembered.”

As Elrond continued, Elros and Maedhros turned around to listen. “Now you can’t have it, can you? Not if…  if our mother is gone. You don’t just want, you need it, don’t you?” He sounded scared. “What happens if you don’t get it? You have to explain it to me?”

Talk of the jewels threw Maglor off his balance, just the slightest. Though currently dormant, their oath would forever remain. “Elrond.” Maglor stroked the boy’s shoulder. “I am touched that you worry for us, and I promise you, that, one day when you’re older, we will give you an explanation.” Maglor glanced at Maedhros, who gave a hardly noticeable nod. “But this will remain my and Maedhros’ headache, not yours.” 

“Besides,” he continued, smiling. “You’re boys of seven summers on the last night of your break, you have much more pressing issues.” 

“Like what?”

“Like math and Quenya and history and not tumbling off your horses tomorrow.”

Elrond nodded, letting the subject go. Instead, the four of them walked into the night, talking of riding lessons and excursions and school, and Maglor felt as if something, on some level or the other, was falling into place.

Chapter Text

“I’m still hungry,” Elrond repeated, turning in his seat to tug at Maglor’s sleeve. “Maglor, I’m still hungry.” 

Maedhros and Maglor had covered most of the drawing-room’s table in maps and documents and spent the day perusing and discussing them, deep in concentration. Only briefly did Maglor look up from the papers as he pushed his uneaten lunch across the table. “Here,” he offered, giving a smile as his eyes met Elrond’s. “For your growth spurt.”

Elrond dug in, and Elros, who sat beside him, soon joined in with his own spoon. They really had grown like weeds these last months. It had saddened them both to find that they could no longer fit into any of their old clothes, the ones from Sirion, but at least now their feet could reach beyond the saddle flaps when they trained on the fortress’ horses. Their eighth birthday was approaching, and the landscape around Amon Ereb was once again covered in glittering snow.

“Maglor,” Elros began once the twins had finished eating. “May we go sledding?” He sent Maglor a hopeful, starry-eyed look, which Elrond quickly mirrored. All day he had been wanting to go outside, and just now the weather was perfect for sledding: frigid, but sunny and clear.

“Another day, dear,” Maglor answered, to both boys’ clear disappointment. “Neither of us can come with you, we’ll be in meetings all afternoon.”

“I know that.” Elros pouted. “But..”

“But what?”

“But can’t we just go without you?” Elrond suggested, only thinking it through as he spoke the words.“We can do that. It’ll be just fine, really. You can just say how many guards you want us to bring along.”

After a quarter of an hour’s persuasion and planning, Elrond and Elros emerged from the drawing-room. Excited and very pleased with themselves, they rushed upstairs to their room to find their winter gear and their new sled. It was new to them, at least, though it was an old, rickety-looking thing. The twins had come to own it the month before, at the time when the fortress’ deposits of firewood had first run dry. 

A few days before the winter solstice they had borne witness to a half a dozen ax-wielding guards in the courtyard, who had all been busy chopping up what looked to be old wooden shelves and furniture.  They had descended into the yard to investigate and gone through the piles of scrap with curiosity. By sheer luck, they had happened upon a sled, just big enough to fit the both of them. They had longingly made their case for why they should be allowed to keep it, beginning with the soldiers and moving on to Maedhros and Maglor.

Bowmen kept watch from the battlements as Elrond and Elros undertook the day’s sledding excursion. Four more warriors surrounded them on the hillside. To any outsider, it would have made a most curious sight: two skinny boys in fur coats dragging a sled over the snow in a robe, guarded like treasures by heavily armed troops. Elrond, however, paid their protectors little mind, chatting excitedly with his brother as they climbed aboard the sled. To them, sliding down the snowclad hill at great speeds had come to feel as good as jumping into the lake in summertime, as good as freshly baked cookies melting on their tongues, as good as galloping across the plains. Every time the thrill of it almost made their stomachs hurt, and the cold wind never failed to make their eyes water. They climbed the steep slope when the first trip was over and went again and again and again.

They were lying in the snow, both having fallen off the sled in its downhill flight, laughing heartily as they regained their breath when a battle horn sounded. Then a great deal of things seemed to happen all at once. 

The elf closest to Elrond and Elros set into a flashing run, all of a sudden he was picking them up roughly, hauling them up the hill. Commands were shouted in Quenya, swords and knives glowed the brightest blue, and something Elrond would later realize was long-range arrows began flying from the battlements. In the chaos, he comprehended very little, hardly seeing anything but the four soldiers, who were scrambling to get him and Elros back into the fortress as the sharp hillside instantly went from playmate to enemy.

Something is approaching, Elrond understood as they were moved towards the gate in furious haste. Enemies. Grief tore into him at the realization. They’ve come right here where we live. 

He had no time to mourn now. In a frenzy, they were sat down and herded through the gateway where a lattice of iron met them. Spurred on by wild frantic yells of, “Get inside! Get inside!” the boys rolled under the portcullis as it was brought up, then scrambled to their feet.

They and their escorts had only just gotten out of the way when the red-cloaked cavalry thundered past them on the now clear path to the plains. Elrond’s heart was savage as the sound of the warhorses’ hooves, thundering wildly within his chest. He swayed where he stood and dazedly turned his head to look out through the open gate. Making out the horde of black-clad orcs on the horizon, he let out a guttural sob.

Suddenly someone was clutching him. Someone had pulled him and Elros into a strong embrace and held on to them as they trembled. Elrond could feel Maglor’s heart against his, smell the soap he used for his hair. He clung to Maglor and Elros as had all three of them been drowning.

 “I got you,” Elrond registered him saying. “I got you.”

***

It was a soft song and a simple, uncertain melody.

Maglor and Elrond were sitting by themselves in the drawing-room, enjoying the last of the spring afternoon light. Today the place felt like a sanctuary, a fortress in itself, an escape from the last week’s grim realities. 

“You play lovely,” commented Maglor. When Elrond said nothing,  Maglor teasingly prodded Elrond in the ribs and continued with a smile in his voice. “You’ll be one-upping me in no time. I should be feeling intimidated!” 

When his attempts to cheer Elrond up had proved mostly unsuccessful, Maglor had begun overdoing it ludicrously, going to great lengths to coax just the smallest smile from him. Elrond shook his head. “I’ve learned one song!” he objected, but he did start grinning as he wiggled in his seat to dodge Maglor’s tickling fingers. “Stop it! Stop tickling me!”

Maglor stopped after a moment and pressed three kisses to Elrond’s tremble in quick succession. Elrond huffed and sat the harp down on the table. He shook his head, a little flustered by all the attention. “It’s good no one else is here.”

“Embarrassing you, am I?” Maglor asked, pinching Elrond’s cheek and sounding amused by the thought.

After a moment, he continued more delicately. “All jests aside, Elrond. Will you be alright?” 

It was a loaded question. Elrond looked down into his lap. Just yesterday a funeral pyre had been held for the soldiers who had fallen in the lastest skirmish. No one had insisted on him and Elros attending, they never had before, but Maedhros and Maglor had both encouraged it. At eight years and three weeks, one was old enough to witness such things. It would only be proper for the twins to honor the many who had laid down their lives for the fortress.

So Elrond and Elros had stood by the fire in the courtyard, they had sung in Quenya and closed their eyes against the smoke. More than a dozen soldiers had died, some whose name Elrond had known and some he hadn’t. All of them helped massacre Sirion a year and a half ago , Elrond had thought, as he stared into the pyre. Kinslayers, murderers. His next thought had been as strange as it was true: My people.

Maglor’s hand on his shoulder had felt heavy. Now they’ve all been killed a stone’s throw from the fortress. Without knowing exactly why he did so, Elrond had turned around and wept into Maglor’s black tunic, until it was stained wet.

“No one likes funerals, Elrond…” Maglor began, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “Still, you have got me worried.” He reached out and took Elrond’s hand in his. “Won’t you tell me what you have been thinking of?”

“You can’t say anything wrong.”

“Please, Elrond.”

Then Elrond tried to explain, leaning against Maglor’s chest as he spoke. He described the sight of orcs at the very foot of the lonely hill, the knowledge that Morgoth had sent them, and the knowledge that they would return again and again. How it rattled him

How Elrond watched when Maglor and Maedhros and their soldiers rode off, and how he wished he could come along and help them, but couldn’t very well because he was eight and scrawny and scared. The only weapon he had was the wooden sword Maehros had given him for his birthday and he had not become any good at using it so far.

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” He asked sadly. Then, angrier, “Why can’t we ever live in peace?”

“Look at me,” Maglor whispered. “You are gifts to this world, Elrond, you and your brother. You’ll grow up and go on to see all of it. You’ll even see peacetime.”

Elrond looked down, hesitant, still frowning. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes.” Maglor indulged him. “And you’ll love it, you’ll fit right in. There’ll be less need for your sword-arm then, and more need for your mind, your good heart.” Elrond broke into a smile. “You’ll build schools and tame horses and found cities and castles, and I’m sure you’ll read more books than ever before.”

Elrond rarely envisioned the future, but this version of it was something else, for sure. Looking at Maglor, Elrond tried to fantasize on. “Maglor, when there’s peace, you’ll be free to compose all day every day, because you’ll have no one to fight. You’ll have to teach it all to me so that I can actually get good.”

“Yes. That too.” 

Elrond did not notice, but Maglor’s sincerity had gone.

***

The sun burned down on the fortress and Maglor’s room felt as hot as a bake oven. Long, had the twins sat there, looking at his different possessions as they waited for him to return. 

For months on end, Elrond and Elros had stayed entirely within the fortress’ walls. The lowlands around Amon Ereb were now ridden with orcs and even the smallest outing would put them back in deadly danger. Therefore they stuck to roaming the castle hallways, staging duels with their wooden swords, and sitting in the library reading aloud to each other. 

On bad days the twins moped or worried or quarreled with each other so that Maglor or Maedhros had to sit them down and sort the conflict out. On the very best days, they played together so well that they forgot there was ever a war.

“Was it a good meeting?” Elros asked when Maglor came entering, looking weary. At the sight of him, nerves started fluttering in Elrond’s stomach. He looked down at his feet, trying to regain his composure.

Maglor shrugged. “It could have been better. Why aren’t you outside playing?”

“Well, I made you this.” A little frantic, Elrond held forward a drawing of the fortress that he’d made with great effort. He used every single one of their colored pencils and even gone on little trips up on the battlements to count the windows and flagpoles for accuracy. “And,” he continued, now getting to the real reason why they had waited here with such anticipation. “We really wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh, It’s nice,” Maglor said, looking over Elrond's drawing. For some reason, he never seemed to know quite what to say when receiving presents from them, but he did smile as he placed the drawing up against a pile of books on his desk. “If you want to talk, how about we go down to the gardens?”

“It’s because I’ve been thinking…” Elrond attempted as soon as they had sat down amidst the bustling beds in the kitchen garden. The place was as picturesque as ever, unaffected by the warfare happing just beyond the walls. Though determined to speak, Elrond quickly came to a standstill, feeling too unsure to proceed.

“You so often have, Elrond. What’s on your mind now?”

Instead of looking at Maglor, Elrond focused on a honeybee that hovered over the rows of lavender in front of him. After taking in a deep breath, he murmured, “And then I talked to Elros…”

“Yes,” Elros agreed, encouraging Elrond to continue. “Elrond talked to me.”

Elrond had not even meant to bring it up with his brother, but he had done it anyway the previous night. They had laid in their bed, wide awake, smelling of smoke from the bonfire,  still sweaty from running and play fighting outdoors. The summer night was kind and mild so they slept with thin white sheets instead of blankets. They had moved as close as possible and drawn the sheets above their heads, creating a snug little space of their own. It was almost like a pillow fortress, or a very small tent, or a cocoon. In such a place, on such a night, it becomes quite impossible to keep secrets from your brother.

Elrond had blurted it out in a whisper, wistful beyond words, Elros listening to his every word. “Wouldn’t it just be nice?” “Do you think he would mind?” “Do you think he would say no?”

Elros’ voice had been as wishful as Elrond’s, but he had been quick to admit that he didn’t know what Maglor would say if they asked. One time before he had called them his children, but did he really believe it to be so? Was it all as simple as asking?

Though the matter really was quite serious, they had laughed brightly, letting the sheets fall on their faces before raising them up again. How had they ever ended up here, in war-torn wastelands, in the glory of midsummer, whishing for nothing but Maglor Fëanorians love?

“ Naneth would mind. She would really really mind.” 

Elrond could not recall which of them had said it and it did not matter. It was true. If their mother knew, she would be unaccepting. Grief-stricken. Ashamed. 

“Well, she will never find out,” they had eventually told each other. “If she was here, it’d all be different, but she isn’t.”

She will never know who we’ve become. We will have to live our whole lives without her. 

What would Adar say? Would he be saddened? Perhaps he would be angry at them. Perhaps he would want nothing to do with them at all. Elrond did not know. He knew so crushingly little of what his father had been like.

The loss of them was a wound unhealed by time and perhaps it would be so forever. That midsummer night, Elrond had curled up against his brother and comforted himself in his innermost mind. That does not mean we have to be alone.

In the blooming garden, Elrond and Elros looked at each other, silently urging the other to speak. 

You say it! No, you say it!

Maglor watched their quiet exchange, half curious and half concerned. “Boys,” he coaxed them. “Please just tell me what this is about. Whatever it is, I’ll listen to you, I pro-”  

Elrond wished for a lengthy summer, for a pleasant school break, for peacetime to come at last. More than anything he wished for family. He cut Maglor off, finally, shyly, looking him in his eyes. 

“May we call you Ada ? Is that alright with you?”

***

At a loss for words, Maglor shifted in his seat, trying to get the sun out of his eyes, so very conscious of Elrond and Elros watching him expectantly. At last, with a hint of bitterness, Maglor volunteered, “That would hardly be fair to my cousin Eärendil, would it?”

He had felt a strange blend of sympathy and contempt for the twins’ father from the very beginning. Poor wide-eyed peredhed whose grand search for help where none would come had doomed him to miss all of his sons’ early childhoods. Absent, irresponsible fool, who had abandoned his family to face the circling wolves. Still, the idea of so categorically taking Eärendil’s place filled Magor with both self-disgust and deep inferiority. 

“ Adar ?” Elrond protested. “But he’s gone! He and Naneth are dead, you’ve said so yourself.”

Before Maglor could object, Elros had continued, looking hurt. “Last time we saw him we were five! He never came to visit, that’s not a very-”

Elrond raised his voice. “If we had to choose between him and you, then we’d-”

Maglor shushed them both. He of all people made for a very poor authority on what sons owed their fathers but he felt sure the twins would come to regret it if they spoke ill of Eärendil for his sake.

Their faces betrayed confusion and rejection, which tore at Maglor’s heart. “You don’t,” he told them, wishing to remedy a bit of the harm he had caused. “You stand before no such choice. I’ll love you and protect you, entirely regardless of how you think of me and how you think of him.”

“But then what’s the harm?” Elrond was still expectant.“I don’t understand.”

“Maedhros won’t mind,” Elros pointed out with certainty. “And he’s the only one in charge of you.”

In all likelihood, Elros was right. If the twins started calling him their father around the fortress, Maedhros would shrug at it and go back to his war councils, to his evacuation plans. And, Maglor thought to himself, If I put preassure on him, if I demanded my brother’s opinion, he would grudgingly tell me to lay hold of happiness when it is within reach and to never look back.

“Would it make you happy?” he dared to ask them. “Calling me Ada? ”

“It might,” Elros said and his small smile showed his two missing front teeth. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Elrond turned the question back at him, voice inquiring and kind. “Would it make you happy?” 

“It might.” Maglor echoed. His face turned somber. “I’m not opposed to it, I only worry.” 

“Worry for what?”

“Did you know that the two of you were born as heirs to more kindreds and kingdoms than any who came before you?”

Elrond and Elros shook their heads. Maglor continued solemnly. “You’re special, I know it in my heart. One day, when you’ve grown up, the world will have need of you, and you will have need of the world.” 

Maglor’s tone grew hesitant as he got to the shameful part. “And that day you will both have to be surpassingly watchful what you let on. Every bit of known association with my family will harm you in the eyes of civilized society. If they came to know…” He drew in a sharp breath. “People would be wary of you. Perhaps they would even fear you.”

Both boys looked stunned at that. Maglor wondered if he’d gone too far, if this was fit for their ears. They were so young, only eight, and as of now, they cared little for thrones and honors. Surely one day that would change. One day they would wish to put everything they had learned to good use, be it amongst the Ñoldor, the Sindar, or the mortal men.

Is it so strange that I fear marring their futures as I have their past?

When he spoke, Elrond's voice was frail but resolute. “If those people got to know us, then they’d know not to.”

For a moment, Maglor looked at them quietly, moved by their understated strength. Then he kissed first Elrond’s forehead, the Elros’. “They would be the luckiest people in the world to get to know you.”

Elrond and Elros picked woodland strawberries from the beds, basking in the afternoon sun. Maglor sat in the shade, leaning against the castle wall, humming a melody he had thought up long ago.

“ Ada ?” It was Elros who had spoken, but both boys were looking at Maglor from where they stood amidst the plants. Tan from the sun, with their lost front teeth and their long hair hanging loose, they looked so much older than when he had first met them, but as always, they were each other’s spitting image. 

“What is it?” Maglor asked, with the care one takes when trying something new.

“Nothing.”

***

They were to abandon the fortress before the end of summer, by now that much was clear. With orcs and wargs running rampant on the grasslands, their supply of game nearly cut off, and their troops dying left and right, there was little choice in the matter. 

Though both Maglor and Maedhros hated the thought of fleeing like thieves into the night, the prospect of planning the retreat had filled them with a bleak sense of purpose. So when Maglor was not spending time with the children - his children - he sat in endless meetings with Maedhros and their captains, laying the groundwork for a long-awaited, long-feared flight.

Those of the scouts who had been successful in reaching Ossirand had reported that it was yet relatively untouched by the fighting. Maglor knew little of those eastern forests, but his late younger brothers had left records of hideouts and hunting lodges scattered throughout the region. None of the places were anywhere near large enough to house the fortress’ entire legion. Therefore their host was to split up.

Kinslayers and their enablers, Maglor thought wearily as he took his leave from a late-night council session, parting ways, at last. That did not bother him as much as it perhaps should have. Long gone were the times when they had thought it their right and duty to rule the Ñoldor. Maglor felt little attachment to their subjects in the fortress.

He would be leaving alongside those most important to him. That was all that mattered.

They broke the news to Elrond and Elros, after much postponing, on a day of gentle summer rain. The twins had adjusted well enough to the increased security measures, though Maglor knew they greatly missed last summer’s riding-  and swimming trips. Whenever he had the afternoon free, he would go push them on their swing, listen to Elronds’ songs and Elros’ chatter and watch on as they swung their wooden swords at each other with much enthusiasm and little skill. His heart still seemed to skip a beat whenever they referred to him as their father, but he was sure he would get used to it, come time.

They had not wished to get Elrond and Elros involved before the escape was well planned out. When Maglor was done explaining the plan, they were quiet, for a moment, before erupting in well-expected protests. “You mean leave? Leave Amon Ereb? Forever? We can’t do that!” “

“Can’t we just close all the gates? Then the orcs can’t come in, and we won’t have to go anywhere!”

Maglor sighed. “If we did that we would all be starving come winter.”

The twins’ faces turned equally stricken. “Oh.” 

Elros looked from Maglor to Maedhros.“Where will we even go?”

“East.” Maedhros had brought a map of East Beleriand, and he held it before the children, showing the route they were to take. “Through Ossirand, here, and on to the Ered Luin, here.” 

“But won’t that be dangerous?” Elrond fretted. “It’s dangerous on the plains! What about the orcs? They might catch us! They’ll kill us!”

Maedhros nodded. “There will be a danger. I wish I could tell you otherwise. The only alternative is staying here, caught in a trap of our own making.”

“We want you to feel comfortable about what’s going to happen,” Maglor told them, wrapping an arm around Elrond. He hoped Maedhros and he could win the boys’ trust in this as they had in so many things. “Ask us any question you might have, and we’ll do our best to answer you.”

***

Maglor, Elrond, Elros, and a handful of guards spent the morning hours in the fourth-floor depository, sorting through the disorganized abundance of items and documents stored there. Those of the objects and papers that were too dangerous to fall into enemy hands were to be destroyed or brought with them East. The great sufficiency of weapons would be shared among the host. Everything else would be left behind.

Maglor and his men had nearly finished their task when Elros came searching for him. The boy appeared between the shelves with a countenance that was both serious and eager. “Maglor,” he began, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean Ada .”

“I’ll answer to both,” Maglor said with a slight shrug, beckoning him closer. “What have you found?”

For once, the twins had been given free rein in the messy overfilled halls. Maglor had hoped some exploring would distract them from their anxiety around leaving. His words to them had been, “If you like it and it fits in your pocket, then it’s yours to bring along. You just have to run it by me.” They all needed to pack lightly, and Maglor did not want a repeat of how upset the twins had been with him the day before when they had realized they could not take their swing or their beloved sled with them to Ossirand.

“You have to come and see,” Elros whispered, taking Maglor’s hand and pulling him away from his undertaking. As they moved, Elros threw a cautious glance in the direction of Elrond, who sat on the floor going over the contents of a jewelry shrine and seemed to be absorbed in his own thoughts. Apparently, Elros’ invitation did not extend to him.

Elros led Maglor to a piece of the wall near the corner of the room, which was covered in costly longswords. As he laid eyes on them, Maglor found himself hesitating.  Five of those swords had once belonged to a Son of Fëanor. Two years ago, he had been the one tone to hang Amrod and Amras’ blades there. 

Maedhros and I have to take those five with us, he decided, stepping towards the wall. He could not bear the thought of anyone else ever wielding them. Curufin’s sword was to go to Celebrimbor, as was rightful, he thought, on the odd chance their path ever again crossed his.

It was, however, a different blade that had caught Elros’ eye. “That one?” Maglor asked, noticing where his gaze fell.

Elros nodded. “Narsil,” he read, solemn as were the name a prayer, looking up at the sheathed sword with bated breath.

“Why?” Maglor surveyed the blade from where he stood, slightly bewildered by Elros’ interest. 

Elros struggled to put an answer into words. “I- I saw it. Earlier.” 

“And?”

“And I thought that it was… Important.”

So far, that sword had had little chance to be important, Maglor thought as he beheld it. “It’s not one of ours. It’s dwarf-made,” he explained. “My little brother bought it from one of Nogrod’s master smiths many years ago. He trained with it, and once or twice he let the rest of us try it, but I don’t think it has ever seen real battle.”

Elros remained captivated. “Is it a good sword?” he inquired, though the answer was self-evident. 

Maglor took pity on him them, reaching for the sword, unsheathing it, and handing it over to Elros, who grasped its hilt with an awestruck look. “What do you think yourself?” Maglor asked, voice quiet. 

The sword of Narsil was almost exactly as long as Elros was tall. It was heavy, too, making Elros shake from the effort of holding it in an outstretched arm. Despite that, Maglor thought it somehow suited him, much better than it had ever suited Curufin, or Maglor himself, for that matter. What is this? Maglor wondered. Has he been standing here all morning, looking at that sword? Or left it only to return again and again? 

Though the sword clearly spoke to him, Elros never answered Maglor’s question. Smiling, he turned it in his hand with carefulness, before finally, with one last approving look, letting Maglor have it back. 

Maglor raised an eyebrow. 

Elros gave a little sigh. “It does not fit in my pocket,” he admitted with the vulnerability of one trying to hide their disappointment.

“It does not,” Maglor agreed. He weighed it over in his mind as he resheathed the sharp-edged blade with care. This is certainly no weapon for an eight-year-old boy.

Elros nodded, biting his lower lip. “And I don’t know how to use it anyway,” he mumbled as a comfort to himself.

Maglor remembered how, once upon a time, he had eyed the weapons in his father’s workshop. At that point, swords had been a strange and newfound concept. Even then some part of him had wished to wield one of those deadly paragons of craftmanship in service of his father’s cause. Still, he could not remember ever feeling the sort of determined, earnest preference that little Elros seemingly had for this, and only this, particular blade.

Was it a young boy’s ordinary fantasies of adventure and heroics, or was something larger at play? Maglor was not sure. There were things about these children, his sons, that went beyond his understanding, but he was ever strong in his belief that Middle Earth was a better place with Elrond and Elros in it, and that they would come to set their marks on it someday.

“I think I’ll bring it along.” Maglor offered, watching as Elros’ face lit up. “I have a feeling it might become useful to someone someday.” 

***

Their very last night in Amon Ered came sneaking up on them just when the fruits in the garden had become ripe. The sun had yet to set, and having finished dinner, they sat together in Maglor’s room. To him, the evening’s pleasant mood felt fragile. Tomorrow we leave. The thought, and the uncertainness that came with it, pervaded every moment. They could only try to weather it in order to make the best of these final hours.

Elros was snuggled up against Maglor, and the two of them were talking back and forth, joking about his and Elrond’s schooling. The twins could not stay on summer break forever, and since their tutor was leaving the Fëanorians alongside her kin, Maglor and Maedhros would have to be the ones teaching them once they reached Ossirand. 

Elros was amusingly skeptical. “You can do Quenya and Sindarin and probably history, ” He nudged Maglor in the ribs. “But what about Arithmetic? What about science?”

Maglor grinned and raised his glass of red wine in direction of Maedhros, who sat opposite them with Elrond lying with his head in his lap. “That’s what we’ve got Maitimo for.” 

As the hour grew late, they continued talking. Maglor put Elros’ hair in braids, and let both twins try a sip of his wine. Unsurprisingly, they crinkled their faces in distaste, laughingly asked Maglor why he would ever voluntarily drink it, and vowed never to touch it again. They were well on the way to overtired now, but Maglor doubted whether they would be able to sleep if put to bed.

Midnight was approaching, when Elrond, who had been quiet for a while, sat up. “Ossirand,” he whispered, pronouncing each of the sounds clearly as he looked to Maglor and Maedhros. “What is it like there?” 

Elrond suppressed a yawn and continued in a small voice. “You say it’s a forest, but is it a nice forest? Do you think we’ll even like living there?”

For a moment the room was quiet. “I hope you will, truly,” Maglor said, regarding Elrond with doting eyes. “But I’ve never been there, so I’m afraid I’m as ignorant as you.”

“It’s beautiful there, full of wildlife.” Maedhros turned his empty wine glass around in his hand and looked straight ahead as he spoke. “Everywhere you walk you can hear the water flowing in the rivers and the streams.”

“Have you gone there often?” Elros asked.

“Once or twice,” Maedhros said, though Maglor knew it was likely more than that. “I’ll tell you about it if you change into your nightclothes first.”

“You can sleep here if you wish,” Maglor offered. Their last night in the fortress stretched on.

***

They had walked around the castle in the early morning light, saying the last goodbye to each of the twins’ favorite places. The quiet library, the thriving garden, the half-empty stables, the windswept battlements, and finally the twins’ bedroom. Elrond held tightly on to Maglor’s hand, but Elros had taken to walking a few meters ahead of them, leading the way. Maedhros’ tales of Ossirand seemed to have reassured him somewhat, and so had the presence of Narsil , which Maglor quietly had packed alongside the rest of possesions. 

When they descended into the courtyard it was already full of departing elves and their mount. Soldiers said their farewells, stuffed rations into their bags, and strapped extra weapons to their saddles. Maglor pulled Elros into an embrace at the foot of the staircase. “Go and find Maedhros, won’t you?” 

Elros nodded and ran off, and Maglor took Elrond with him as he headed for his horse. “You’ll ride with me, Elrond,” he explained as they reached Cúron.

“I can ride on my own, Ada! ” Elrond's cheeks were flushed, and he sounded both offended and distraught. 

Maglor sighed. “Not today, darling. I have to be able to look out for you.” 

What exactly was so bad about that, Maglor could not understand, but Elrond covered his face with his hands and dissolved into tears. 

Maglor bent down to rub Elrond’s shoulders. “You’re having such an awful time with all of this,” he stated, so very concerned, and no longer seeing the need to beat around the bush.

Elrond nodded and sniffled slightly. Maglor pressed a kiss to the back of each of his hands, trying to get him to lower them. “I’ll miss this place too, Elrond. It’s a sorry old pile of rocks, but I’ll miss it.”

Maglor had folded up the colorful drawing of the fortress that Elrond had made for him and put it in his chest pocket. As a memory. He  took a deep breath. “It’s where my brothers lived, where they lived their final years.” When Elrond removed his hand, Maglor looked him in the eyes and pushed a stray lock of his hair behind his ear. “It’s where I got to know you and Elros, and where you got to know us.”

With all this sentiment in his voice, it was more due to luck than skill that Maglor had not started crying too. He glanced around the courtyard, seeing how Elros and Maedhros, as well as the remains of the garrison, had mounted. “We have to leave it behind, Elrond. We’d like to live another day, would we not?”

Elrond gave a feeble nod. “Lots of days,” he reminded Maglor in a voice strained from crying.

“Yes.” Maglor took both Elrond’s hands into his own. “You are my son, Elrond. You are everything I did not know I wished for. You’re strong enough to do this and more so. You’re stronger than any of us know.” 

Elrond stood quietly for a moment, gazing around on the fortress, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then he spoke. “We can go now.”

Maglor lifted him into the saddle, and their time at Amon Ereb came to an end.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen gently over Ossirand, and somewhere deep in the region’s forests a family of four made their way home beneath the cloudless sky. 

Maglor had his bow ready in hand. He kept an eye out for potential dangers and listened to Elrond and Elros’ loud and driven conversation with half an ear. It had been Maedhros’ idea to task the two of them with finding a path back to the safe house. Eager for a challenge, the twins discussed directions and familiar landmarks as they hurried through the summery landscape. 

For going on two years, the four of them had lived in exile in these emerald green woods, and Maglor had watched on with wonder as his boys, once so small and helpless, had seemed to grow up in front of his very eyes.

Elrond and Elros were ten years old as of this spring. Curious as always, and more unruly than ever before, they had perfected the art of being shockingly competent one moment and entirely scatterbrained the next. They played wild esoteric games that went on for hours and hours, whispered, giggled, and shared secrets, whacked each other with wooden swords, and then came to Maglor complaining about the bruises. When push came to shove though, Maglor knew he could count on them, to help out, to do their best, to be kind to one another. His pride in them was always a ceaseless vibrant thing.

Ahead of him, the twins crossed a rippling stream, jumping lightly from stepping stone to stepping stone. Maglor followed, quietly pondering how the two of them could have so much energy this late in the evening. He gave a small sigh. For years, he had been so very worried about those children, wondering how he could aid them, rueing every bit of pain they had suffered at his hands. 

That worry was still present. Who would not worry, trying to raise young ones during times like these? 

It had, howbeit, subsided somewhat, gradually replaced with determination. This life was rough on the children, as it would be on anyone. They had few comforts and they could never settle down in one place for too long if they wished to steer clear of Morgoth’s creatures. All Maglor saw, however, let him to believe his sons were doing well. He would do all in his power to ensure they continued to do so.

Let it be the one thing I have ever gotten right.

Tonight they had gone east, up into the highlands of the Ered Luin to check on their snares and forage what they could, unwittingly ending up much further away from home than they had meant to. Food was often scarce around these parts, but, to their joy, several of their traps had been full of small game. Elrond had picked edible herbs amidst the undergrowth, recognizing them from some book or the other, and Elros had found a woodland patch of yellow raspberries and filled his pockets with them. Once again they would keep starvation at bay.

Soon the children came to a halt in front of a weathered rock formation. “That’s the stone that looks like a chicken!” Elrond told Maglor excitedly, giving Elros’ shoulder a squeeze.  “We found it! Now we just have to go west for a bit and then we’ll be home!” 

Maglor congratulated them. “Today won’t be the day we get lost, brother,” he remarked once Maedhros had caught up with the three of them and appeared out of the darkness.

Maedhros shrugged, giving the twins a look of approval. “I wasn’t that worried.”

They were walking on the dewy grass of a small forest clearing, only a ten-minute walk from their cabin, when something first flickered, low on the western sky.

  A light.

It appeared just above the treetops and caught the corner of Maglor’s eye. Initially without much thought, he raised his head to look upon it and figure out what it could be.

Recognition. Then unparalleled shock. Maglor froze where he was standing, drawing in a stupefied breath.

Absentmindedly, he registered that Maedhros, Elrond, and Elros had paused in their tracks as well. All as one they stared at the sky, at the light that had dawned into view.

It was moving upwards. It seemed to ascend, to climb the heavens. It was a star, one of unimaginable brightness, finding a place amidst its brethren. 

Perhaps a lone minute passed, perhaps an hour. Then, lowly and hoarsely, Maedhros said aloud what all four of them knew well. “ Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?” 

Maglor trembled. Within his mind, words now ancient rang relentlessly, once more tearing at his soul:

“ Death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth!”

He could not hear the sounds of the forest, could not smell the fresh night air, or feel the ground beneath his feet. All Maglor could do was gape in mystification and disbelief as one of his father’s masterstrokes, as what his family had murdered and been murdered for, as what he had sworn to recover, rose on the horizon. 

How can it be? Maglor opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. 

Above him, the silmaril glittered on, as marvelous as it was remote. 

How has something so beautiful brought such evil into my family’s hearts? Even now Maglor could feel it pulling at his spirit. It was longing, dutifulness, greed. 

It’s impossible, that’s what it is, he thought grievously. Now we stand no chance of ever fulfilling our oath.

Up on the sky, the jewel was utterly out of reach. Out of our bloodstained hands. Even Fëanors sons’ could not pluck a star from the heavens.

Part of Maglor protested as he withdrew his gaze from it. In comparison, the whole world seemed dark and dull, but Maglor forced himself to look first at his brother, who was silent in pained contemplation, then at his surrogate sons, who appeared frightened, bewildered by what they were seeing.

Heart in an uproar, he thought of all that happened since the four of them last beheld the Silmaril. How they had watched helplessly from that wretched seaside balcony, as the princess Elwing grew wings and disappeared into the west.

Then, in despair and hope, Maglor spoke. "If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many and is yet secure from all evil."

If there was no removing it from the sky, could they not let it belong there? Could they not find some approximation of peace in it? Had they any other choice?

Though he could not be sure, Maglor thought he saw the very same resignation in Maedhros’ eyes.

“But, Ada , that’s impossible,” Elros pointed out, having found his voice and speaking with both a child’s demand for sense in the world and the wistfulness of an orphan. “ Naneth had the Silmaril, it was around her neck! How can it….”

“Valinor has this kind of power,” Maedhros remarked, still speaking in a low tone.

  And this kind of boldness, Maglor added in his thoughts with a sliver of age-old bitterness. 

“The Valar made this come about.”

And who brought the jewel before the Valar? Maglor asked himself, already having a grasp of the answer. Elrond and Elros only seemed all the more confused.

Aware that there was no elegant way of explaining something like this, Maglor grimaced and took a deep breath of forest air. “It would appear that the two of you are… well…. considerably less orphaned than Maitimo and I had gone and assumed.”

“ Naneth and Adar ?” Elrond croaked. “You mean they’re alive?”

Maglor nodded. “They might not have found the shore we wished for them to find, our shore, but I believe they’ve likely reached a different one.” 

To his surprise, he felt no envy, no resentment, just a bone-deep peculiar melancholy as Elrond and Elrond processed the truth. Yes, you deserve to have heroically living parents, who defy all laws of our kind and add new stars to the sky, but you deserve to have them here beside you.

He swallowed, trying to remain just halfway composed. Beside him, Elrond whispered. “Valinor,” with awe and realization. Before now, Maglor realized, it had only ever been a world of fables to him.

One could almost sense the thoughts racing through Elrond’s head, his brilliant little mind working at full force. His facial expression betrayed a shifting blend of emotions, before eventually settling on one Maglor had not seen on him in years: mistrust. 

“Maglor,” Elrond began, suddenly serious and guarded. “Even though the Silmaril is up there… You’re not going to do anything…” He swallowed. “Anything to us?” His face revealed genuine fear as his eyes flicked to Elros before looking back to Maglor. “Or to anyone else…”

Before Maglor could reply, Elrond took a hesitant step forward, carefully confrontational. His voice grew clear with gathered bravery. “You can’t!”

“Elrond,” Maglor began, a clump in his throat. “Elrond, listen to me. You have nothing to fear, not the slightest. Never in a million years would I hurt you. This changes nothing, nothing at all. Do you understand?” 

Elrond’s face was still full of doubt and Maglor’s inner voice grew frantic. You have to believe me, you have to, you have to… 

Maglor shook his head. “I won’t hurt anyone else either. You both have my word on it.”

He waited, and, bit by bit, relief bloomed on the twins’ faces. “I meant what I said, you know.” Maglor managed a small smile and gestured tiredly to the Silmaril. “Let the damn thing stay where it is.”

“Really?” asked Elros.

“Yes.” Maglor paused. “I don’t expect your parents and I will ever see eye to eye, but whatever they did, they did well. I’d much rather have my father’s craft up there than back in Morgoth’s hands, or on the bottom of the sea. Do you not agree, Maitimo?” 

“I agree.” 

Maglor continued. “I can’t fault you for doubting me, but, to me, that star is a blessing.” He took their hands in his, letting every bit of sentimentality shine through. “And it’s a blessing that you’re here with me, witnessing it.”

There, in the woodland clearing, beneath a miracle that had been centuries in the making, the three of them embraced and Maglor held his sons as close as possible. 

His eyes shone with newfound contentment when they met Maedhros’. Maedhros, expression mild, did the slightest shake of his head, and Maglor had no trouble translating. If you are all quite done being grateful, should we not be heading back to the safe house?

Taking a step back, Maglor asked the twins. “Are you ready to lead us the rest of the way home?”

Slightly shaken, but nonetheless courageous, the children nodded, set a course, and took the lead, with Maglor and Maedhros following just behind them. Maglor exhaled, gazing around the darkened landscape and seeing beauty and richness in this absurd, unearthly, still partially unbelievable night.

The Silmaril illuminated the warworn lands of Middle Earth, and as they traveled homeward Maglor quietly beheld Elrond and Elros. He had known it for a long time, and it had been true for longer yet, but tonight he felt even more wonderfully aware of it: He would love them every moment for the rest of his life.

***

They walked on rough-hewn paths known only to the four of them, till they reached a small cottage, which was nestled in between the cliffs and obscured by dense vegetation. The latest in their long line of safe houses, it was cramped and outlying, run-down looking despite their attempts at repairs. Still, the mere sight of it gave speed to Elrond’s feet and made his face light up with joy. 

Home.

All that had taken place tonight had somehow made him doubt they would ever reach it. Elrond could still hardly begin to fathom what had truly taken place. The sudden sight of the Silmaril on the sky of all places, the talk of the powerful Valar, and the news of his parents’ return from the dead, had all come together to lend the familiar lands of Ossirand an otherworldly air. Finally laying eyes on their messy little house felt like breaking the surface after a deep dive. 

Maedhros unlocked the door and entered the cabin as the first, having to duck his head to get through. As he and Maglor began cooking dinner, Elrond and Elros got to work on their first chore of the night: dividing their foraged herbs into bundles and hanging them to dry from the ceiling joists. The last part was a challenge, which came to involve quite a lot of stretching and balancing on chairs, but the twins immersed themselves in the task with good humor. The fragrance of the sage and the summer savory mixed with the woodsy scent that belonged to this house alone, and Elrond forgot the night’s turmoil for a time.

“If you water the horses, I’ll set the table,” Elros offered once the last of the herbs were in place.

Elrond yawned slightly before agreeing. “Deal!”

Outside in the gloom, he hauled the heavy buckets of water back and forth between the horses’ enclosure and the nearby spring. A lengthy task, and if it was made even lengthier by Elrond spilling part of the water down onto his feet, that was entirely the fault of the sky’s newest star. 

The Silmaril was still there, thought-provoking in its distant brilliance. Maglor had named it a blessing, Elrond recalled as he labored on. Maedhros had called it a sign from Valinor. They had both agreed that it was Elrond’s parents’ doing, and that was the part most difficult for him to comprehend.

Finally, he put his buckets down by the spring and made no move to fill them. He stood still as a statue and around him, quiet reigned as if the forest itself was expectant and full of yearning. Elrond cast a last wary glance on his surrounding before turning his gaze towards the star. 

“ Naneth,” he whispered. The word flew into the night. “Adar,” he tried.

Within him, wistful memories came to flutter like birds in the wind. Thoughts of the princess who had held his hand in the marketplace and rocked him to sleep in a nursery overlooking the sea. Thoughts of the mariner who five long years ago had taught him swimming strokes and told him of his faraway adventures. 

His mother and father, marvelously back from the dead, but nonetheless out of reach.

Not for the first time, Elrond was stuck wondering what his parents would think if they could see him as he was now. He shivered. Would they even like me? Would they want me back? Would they know of me at all?

He was hiding in the wilderness like an outlaw. He had become one with the Fëanorians, the slayers of his kin. He was Maglor’s son in all but blood. And worse yet, Elrond thought. I don’t regret any of it. I couldn’t.

Feeling frustrated, he resumed his chores, thinking hard as he carried the water and filled the horses’ trough. 

If only I could talk to Naneth and Adar, he thought, desperately sincere. If I could just explain it all, then perhaps they would understand. 

That was a thought full of hope. Elrond would tell his parents everything that had happened to him and Elros, the good with the bad, he decided. 

He’d tell them about Amon Ereb, about his and Elros’ room there, their lessons, and their horses and the lake. He’d tell them everything he and Elros had learned and discovered and felt those first months as captives, and everything that had changed in the four years since then. Elrond would tell them about fleeing to Ossirand, how scared he had been at the prospect of a life in a wild dark forest, and how he’d persisted anyway with his family’s help.

The scenario made Elrond break into a sudden wistful smile. Then they would see me. And see Elros as well. They might even understand the parts with Maedhros and Maglor.

Elrond emptied the last bucket of water into the trough, and as he watched the horses drink he thought longingly of what it would be like to see Naneth again, what it would be like to get to know Adar properly. In his imagination, he thanked them for the star and yelled at them for leaving. He told them off fiercely and held them very close afterward. 

It was a child’s dream, a wonderous dream, but that night Elrond knew he would have to settle for whispering to the Evening Star. 

“I’m right here,” Elrond told his parents, wishing that the words would lift off and take to the sky. “I love you. And I’m alright.”

***

Elrond stroked each horse’s muzzle and carefully checked their hooves for stones before walking back towards the cabin. His stomach had started rumbling from hunger and he could feel his exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Maedhros!” he called out in surprise when he rounded a corner. “I almost didn’t see you there!”  

Maedhros was standing alone in the near-darkness, leaning against the woodpile. “Have you fled from cooking duty or what?” Elrond asked, looking up at Maedhros’ face.

Maedhros made a tired gesture, pointing to the empty basket on the ground beside him. He had gone out to fill it with firewood, apparently, but didn’t seem to have gotten very far in the process. 

“You seem happy,” he observed in a neutral tone after watching Elrond for a moment.

Elrond shrugged. “I guess I am.” When Maedhros made no response, Elrond asked him “Do you need help with that?” and picked out a dry piece of wood to put into the basket. 

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

They worked side by side in silence, gathering logs and kindling for the hearth. At last, Elrond could not help but ask. “Are you upset?” 

It was so difficult to tell when it came to Maedhros. At times he would flee from all notions of company, even Maglor’s, wanting only to be alone with his thoughts. They had to be forceful, those dark thoughts of his, Elrond figured, to pain and frighten him so. Is this one of those times? he wondered. And what has given rise to it?

“You’re sweet,” Maedhros told him dismissively, not looking up from the stack of firewood.

“That’s not a proper answer,” Elrond muttered, unsure whether he should just let this one go and keep his mouth closed. Concern and nosiness soon got the better of him. “Is it because of the star? Because it’s the-”

Elrond did not comprehend what the Silmaril meant, how the jewels and Fëanors sons were connected. Maedhros and Maglor had never told him what made them worth killing for. Because they’re horribly ashamed. Ashamed of what they’ve done. That much Elrond could tell. 

Was the jewel’s appearance causing Maedhros grief? Or was it something else entirely?

“Elrond.” Maedhros met his eyes as he cut him off, annoyed with him and soft on him at the same time. “Haven’t I told you not to worry about me?” 

“But I-”

“It’ll do you little good,” Maedhros said, his tone much sharper now, clearly declaring the discussion to be over.

Elrond pouted, but part of him felt relieved as well. He wanted to be trusted and he wanted to help where he could, but he was also aware that he wouldn’t really know what to say or do if Maedhros all of a sudden started pouring his heart out to him. Goosebumps still rose up and down Elrond’s arms when he recalled what little Maedhros had told him of his captivity and torment at Morgoth’s hand and of the kinslayings. Elrond felt entirely ill-equipped to help with something so immense and complex.

A moment passed before Elrond spoke. “If I knew how to, then I’d make you feel better.” 

Because you’re my family, and Elros’ family, and Maglor’s family, and because I know you’d do the same for me.

Maedhros took a breath. “I know,” he said, looking over Elrond with a strange regard. He reached down and picked up the basket of wood. “Let’s go inside. The others are waiting.” 

As they began walking to the door, Elrond held his hand out towards Maedhros, who, when he noticed it, transferred the basket to his other arm and took it in his. Their hands were entwined for only the fewest of seconds, but before letting go and slipping in through the door, Elrond gave Maedhros's hand a squeeze. He hoped it would count as a comfort although it was but a small thing.

Inside the house, Maglor and Elros had dinner ready and the four of them sat down together and ate. The hungry twins stuffed their mouths with food but felt too exhausted to do much chatting. They smiled at Maglor’s quips, followed along without much struggle when his and Maedhros’ conversation changed from Sindarin to Quenya and back again, and shared the now slightly squashed raspberries from Elros’ pockets as dessert.

“Now,” Maglor turned to look at Elrond and Elros. “Your bedtime has come and gone hours ago.”

“We’re not even that tired,” Elrond objected, mostly out of habit, but his point was entirely ruined by Elros failing to stifle a wide yawn.

“Nice try,” Maglor cracked a smile. “Off to bed with you. Come.”

They bid Maedhros, who had begun clearing the table, goodnight and went with Maglor into the cabin's sole bedchamber. It was a narrow room with a bunk bed, a few shelves for the twins' belongings, and a small window facing west. From it, Elrond could catch a glimpse of the silmaril. The sight spurred new restlessness within him, as he went through the motions of changing clothes and getting ready for bed.

Maglor was straightening Elros’ blankets and kissing him on the head when Elrond climbed the wooden ladder to the top bunk. When Elrond sat up in his bed and Maglor rose to tell him goodnight, the two of them were exactly the same height. 

“What are you thinking of, Elrond?” 

“The star.” Elrond glanced towards the window. He could hear Elros shifting in the bottom bunk. “You say it is a blessing, but it makes Maedhros so sad.”

Maglor sighed. “Yes, I suppose it might.”

“But what do you think it means?” whispered Elros from his bed.

Maglor hesitated. “It means the powers across the sea are paying attention to us, to these lands, in a way they haven’t in centuries.” He sounded as if he could barely believe it. “I hope that will prove to be a good thing.” He looked from Elrond to Elros. “I hope it will mean a safer future for the two of you.”

His omissions were glaring. But not for you? Not for Maedhros?  

Maglor must have seen the questions in Elrond’s eyes, but he changed the subject abruptly instead of answering them. With a spark in his eye, he lifted his hand to cup Elrond’s face. “You’ve got some raspberry smeared right there,” he pointed out, removing it with a swift brush of his thumb near the corner of Elrond’s mouth.

“Ada!” Elrond exclaimed with cheerful annoyance, dragging the word out. Half amused and half embarrassed, he threw himself back onto the top bunk’s straw mattress so that he lay on his back. From below him, he could hear Elros giggle.

Maglor arranged the blankets around Elrond just as he had done a thousand times before. Then he beheld both twins of them with a tender smile. “I love you.” His voice was warm and clear. “So much.”

At times loving Maglor was difficult. At times it was the easiest thing in the world. Most often, to Elrond, it fell somewhere in between. “I love you as well, Ada,” Elrond whispered. It had never been an unmarred love, nor would it ever be an uncomplicated one, but it was strong and heartfelt and very much theirs.

“I love you too,” Elros added. “Goodnight, Ada .”

“Sleep soon and sleep well,” Maglor told them before he took his leave. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Even if he tried, Elrond did not think he would be able to find rest. His heart was fluttering like a bird under his chest and he tossed and turned and fidgeted underneath his blanket. Finally, he gave up on pretending, sitting up and jumping down from his bunk, landing lightly on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Elros asked, lifting his head from his pillow. “Maglor said we had to sleep.”

“Well, I can’t sleep! Too much has happened!” Elrond sat down on the edge of Elros’ bed. “Can you sleep?”

Elros made a face. “Not with you hovering over me.”

Elrond smiled widely. “Scooch over then,” he said, climbing into Elros bunk and making sure to steal half his blanket. In this strange and turbulent mood, he wished most of all Elros’ company, even if that meant needling him. 

“Elrond,” Elros groaned, pulling at the blanket. “You have a perfectly good top bunk!”

Elrond teased him, “You go take it if it’s so good!” and earned himself an elbow to the stomach.

He looked at Elros with an expression of mock outrage and moved to straddle him, trying to pin his hands down with his own. Elros struggled, and for a few minutes, the twins wrestled, wearing identical focused grins as they tried to dodge each other’s pointy knees and elbows.

This playfight was far from as wild as it could have been, they lacked proper space in the narrow bunk, and once or twice they even paused to shush one another. Maglor wasn’t by any means overly strict, but even he wouldn’t take very nicely to the twins scruffling when they were supposed to be vast asleep.

Despite that, a hard and well-placed push soon sent Elrond flying. He hit the floor beside their bed with a bump and made a low yelp of surprise. 

“Sorry!” Elros called out. It sounded as if he meant it but also felt quite satisfied with his victory. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Elrond sighed, lying on the floor like a dead fish. He rubbed the back of his head and slowly glanced around the room. He’d never seen it from this angle before. Then his eyes widened and with complete and utter bafflement he asked: “Elros! Why do you have a sword under your bed?”

It was a full-length sword, beautifully crafted, and though it was kept safely in an embellished sheath, Elrond imagined the blade would be wicked sharp and deadly underneath it. He looked back and forth between his brother and the sword, growing more and more bewildered.

Elros looked flustered. Eventually, he volunteered, “It’s called Narsil .”

“I didn’t ask for its name!” Elrond sat up and climbed back into the bottom bunk, expecting a damn good explanation as to why Elros had hidden some baleful weapon in their bedroom.

Elros raised his shoulders in an almost-shrug. “Maglor gave it to me. Back when we left Amon Ereb…” 

As he continued, the smallest of smiles lit up his face. “I asked him for it myself. I think it's going to be my sword someday. Not for a long time, I mean, when I’m grown.”

Elrond considered that for a moment. He didn’t mind Elros having a sword. What upset him was the thought of Elros and Maglor keeping it a secret from him for two whole years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elros shifted in his seat. “I guess I thought perhaps you’d laugh at me.”

Elrond shook his head. “I won’t laugh at you!” Then, on second thought, he amended that, grinning. “That much! Can you even lift that thing? Who are you going to fight with it? An orc? A balrog?”

Elros gave a nervous smile. “I don’t know. Maybe no one.” Then he gave in and told Elrond what he had imagined, his excitement shining through. “Maedhros can teach me how to use it with my left hand. Maglor says he’ll show me how to polish it and sharpen it!” 

“And then,” Elros added. “When I have a child, I’ll pass Narsil on to them, just like Naneth passed the ring of Barahir to me. As an heirloom.”

It’s just like him to talk like this, Elrond thought with something like infinite fondness, reaching out to rub his brother’s shoulder. Determination and wild ideas followed Elros as faithfully as his shadow. With him for a brother, you never had to be bored for a single day in your life. 

Looking content, Elros laid down with his head on his pillow. “What do you want?” he suddenly asked Elrond. “In the future? When we’ve grown up, I mean.”

Elrond blinked at that, feeling as if he had been put very much on the spot. He tried to ponder it and found that the thought frightened him.

Maedhros and Maglor awaited the future with ill-concealed dread. Elrond knew they would meet whatever it offered with their swords raised and their hopes low. Elros would charge into the time to come as were it one big adventure, all nerve and spirit and quickness, of that Elrond had no doubt. But what would he himself do? 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling uneasy. “Is it bad that I don’t know?”

Elros furrowed his brow. “I don’t think it’s bad.” He gestured for Elrond to lay down beside him and spoke again to comfort him. “No, it can't be bad.”

As Elrond pulled the blanket over the two of them his thoughts strayed to Adar and Naneth who had searched the oceans for Valinor and found it at last, to Maglor telling Elrond he’d have a bright future when the war was in the past, to Maedhros noticing Elrond happiness even though he couldn’t share in it. He put his head on Elros’ shoulder and breathed in, then out.

“I know what I want to do tomorrow if that counts,” he whispered eventually. 

“What’s that?” murmured Elros.

Elrond wanted to play in the forest with his brother. He wanted them to find their way back to the chicken rock and beyond. He wanted to care for the horses, to pester Maedhros for his stories, to braid Maglor’s hair.  He wanted to go out after sundown, unafraid despite the dark, to look upon the star his parents had brought to the sky and once again wonder what it meant for their Middle Earth. 

That was future enough for Elrond as of now, and he told it all to Elros in a sleepy earnest monologue as the two of them lay close together in Elros’ bed. When Elrond fell quiet he could faintly hear Maglor out in the kitchen, humming.

He had got to have heard some of the noise the twins had made, he probably knew they weren't resting. He might come in and check on us, Elrond thought tiredly, shifting to get more comfortable on the mattress. Maybe we should pretend to be asleep just in case.

Perhaps Elros had had the exact same thought. He had shut his eyes and his breathing had gone slow and calm. Perhaps he was genuinely sleeping. Elrond snuggled up against him either way, sighing in contentment.

Tomorrow, Elrond thought with anticipation as he fell asleep himself. Tomorrow, Elros.