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He thought it would have gotten easier by now, raising the twins. Instead, Maglor found himself trying to entertain both of them while Maedhros was out brooding. His older brother vehemently denied he was doing such a thing, but Maglor knew him well enough to say that he was. He knew that his brother retreated to the woods near the encampment in order to be alone with his thoughts, and to grieve where he thought no one would see.
Maglor had found him one day and tried to comfort him, only to be told that Maedhros had never wanted Maglor to see him at such a low point. He had accepted the words and gestures Maglor offered, but the younger was increasingly aware of the pain and stress his elder brother was bearing.
So he gave Maedhros his space, and tried to raise the twins himself.
"Why is Maitimo always avoiding us?" Elros piped up, breaking Maglor from his thoughts. The rain tapped away on their tent, and the inside was dim, lit only by several candles that made the shadows dance on the walls. Maglor was able to sit up comfortably, as was his brother, who was taller by at least a head. But neither of them could stand, and the twins were also too tall to do so, though by a far lesser degree than the Sons of Fëanor were.
Elrond looked over from where he was scratching words onto paper, interested as well.
"He's-" afraid of you two, of ruining you, of seeing fear in your eyes when you look at him, of the hatred you must bear him and me for the Third Kinslaying- "tired."
"He went for a walk in the rain and hasn't looked us in the eyes for a week," Elrond pointed out, "and I've seen how you and him look at each other when you think Elros and I aren't watching." Maglor silently cursed the boy's powers of observation, although he was secretly proud.
"He's tired," Maglor repeated. "He doesn't want to keep fighting but he can't stop."
"Why not?" Elros queried, eyes fixed on the older elf.
"The Oath," Elrond butted in before Maglor could. "He has to get the Silmarils. Don't you remember? That's why he attacked Sirion and Grandfather, Mother, and all the rest all died."
"Oh," said Elros, then fell silent, picking at the tarp under the tent. "Okay but why? Why's he want the Silmarils anyway? And why do you?" He added to Maglor, who found himself at a loss for words, for once in his life. Although, that was becoming a frequent state for him when he was around the twins.
"We swore an Oath to slay any who stood between us and them," Maglor said finally into the silence, voice quiet but luckily not shaking. "Our father swore, and so we did too."
"But why?"
"Because we loved him," Maglor replied in the same quiet voice, feeling tears begin to burn his eyes. He heard Elrond hiss for Elros to be quiet, but his twin didn't heed him.
"Love d ?"
"He died to Morgoth long ago."
"Oh." Silence stretched again, though this time it was an awkward one. Maglor stemmed his tears as best he was able, though still his eyes burned as visions of his father's and brothers' deaths swam before his eyes.
He heard Elrond shut his book and pad over to him, then Maglor found himself wrapped in a tight hug by the boy. He tensed instinctively, then slowly relaxed when Elrond showed no signs of letting go. He awkwardly patted the boy on the back, not sure how to respond.
Maglor recounted the tale quietly to Maedhros later that night when the two of them sat outside, watching the stars. The rain had not stopped, but it had lightened and so while their cloaks were damp, they were unafraid of becoming soaked to the bone.
"He's a good child," Maedhros finally said. "I pity him."
"He wants you around too, you know. They both do." He watched his brother's face, but Maedhros only closed his features off.
"You know well why I cannot bear to become close to them."
"I don't think that decision is yours to make, brother." A ginger eyebrow lifted in question. "If the Peredhel want to know you, they will."
"We killed their family."
"We are their family now. You're hurting, but they need us too. I need you , brother." Russandol studied his brother for a minute, featuring softening and lips parting in confusion briefly, before his face settled on guilt.
"I am sorry," he said simply, quietly. "I have been caught up in my own pain and failed to see yours. Forgive me, Maglor."
"You are forgiven," Maglor replied after thinking it through, albeit briefly. He held out a hand and his elder brother grasped it tightly, hand warm and calluses pleasant against Maglor's own. He could feel Russandol’s pulse, a constant, steady reminder that his brother was still here. He had not perished the way the rest of their siblings had, falling to sword and ash.
"I love you, brother. I'm here."
"And I you. I know."
If either Elrond or Elros noticed a change in the demeanour of their abductors-turned-adopted-fathers, they said nothing. They simply accepted Russandol's company and spoke to him easily once they had gotten over their initial involuntary fear of him. He had slaughtered their kin in front of them, the head of his brothers. Maglor was frightening too, in his own way, but he had found them and had a sweeter face.
If they noticed, which they surely did, clever as they were, then they said naught. For that, Maglor was grateful. He watched them grow beside his brother, and while he remained the more easily approachable of the Fëanorians, Elros struck up a kinship with Russandol. The older brother who had become grief-wracked and angry from loss had softened and untensed around the boys who needed him to be a parent and not a warrior.
Maglor was being affected the same, of course, but observing a change in someone else is easier than observing it in oneself.
"Thank you," Russandol said simply one night as they watched the stars, tracing the constellations they had learned since the deaths of the Trees of Valinor. Maglor leaned against his brother, leeching his warmth against the chill of the night air.
"They needed both of us," he replied. "And I daresay the both of us needed them."
"Aye," Russandol agreed, and they watched the stars until dawn.