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“Brother,” Ereinion whispers. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in death, at the end of the world, for it is his own, his twin, his lost brother. It is Eluréd.
(Eluréd with the eight-rayed star sewn onto his robe, Eluréd with black-dyed hair, Eluréd the Fëanorian…)
“They told me you were dead,” Eluréd says, his voice rough. “Atar looked for you, in the forest.”
“They stole you.” Elurín growls. “They stole you as they stole Elrond and Elros.”
“Maedhros was good to me,” Eluréd snaps. “He raised me. He loved me.”
“Eluréd…”
“My name is Erestor.”