Something Un-Feanorian by Himring

Related Ficlet: The Decision

Small gestures can sometimes amount to major decisions.
Elrond knows this.

Written for Fandom Stocking 2016 for Independence1776.

There had been a strained atmosphere in the camp for three days, ever since the quarrel that had blown up over nothing much and had spiraled, ending with Elros shouting at Maglor: 'How dare you order me around! You are not my father! Kinslayer!'

Complete silence had fallen, instantly. Elros's outburst had caught them all unawares; it had been some time since the subject had last been broached. Elros had made matters worse rather than better by immediately muttering a red-faced apology.

When conversations started up again, they were subdued, concerned only with the tasks in hand as people went about their business. Maglor, even more than the rest, remained withdrawn and hardly spoke. There was no music in the evenings. Elros was visibly upset and confused, unsure whether he was being punished or, if--even worse--he was not, what he could do to patch things up.

Elrond had not been involved in the original quarrel and had been keeping himself to himself in the meantime. If they had truly reached this point again, he thought--perhaps he should stay out of it, not prejudice matters or influence Maglor in any way as he tried to make up his mind. But it was hard. It was hard. He felt the pressure of Maglor's unhappiness, of Elros's, and the longer it went on, the more other considerations paled and began to seem mostly theoretical--all the thorny questions of right and wrong--when the unhappiness was real and palpable and right there.

And finally, Elrond gave in, just like that. He approached Maglor where he was sitting alone by himself, all turned inward. Elrond quietly sat down beside Maglor and put his head on his shoulder, without saying a thing. And as he had guessed, he felt Maglor's hard-fought resolution crumble at his touch. Maglor sighed in defeat and put his arm around Elrond's shoulders, drawing him closer, and Elrond sensed everything so sharply that it almost hurt--that familiar hug, that familiar scent, the soft movement that was Maglor's breath, the fire flickering in the gathering dark--because he knew it could all have been lost to him. And how could such a shattering loss really right any wrong?

Elrond looked up and saw Maedhros studying him from a little distance away, his eyebrows raised a little. He was tempted to avoid his gaze, but stopped himself, looking steadily back at Maedhros.

Oh yes, I know quite well what I've just done.

He caught the shadow of a smile, the almost reluctant acknowledgement of relief. Maedhros gave him a small nod and went over, as if casually, to speak to Elros about some small thing.

They were not going to be sent to Balar, not this time.

Chapter End Notes

A gapfiller for "Something Un-Feanorian", based on the following passage:

‘Elros, did you realize that, twice, Maglor was on the verge of giving us up and sending us to Gil-galad?’
‘No.’
‘Do you wish he had?’
And I watched him try very hard to say ‘yes’, but in the end he said ‘no’.