Short Tales of Arda by grey_gazania

Hands

Maedhros begins to teach Elros and Elrond to wield a sword. Written for a prompt on Tumblr: "Will you hold it for me?"

"You're really going to teach us to fight?" Elros asked, eyeing the practice swords that lay on the ground near Maedhros' feet. They were wooden and sized for the boys, and now he knew what Taraharn had been so busy with for the past few days.

Maedhros nodded. He was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, his long hair pulled back from his face, and he was leaning on a wooden sword of his own, this one much longer, more suited to his great height. "You're old enough to learn," he said, "and I would have you able to defend yourselves. The wilds are a dangerous place. You know that."

"Aren't you afraid that we'll kill you someday?" Elros said. Elrond shot him a disapproving look, but Elros ignored him; he had always been more blunt than his brother, and he had no qualms about bringing up the truth of how they had come to live with the Sons of Fëanor.

"I do not fear death, Elros," Maedhros said. It was a sentiment Maglor had voiced before, but unlike Maglor, when Maedhros said it he spoke the truth. "Besides, I believe you have more sense than to try. It would do you no good."

Elros had to concede the point. Even if Maedhros and Maglor refused to defend themselves from the boys — and that alone was a big if — there were certainly people among their followers who would not hesitate to avenge their lords. "That's true," he admitted.

Elrond rolled his eyes. "I don't feel like killing anybody except Orcs," he said. "Let's stop talking and get started."

That got a half-smile from Maedhros. "Take up a sword," he instructed. "It doesn't matter which; they're identical in all the ways that matter."

Elros and Elrond looked at each other, shrugged in unison, and each picked up the sword closest to them.

"These are meant to be used with one hand. Maglor will teach you the two-handed method, for obvious reasons," Maedhros said dryly. "Now, hold it like this, but in your right hand. We'll start with your dominant arm." He demonstrated with his own sword, and the boys copied him. "Good," he told Elrond as he examined his grip.

Elros received no praise. Instead, Maedhros handed his sword to Elrond, saying, "Hold this." Then he took Elros' hand in his own, adjusting the position of the boy's fingers. "You want your thumb here," he said. "It minimizes the risk of injury to your hand if you block a blow close to the cross-guard."

Elros nodded, but his mind wasn't on Maedhros' words. Instead it was fixed on the calloused, scarred hand wrapped around his own — a hand that was celebrated in song for its owner's deeds in the Dagor Bragollach, but also a hand that had slaughtered his mother's people twice over. Was it irony that this hand would be the one that taught him and Elrond to fight, or was it simply misfortune?

He didn't know, and he was snapped out of his reverie by Elrond elbowing him in the ribs.

"Elros," Maedhros was saying, "are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, looking up. For a moment he thought he saw the dreaded Kinslayer standing before him, but he blinked and the man became simply Maedhros again, tired-eyed but patient. "I was just— I was thinking," he tried to explain.

"Thinking is good, but try to keep your thoughts focused on the present," Maedhros said. "Otherwise there is no point to these lessons." He took his sword back from Elrond and held it upright in front of him. "Now, copy me."