Sirion by Grundy

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His Young Apprentices

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Elrond giggled as the dust settled from the explosion.

Alyamë the baker had her hands on her hips, but he could see she was trying not to laugh.

Elros was completely coated in flour. He rather resembled a startled snowy owl as he blinked in surprise, tiny white specks drifting off his eyelashes as he did.

“I did not intend it to do that…” he muttered, a much smaller avalanche of flour falling from him at the movement.

He shook his head like a dog just out of the water, sending up a small cloud, but even so, his usually midnight dark hair was a streaky grey.

“Next time, young prince, wait for someone taller to get the flour down for you,” Alyamë suggested merrily.

Elros looked up at the shelf, and then down at his new covering of flour, as well as the thick white layer covering the countertop in front of him, his stepstool, and the floor.

“Oh, dear. I suppose there’s nothing for it,” Lerien said with mock regret. “We’ll just have to pop him in the oven with the rest of the bread!”

Elros looked horrified for a split second before he burst out laughing, any lingering unhappiness at his misadventure dispelled.

“I’m not bread dough!” he giggled as Lerien tickled him.

“No, but you are a right mess, little mischief,” Alyamë sighed. “Just wait until your f-“

“Prince Maedhros will not be pleased if he finds you looking like this,” Lerien cut in firmly, with a pointed look at Alyamë.

Elrond stood out of the way and watched as the two women did their best to clean up his twin.

It was not the first time in the last few months one of the folk of Amon Ereb had almost referred to Makalaurë or Maedhros as ‘your father’. (Most usually at Elros, but occasionally to Elrond as well.) They often seemed embarrassed by the slip, but he could not see the harm in it.

He knew his cousins were not his father. Everyone knew that. The twins were learning to write their names, so it was hard to miss that they were Eärendilion, not Makalaurion or Nelyafinwion. But their cousins were doing all the things his father should have been there to do.

Since coming to Amon Ereb, he and Elros had a lot more of what Pelendur the captain of the guard termed ‘structure’. Elrond wasn’t entirely sure what Pelendur meant by that, because he’d thought structure was another word for building. But he did know that rather than being left to their own devices for much of the time as they had been in Sirion, he and Elros nearly always had things to do now. And if their cousins weren’t always right there while Elrond and Elros were doing those things, they had definitely arranged for the twins to do them.

This afternoon, they were having their cookery lesson – the ladies of the kitchens had decided to teach them how to make one of the simpler cakes commonly served as an after-dinner treat. Usually their cookery lessons were more practical – Elrond could now make toast, omelet, and baked apple on his own. Well, as on his own as a six-year-old was allowed to be in the kitchens – there was always at least one person watching to be sure he was in no danger.

Elrond also knew in theory of more complicated dishes, like roast chicken, steak and mushroom pie, and venison stew, but the cooks insisted he had plenty of time to master them himself. For now, they were pleased that he knew the basic rules of the kitchens, and was learning important skills like measuring, chopping, peeling, and patience. Elros had a lot of trouble with the last one, but it seemed fairly important in many recipes.

Lack of patience was what had led to his twin’s current state – rather than wait, Elros had climbed from his stepstool onto countertop to tug the flour sack down from its shelf as soon as Lerien mentioned flour in the list of what they would need for the cakes. Elrond, who had been fetching the eggs, had been far enough away not to put himself or the egg tray in danger.

“Maedhros- mmf!” Elros’ words were cut off by the scrubdown he was getting from the two cooks, starting with his flour-covered face. He spluttered as they rubbed at his face with first a dry rag, then a damp one until Elrond could see normal colored skin showing beneath the white coating.

“Maedhros never comes down here during our lessons,” Elros said indignantly when he could get a word in, and ducking to get away from the two nissi. “So how’s he going to see me?”

“Never is an overestimate, little one,” came an unexpected voice. “Rarely would be more accurate.”

Elrond turned to find his tall red-headed cousin was, against all expectation, standing in the doorway. He had the look that tried to be stern but wanted to laugh nearly as much as Elrond did at the sight of his flour-covered twin.

“I see I will only be borrowing one of the young princes from you, ladies,” Maedhros continued, speaking to the cooks. “There are riders approaching from the west, and I had thought this might be an opportunity for them to begin learning about diplomacy, but as only one of them is presentable…”

“I can be presentable!” Elros howled in protest, abruptly giving up any resistance to the efforts to clean him up.

“Not without a bath and complete change of clothes,” Maedhros replied with a shake of his head. “Particularly since I see you forgot about your apron again.”

Elrond couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him at Elros’ indignant, I can feel flour down my underpants, what is an apron supposed to have done for that?

“My prince, an apron would hardly have made a difference,” Lerien said reprovingly, sounding all for the world as if Maedhros were here for a lesson just as the twins were.

“Perhaps not,” Maedhros said, lips twitching again as if he wanted to laugh. “All the same, I’m only going to take young Elrond. I will send someone down to collect Elros – and you are not to give them trouble about the bath you sorely need, young one.”

“Yes, cousin,” Elros said dejectedly.

“Cheer up, my hasty one,” Alyamë said briskly. “As you and the pans are both already well-floured, we may as well finish the cake before sending you off to your bath.”

Elros’ face lost its tragic look, though he still looked slightly disappointed to be missing out.

I will tell you everything I see, Elrond promised silently. And explain what diplomacy is as soon as I find out.

“Come, Elrond,” Maedhros said, holding out his hand.

Maedhros’ long legs meant he was harder to keep up with than Makalaurë, and he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, so Elrond was unsurprised when his cousin swung him up into his arms before they reached the stairs.

“Who are the riders?” Elrond asked, reasoning that if he was going to meet them, he should know who they were.

“I am not sure yet,” Maedhros replied. “They were still too far away to see their banner when the watch sent word.”

Elrond frowned, for he felt certain his cousin at least had some idea who they might be. He would hardly be allowed to accompany Maedhros to meet folk who might be do them harm.

Maedhros snorted softly, one of those noises he made where others might have laughed.

“I am confident they are elves, little one. You are right that I would not take you to any dangerous meeting. If I thought there was a chance of harm to you, you would stay up here in the main fortress, with my best guards between you and any danger.”

Since Maedhros no longer needed to limit his speed to accommodate Elrond’s little legs, they swiftly reached the twins’ room.

“You should change,” Maedhros said as he strode to clothes press, and examined its contents critically. “I think we may forgo the dreaded circlet, but this would be more appropriate.”

Elrond looked at what his older cousin had chosen. It was an outdoors outfit, and one he had not gotten to wear yet, for it was meant for if they had to go on any journeys. It had what his cousins said was his father’s crest picked out on the chest of the leather surcoat rather than the eight-pointed star that everyone else in Amon Ereb wore, but it otherwise looked like a smaller version of what Maedhros himself was wearing, right down to the belt – although his had no sheath for a dagger as his older cousin’s had. He was still too young for that.

Elrond pulled the outfit on over his leggings and undertunic, and then looked to Maedhros for guidance as to whether his normal boots or his shiny boots were more appropriate.

“The everyday boots will do,” Maedhros nodded, then pointed at the mirror after Elrond had pulled them on. “Check your hair.”

“You can see whether or not it is acceptable,” Elrond pointed out, eager to go.

“Yes, I can, but you should get in the habit of checking it for yourself,” Maedhros said patiently. “I will not always be there to check it for you.”

His cousins had once had cross words over Maedhros’ habit of mentioning that the adults around them might not always be there. Elrond, though he had at first found it a little unsettling, now found it reassuring in a way. He had expected other grownups to always be there, like Nana and Aunt Lalwen, and it had been extremely upsetting when they suddenly weren’t. Maedhros’ matter of fact approach to the uncertainty of life in Beleriand seemed honest by comparison. And as Maedhros had pointed out to Makalaurë, the important thing was that he knew his older cousins would keep him safe.

“My hair is presentable,” Elrond announced, after looking in the glass to confirm it.

“Very good,” Maedhros said, gesturing that they could now get under way.

He led the way down to the courtyard, where Elrond found that a groom had Maedhros’ horse waiting.

“Worry not, young Elrond,” Maedhros smiled. “We are only going as far as the guardhouse. We will meet our guests there.”

To the groom, he added, “Please find Varilon and ask him to collect Elros from the kitchens at the end of the hour.”

Though Elrond was now learning to ride, the journey down to the guardhouse was not one he could safely make on his pony, for though as neatly finished as any other aspect of Amon Ereb, the path down from the main fortress was steep. As yet, he had only mastered walking on level ground, and always under the watchful eye of Roquendil, the Master of the Horse.

They could have gone on foot, but Elrond knew that would take longer.

“Who do you guess we are going to meet?” Elrond asked as they passed out of the tunnel below the watch tower and came into the guardhouse courtyard.

“I no longer guess,” Maedhros replied. “For I can see their banner now. Once I have spoken to the watch, I will take you up onto the wall so that you may see it also. They are bringing word from our cousin Artanaro.”

“Who is Artanaro?” Elrond said, puzzled. He didn’t actually have many cousins, so to have one he hadn’t heard of was unusual.

“You probably know him as Gil-galad, for I believe that is his Sindarin name,” Maedhros explained patiently.

“Oh, yes,” Elrond exclaimed, wondering why under the stars Maedhros hadn’t just called him Gil-galad in the first place. “He sent us the pretty windows for our birthday.”

“You mean begetting day,” Maedhros said in the tone he used when he was correcting them without thinking. His eyes were focused on something off in the distance.

“No,” Elrond shook his head, certain that he had spoken correctly the first time. “We don’t have a begetting day.”

He knew most elves had begetting days, but Nana had always celebrated the day of their birth.

“Everyone has a begetting day.”

Elrond was surprised to hear that for once it was his cousin who sounded puzzled. Usually it was himself or his twin.

“Maybe Nana didn’t know when ours was,” he shrugged, unconcerned. As long as there was a day celebrated, did it really matter what it was called? But as long as his cousin had brought up the subject, he should make sure Maedhros knew when it was… “Our birthday is at the end of Coirë.”

“Hail, my princes,” called a voice from the archway of the guardhouse.

Pelendur, the captain of the guard, was there.

“Hello, Pelendur,” Elrond said politely, surprised again at seeing him there. He was fairly sure Pelendur was normally inspecting the armory or leading the grown elves in drills at this time of day, for it was close to the hour when he gave the twins and Glinwen lessons on how to use a sword or bow, how to defend themselves if they had no such weapon, and how to judge whether or not unknown quendi or atani were likely to be friends or foes before it could come to a fight.

“What news?” Maedhros asked.

“It will be another hour at least before they reach us,” Pelendur replied. “It is a small party, I make it two court officials and less than a dozen guards.”

“That isn’t very many,” Elrond said dubiously, having already learned that to travel safely over long distances meant to travel with a large party, complete with scouts and guards.

“Well spotted, young prince,” Pelendur agreed, looking pleased that Elrond had understood this. “They probably counted on speed being a better defense than numbers.”

“How is speed a defense?” Elrond asked curiously.

“You have two choices when there are enemies about,” Pelendur explained. “You can fight them, or you can run. Outrunning them is a form of defense.”

“Just not a very permanent one,” Maedhros snorted. “Come, Elrond. We will go up the gate tower, and I will show you Gil-galad’s banner before I explain to you what behavior I expect when the messengers arrive.”

“Behavior to make a good impression?” Elrond predicted.

"Indeed," Maedhros agreed.

Note: For anyone curious, I've been picturing something along the lines of Burg Hohenzollern when I think about Amon Ereb - a hilltop castle with a commanding view and multiple levels any enemy would have to assault to take it. Hope the writing is clear enough without having to look up photos!