Tales of Fear and Woe by lightofthetrees

---

Chapter 4: The iron price

Elrond and Elros face their fears and talk to Maedhros.
The prompt made me think of Maedhros losing his hand (Angband - "hell of iron" - etc.). This is not really a horror story, but I imagine that El & El found Maedhros pretty frightening early on. 
Content warning: implied suicidal thoughts

---

“It’s not funny, you know! You shouldn’t be in here,” Elrond said quietly, trembling a little. The twins knew they were not to go into Lord Maedhros’ rooms, but Elros had done so anyway. Of course Elros would choose to hide there. He so loved to do what was forbidden to him. He just had to turn this game of hide and seek into something that would get them both in trouble.

“Elros!” Elrond hissed, more urgency in his voice, shuffling his restless feet. “Please.”

There was no answer. Elrond sighed and stepped further into the room, despite his better judgment, beginning to peer into the corners and under desks and tables. After a few minutes of looking, there was no sign of his brother. Not behind the drapes, not in the armoire. There was only one place left in the bedroom to check – under the bed itself.

When Elrond pulled the bedskirt aside, ever so gingerly, a metal hand leapt out at him, nearly putting out his eye. He screamed, much to the delight of Elros, who laughed, clutching at his sides, as he slithered out from under the bed.

“If only you could have seen your face!” He wheezed. “Honestly, Elrond, you’re so jumpy!” Taking up the metal hand once more, he brandished it in front of his brother. “Bleh, look, it’s Lord Maedhros! Most fearsome of the Eldar! I’m coming to –“

“Coming to what?” a deep voice rumbled from the doorway to the next room, stopping Elros in his tracks.

The twins’ eyes widened in unison. Elros quickly hid the metal hand behind his back as if he had not just been using it to threaten his brother.

Maedhros stood in the doorway, dressed in a plain tunic and breeches, his flame-colored hair hanging wet around his face. He must have just come from the bath, Elrond thought. That was why he’d been gone from his bedroom, why Elros had been able to sneak in and steal the hand he wore in place of the one he’d lost.

And, as usual, Maedhros was frowning. Elrond shook, silent, his fingers digging into his brother’s arm.

Elros gulped before he said, “Nothing, sir.”

“It did not sound like nothing,” Maedhros replied, his tone unchanged. It was flat, without curiosity and without humor.

“We were just playing,” Elros asserted. He elbowed his twin. “Isn’t that right, Elrond?”

Elrond looked up at the Noldo looming above them, his face pale. Something about Lord Maedhros had always made him uncomfortable. Though Lord Maglor had been nothing but kind to them since they’d arrived – since they’d been captured, he reminded himself – Maedhros had kept his distance. He’d never said more than a few words to them. He never spoke much to anyone, actually.

“If you were just playing, then why is Elrond so frightened, hm?” Maedhros asked.

“Because he’s a baby,” Elros countered with his typical confidence. He was met not with a rebuke but with an uncomfortably long silence.

Maedhros’ lips drew into a thin line and he glanced away from the twins. “My hand is no longer on the bedside table,” he said with sudden sharpness. “Do you know where it is?”

Elros began to shake his head, but Elrond grabbed the object in question out of his brother’s grasp and held it out, not meeting Maedhros’ eyes.

“H-here,” he said. “It’s here.”

Maedhros didn’t smile – he never smiled – but he gave a nod before he reached out and took the hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re w –“ Elrond began.

“Where is your real one?” Elros asked, loud and brash. His eyes sparkled with the challenge of his impertinence.

Elrond let out a soft whine, burrowing his face into his brother’s shoulder. He didn’t want to see how Maedhros’ eyes would flash silver with fury, the way they had the night the Haven’s burned.

Instead, though, there was another silence, in which Maedhros slowly placed the false hand back on the table before he returned his attention to the twins. They were a curious sight, one bold and the other quaking with fear.

“It is gone,” the Noldo replied at last.

His voice was not as harsh as Elrond had been expecting, and the elfling dared to look up at him again. Whatever anger there might have been in Maedhros’ eyes was not there now. The older elf’s eyes were sad.

“How it was lost is not a tale for the ears of elflings.”

Elros scoffed. “Did someone cut it off in a fight?” he pressed.

Something in Maedhros’ gaze was almost gentle as he regarded Elros. “If only that was the truth. The world is more cruel than you know, little ones.”

Surprising both the twins, he sat down beside the bed, rolling back his right sleeve and beginning to fasten the straps that held his prosthetic hand in place.

Elros wriggled out of Elrond’s grip and stood beside the Fëanorion, watching him with morbid fascination. “You have so many scars,” he said.

“Yes,” said Maedhros, not looking up. “I do.”

“Did you get those in battle, too?”

“Some.”

Elros sat down at Maedhros’ side, peering at his face.

“Elrond is scared of you. He says you have a lot of pain, and that is why you are so angry all the time. It’s why you don’t talk to us.”

“Is that so?” Maedhros asked, arching an eyebrow at Elrond as he pulled his sleeve back down to cover his wrist.

Elrond curled in on himself a little, shoulders slumping. “I – I didn’t mean to insult you, my lord.”

“None of that ‘my lord’ business. Call me by my name.”

“Yes, m – Maedhros.”

The lord’s grey eyes were expectant. “You look like you have more to say. Go on, then.”

“Sometimes you think of dying,” Elrond mumbled. “And we make you sad.”

Silence again. Elrond felt the hurt filling the older elf’s heart like water fills a glass, but he did not know its cause. He wanted to reach out, to hold Maedhros’ hand, to help him somehow, but he did not know what he could possibly do. The older elf’s grief ran as deep as the sea.

He took a few steps back. “I just know it. I…I’m sorry if I said too much. Please forgive me.”

“How – how do you know all this, child?” Maedhros asked, his voice cautious and strained with guilt.

“He’s magic,” Elros added conspiratorially. “He always knows how people are feeling. Even me!”

Maedhros locked eyes with Elrond, sadness in his gaze. “So you do fear me.”  

The elfling nodded, jumping a little at the sudden intensity of Maedhros’s voice.

“I apologize for frightening you." Maedhros sighed. "Know that I do not wish you harm. Either of you.”

“Do – do you forgive us?” Elrond managed to whisper.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Maedhros replied, pushing himself to his feet. He gestured toward the door. “Now run along. Maglor will worry if you are late for supper.”