Our Most Beloved Star by Uvatha the Horseman

Another Year

Almost a year into their captivity, Elrond came down to breakfast to find a small parcel wrapped in brown paper beside his plate. There was one at Elros' plate, too.

"Packages! What are they for?" asked Elrond.

"For your birthday. You're seven years old today," said Maedhros.

Elros tore the paper from his parcel. It was a small dagger made to look like a real sword, but scaled down to child size.

"I can show you how to use it," said Maedhros. "You want to be a warrior when you grow up, don't you? I'll give you lessons."

Elros eyes lit up and he nodded happily.

Elrond opened his package carefully, unfolded the paper so he could use it to write on. Inside was a leather case. It held small glass phials containing ordinary herbs, but special, because each one had healing powers. There was also a mortar and pestle, and a small brass scale.

"Thank you. I don't know what to say."

"It's not every day you turn seven," said Maedhros.

Elrond tried to remember their sixth birthday, a year ago. Had there been presents, or a special meal? He didn't think so. Mother didn't normally make a fuss about birthdays, although she did mark their sixth by letting them hold the Silmaril.

Shoving away feelings of disloyalty, Elrond admitted that he liked this way better, being fussed over and getting presents.