Variations on Fear and Lack Thereof by fingonsradharp

Variations on Fear and Lack Thereof

Read Variations on Fear and Lack Thereof

“I’m not afraid of you!” Elros screamed. He struggled against the dark-haired elf, pounding his little fists on bigger arms as Elrond cried and pleaded, tugging on his shirt.

The dark-haired elf did not respond. He looked at his brother, scarred and terrible to behold. They spoke with their eyes, and the dark-haired elf’s grip never loosened for a moment, no matter how Elros wriggled or how Elrond beat at his legs.

The dark-haired elf handed Elros to the red-haired one, whose hold was just as secure despite the use of only one hand. The dark-haired one picked up Elrond and began to sing, and Elros felt his movements slow. 

Despite his attempts to stay awake, he was unconscious by the time they reached the horses.

 

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Elrond said quietly. They were in Amon Ereb’s library, supervised by Maglor so they did not try to escape. 

The minstrel was sitting in a corner by the door, absentmindedly plucking at the strings of the harp in his lap. He had looked up when Elrond approached him, a stack of books in one arm and a bundle of scrolls in the other.

“I do not wish for you to be,” Maglor said. “I am not going to harm you.”

Elrond was silent for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, really. But Maglor was sad, and Elrond didn’t know why, and it made him sad even though he should hate Maglor for taking him and Elros prisoner and burning Sirion.

He did hate him, a little bit. But Maglor had not hurt them, and showed no intention to.

It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t even safety. But for now, it was enough.

 

 

“I’m not afraid of you!” Elros said defiantly. He had to crane his neck to look up at Maedhros, grim-faced and stony as he always was.

He was lying. He was terrified, his knees shaking and his eyes welling up with tears as Maedhros gripped his wrist and wrenched the knife from his hand even as blood dripped down his leg. 

He had snuck the blade from the kitchen, he and Elrond stealing away in the night after picking the lock on their door with toothpicks. Elrond Maedhros held in place with nothing but a glare, him being unwilling to leave his twin even if it meant escape.

“That was a good stab,” Maedhros said. “But you should have gone for my knee instead. Severing a tendon there would do much more damage.”

“I’ll try again, then,” Elros spat. He wanted Maedhros to hurt, as much as Elros hurt when the Havens were burning, as much as he hurt now with the fading hope that their mother would come back for them.

Maedhros’s expression remained impassive, and another jolt of fear ran through Elros as he realised what he said. Maedhros had not harmed them yet, as his mind kept reminding him, but he had no idea what would push the red-haired elf over that edge.

But Maedhros only turned and tugged Elros along with him back towards the bedroom that had become their prison. “Come,” he said over his shoulder, knowing Elrond would follow.

 

 

“Muddy elflings get bathtime,” Maglor said, one slanted eyebrow raised as he took in the twins’ newest mess.

Elros groaned. “We don’t want to take a bath,” he said. “Baths are stupid.”

“You should have thought of that before playing in rain puddles,” Maedhros rumbled. “Come along.”

“Nope!” said Elrond, and took off running. He knew Elros was behind him, and could hear Maedhros and Maglor chasing after them. He turned to stick his tongue out at them. “I’m not afraid of you!” 

Maglor seized him in the gentlest tackle known to Elf or Man and tickled him until Elrond shrieked with laughter. Maedhros held a similarly giggling and wriggling Elros over one shoulder. 

Elrond pushed at Maglor’s chest, and the singer let himself be flopped over. Elrond rubbed his muddy hands over Maglor’s clothes and face, and the resulting laughter rang in Elrond’s ears. It was the first time he had ever heard it. He decided he liked the sound.

“Now you need a bath, too,” he said. 

Maglor’s smile was warm. “I suppose I do, little star.”

 

 

Elros’s practice sword fit well in his hands. It was an extension of his arms now, just as Maedhros said it should be. He ran through the forms with precision, muscle memory taking over. It was second nature to him, now, calming and almost meditative. 

“Good,” said Maedhros’s voice, hoarse and scratched. His own practice sword was much bigger, nearly the size of Elros himself. He raised it, telegraphing his movements for Elros to see. Elros took the ready position, noting where Maedhros’s weight was distributed and deciding where he would strike first. “Are you sure you are ready for this?”

Elros rolled his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you.”

A muscle in Maedhros’s cheek twitched, the closest he ever got to a smile. “Begin.”

Elros swung his sword. Maedhros blocked it easily, his movements almost too fast for Elros to see. If this were a real fight, Elros knew he'd be dead in an instant.

But it wasn’t a real fight, and Maedhros did not attack, only parried Elros’s blows and called out encouragement and corrections. 

When their training session ended, Elros was soaked in sweat and exhausted, but he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

 

 

“Little stars,” Maglor said, the light in his eyes terrible as Elrond had not seen it since the Kinslaying. “Stand aside.”

Elros balled his hands into fists. “You cannot do this.” He tried to growl, but it came out sounding like a plea. “They will kill you.”

“Do not interfere,” Maedhros snarled. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Please, elenyat,” said Maglor. He trembled, his expression full of premature grief. “We could not bear it if you were hurt.”

“We’re not afraid of you,” said Elrond. Once they had been, but no more. Their fathers would never harm them. 

“I know,” Maglor said, at the same time Maedhros said, “You should be.”

“This is not the end,” Maglor assured them. 

“You’re lying,” Elros accused, and Elrond knew he was right. 

Maglor never lied to them. But he was lying now.

“Stand aside,” Maedhros growled, and Elrond and Elros were too stunned to resist when he strode past them and out of the tent. Maglor wasn’t far behind, but he turned back to look at the twins before leaving their sight.

“I am sorry, elenyat,” he said. “I am sorry, yondonyar.” Then he turned and followed his brother.

 

 

“Maglor!” Elrond cried, but the figure did not stop. “Maglor, wait!”

It was him, Elrond knew it, after all this time he had finally found his father and he was running away. “Atto!”

Maglor froze, then crumpled to his knees in the sand, his head down and shoulders shaking. 

Elrond collapsed beside him and pulled him into an embrace, thousands of years of grief and longing poured into it. Maglor hugged him back weakly, as if he was afraid he would break Elrond by holding him too tightly.

“Please do not run from me,” Elrond begged, uncaring that he sounded like a child. He felt like a child again, six years old and wishing for his mother, fifty-five and pleading for his fathers. “Long have I searched for you, Atto.”

“Why?” Maglor’s voice was wretched, hoarse with sobs, but still the same beautiful tenor Elrond knew. “Why do you call me that? I do not deserve the title, I never have.”

“You raised us, taught us, protected us,” said Elrond. “Love does not have to be deserved. I give it to you freely.”

Maglor buried his face in Elrond’s shoulder. His hair was matted and tangled, lacking the shine it always held. But he was here, whole and safe, after all this time.

“You should have hidden from me,” Maglor whispered. “I hurt you, though I swore I would not.”

“You have never hurt me, Atto,” Elrond said. “Caused me grief, perhaps, when I could not find you, but never once have you harmed me.” He put his hand on his father’s cheek, wiping away his tears as Maglor always used to do for him. “I am not afraid of you.”

Maglor held him tightly then, and Elrond helped him to his feet. 

He was hunched, at first, but upon seeing Elrond rise to his full height he straightened his back, and even then Elrond was eye-level with his nose.

“You have gotten so tall,” Maglor said, his eyes going misty again. “My son.”

Elrond smiled. “Just wait until you meet your grandchildren.”