Ransom of the Fairy Twins by Rocky41_7

Part 1

A fill for a prompt on the Silmarillion Kink Meme.

Read Part 1

I.

           When Elrond and Elros were six, the Havens of Sirion went up in smoke. Their mother kissed their foreheads and sent them upstairs with Evranin their nurse, who had been her nurse before, and promised to see them soon. It was the last thing she ever said to them.

           Instead of Mother, a pair of flame-eyed, blood-streaked Elves threw down the bodies of the guard stationed outside the room, and one held Evranin captive while the other ransacked Mother’s room. These invaders took nothing, but threw the screaming nurse aside, and left with the children.

           The last time they heard from mother was inside the house, but the last time they saw her was on the cliff-side, where those towering men of ash and blood tried to make a deal with her. When Elrond and Elros were six, a man held a blade to their throats, and promised to spare them in exchange for something else.

           It had been a long time since they had heard mother say the names of her brothers aloud, those uncles they had never met—who had died younger than they were then: Eluréd. Elurín. 

           The last time they saw mother, she was there: and then she was gone.

           She didn’t scream, but their captors did. The leaders, and the ones who followed them, all howling and wailing and cursing and running to the edge of that cliff, to burn their stares into the frothing salt water as it battered itself against the rocks. They nearly missed the seabird that went wheeling overhead, out towards the water, out west. 

           The boys were loaded up onto a horse in front of the dark-haired second son of Fëanor, and so they could not look back and see the ruins of the Havens still smoking. For nearly an hour they rode in complete silence, and then one of the boys tilted his head back, looking up wide-eyed and trembling at the man behind them and asked: “Where are we going?”

           “Home,” replied the killer.

II.

           When Elrond and Elros were twelve, the sons of Fëanor finally succeeded in making a deal. Gil-galad had come into a Silmaril—and the methods of which do not pertain to this tale—and, by suggestion of his councilors, was willing to offer it to the Fëanorians, in exchange for the lives of Eärendil and Elwing’s two children. 

           The parchment nearly smoked of how fast they accepted this offer.

           Gil-galad sent a small core of trusted advisors to transport the holy jewel, but being unwilling to enter the fortress of Amon Ereb, they left it some two miles out. The land was flat enough the two parties could still see each other. Once it had been deposited, Gil-galad’s men retreated to a safe distance. They watched the sons of Fëanor, the only two left, ride out and examine the jewel. When they had presumably satisfied themselves, they departed, and when Gil-galad’s men returned to the spot, the boys were there waiting. 

           Each was supplied by Gil-galad’s men with a pony and provisions, and a message was sent ahead to the king. They anticipated the need to travel slower with the children in tow, but the king should be made aware as soon as possible that the plan had succeeded. 

           “His Grace King Gil-galad offers welcome to the sons of Eärendil,” announced the deputy. The two boys stared dully up at their new compatriots. They each bore some makeshift luggage, ragged sacks and bits of things hanging from their tunic belts.

           “Where are we going?” one of them asked at last, almost wearily, as if it were a necessity.

           “To the isle of Balar, in Lindon,” said the deputy. “To your new home, we hope.” 

           “We hope?” echoed the other boy. “What do you mean by that?”

           “His Grace offers you a place in his home: you may refuse it, if you wish,” said the deputy.

           “You mean we may leave?” said the first boy, narrowing his eyes. The Elf blinked at him, as though they were having a discussion about pink skies and cows with wings. 

           “You may,” she said. “King Gil-galad does not take prisoners.” The boys exchanged a long look.

           “Very well,” they said at last, together. “We would like to meet him.”

III.

           The capitol of Lindon was now, for all intents and purposes, the isle of Balar, whose separation from the mainland gave it some minor additional protection from the forces of Morgoth. It was unlike anywhere Elrond and Elros had been before, but for the comforting wash of the waves on the shore, which seemed to reach back into hazy, half-remembered recollections of their childhood, stirring something they couldn’t quite grasp. Balar was an established Elven city, with stone walls and towers and glinting glass windows, and people. Anyone who could get to the island from the nearby lands had, and they were piled on top of each other trying to eke out some measure of safety in an increasingly terrifying world. The twins gawked as they rode through the streets, and were gawked at in return by Elves who had never seen a Peredhel before, only heard tales of those rulers of the Iathrim, but who had heard of the cruel capture of the boys at the sack of Sirion, and of Gil-galad’s plan for rescue. 

           “Why do they all look at us so?” whispered Elros loudly to the deputy. In their days of travel, the boys had relaxed somewhat around their guards, apparently determining it was unlikely they intended any immediate harm.

           “They have heard tales of the last queen of the Iathrim, and of the lord of the Havens at Sirion, and its destruction,” replied the deputy. “All of Lindon hoped that we would be able to bring you out of Amon Ereb.”

           “But why?” Elros asked. “We are strangers to them.”

           “One’s heart may still bleed for a stranger, yes?” said the deputy. Elros frowned thoughtfully and sat back on his pony. Elrond rode alongside him, and they kept so close together as they wound up to Gil-galad’s castle that their knees were bruised by the end of the day from bumping together. 

           When they reached the castle, their ponies were led off (they needed no help dismounting) and the deputy gestured for them to follow her inside. The twins shuffled after her, clutching each in one arm his belongings, and with the free hand clasping his brother’s hand.

           The architecture of Amon Ereb had been Elven too, finely wrought and carefully planned, but gone to ruination. It had been decades since anyone had properly cared for it, and its present occupants seemed to take joy in spoiling it further. Rarely did anyone of its sparse staff have time to clean, and when they did, the effort was half-hearted at best. Occasionally the boys were set to it, but with no skill or enthusiasm.

           Gil-galad’s castle was at the prime of its life, and kept clean to boot. 

           The twins expected to be led to the throne room—for they had heard such things existed—but Gil-galad met them in a small salon, dressed not in his royal regalia, but something less formal, with only a simple circlet to indicate his office. There was food laid out on a table, which both boys looked to immediately, before turning their attention back to their new lord.

           “It is wonderful to finally meet you,” said Gil-galad with a smile. He was fair of face, with oak-brown hair drawn back into a knotted braid, and eyes that seemed both green and brown. Heavy earrings weighed down his earlobes and polished jewels winked at his fingers and his breast. Like all the Elves they had seen thus far in Lindon, outside the soldiers, his dress was splendidly bright, as if Yavanna herself had painted on the colors. “Please, eat.” He gestured to the table, and the young boys decided further introductions could wait: they fell upon the food. 

           It was hearty and rich, if a less extensive spread than might have been there in years gone by, though this the twins did not know. They dipped soft, white bread in bowls of soup shining with fatty oils and snatched fistfuls of fresh vegetables. They had grown unaccustomed to the taste of seafood, but now they happily scarfed down baked fish, fried oysters, and strips of raw tuna on beds of greens, barely pausing to evaluate whether they liked one dish better than another. 

           “We were nearly short on supplies,” the deputy remarked to Gil-galad, who responded with faint surprise. 

           “A miscalculation,” he said. “I trust all else went well…?”

           “Indeed, my lord. Easier than anyone expected, truthfully. No fight at all.” 

           “Are you Gil-galad?” Elrond demanded as soon as his plate was clean, his small shoulders hunched as he spoke. His mouth and chin shone with grease.

           “Indeed I am,” replied the king. “Are you Elrond, or Elros?” 

           “Elrond,” they both replied. 

           “Then you must be Elros,” said Gil-galad to Elros, who glanced around as if it was possible there was someone else the king might take for Elros. 

           “What are you going to do with us?” Elrond asked. Gil-galad blinked a moment, but quickly selected his answer.

           “Feed you, I think,” he said with a smile. “It seems there needs to be more of that!” The twins continued to stare soberly at him, and the smile disappeared from his face. “I mean to offer you my home,” he said, gesturing with a hand around him. “It seems to me more suited to childhood than Amon Ereb. You shall have teachers too, and there is someone in Balar who can teach you nearly anything you might like to know. And when you are grown, perhaps you will decide to stay.” 

           “Did you know our parents?” Elros asked after a long silence. Gil-glad again considered before answering.

           “I did not,” he said. “I did not have occasion to visit the Havens at Sirion before…before its end.” The twins looked down at the table. “But there are some who did,” Gil-galad added, studying them. They looked up. “You may not have been aware—” He could see that they had not been, “—but there were survivors of that event.” Immediately the twins were sitting up ramrod straight, their eyes alight, and Gil-galad realized he had spoken carelessly. “I do not mean your mother and father,” he said gently, and their disappointment was visible. “But others. They have settled in a place called Greenwood forest, and they are led by a man called Oropher. Do you remember him?”

           Elrond and Elros shook their heads. 

           “If you wish it, I will write to him,” said the king. “He may agree to come and visit, and you may ask him any questions you have about your parents or Sirion.” He could not tell that the boys had any reaction to this. 

           After food and introductions, the twins were given rooms, one for each of them. They chose between them one room, and fated the other to merely gather dust. They were bathed, and measured for new, properly-fitted clothes (although they were permitted to keep what they had brought), and directed to a few adults they might seek out if they had need, then they were left alone. 

           “Do you think we could ever find him again in here, if we wanted to?” Elros asked with idle curiosity as he lay stretched sideways over the soft bed. “There’s so many rooms.”

           Elrond, seated at the window, arms wrapped around his knees, shrugged.

           “There’s so many people,” he said with a faint shudder. Elros made an uneasy noise of agreement.

           “There…used to be people,” he said uncertainly after a few moments. “In Sirion. I remember that. There were other children, do you remember? There were Men children. We used to play. We used to play a game with little round stones.” 

           “That was a long time ago,” said Elrond. 

           “Perhaps it will feel normal again,” Elros suggested. Elrond shrugged again. They went silent. Elros stared up at the ceiling, which had been painted to look like a summer sky, edged with rolling sea waves. Elrond watched the city beyond the window, and the horizon further out behind the shimmer of the mainland.

           “What do you think they shall do now?” Elros asked at last, lowly, voicing the question neither of them had been able to ask while still amid company. 

           “I would not know,” said Elrond tightly. “Go away, hopefully.” 

           “There remains still one Silmaril, isn’t that right?” said Elros.

           “I don’t care,” Elrond snapped. “They shall probably do something stupid trying to get that one back and get themselves killed in the effort.” 

           “Probably,” Elros agreed with a shrug. He stretched his arms out over his head. “At least we needn’t trouble ourselves with it anymore.”

           “Indeed,” Elrond muttered, hugging his knees a bit tighter. 

           Gil-galad had expected to see the boys explore the castle, but they remained in the space that was given them until they were called for dinner.

IV.

           Gil-galad had not intended for Celebrimbor to still be on the island when the twins arrived. In fact, he had done everything to conceal it from them. The jewel smith had been supposed to be gone more than a week ago, but a broken wagon axel and a squall had kept him around, and it was yet another thing for Gil-galad to wring his hands about. Nevertheless, in the interest of politeness, as Celebrimbor had come at his behest, Gil-galad paid him a last visit after the twins were settled in their beds.

           “How are they?” Celebrimbor asked as soon as he had let Gil-galad into his room, twisting his thick-fingered hands together. Celebrimbor was not a small man, and it might have been comical to see him so physically express his anxieties, if Gil-galad didn’t know that he was genuine. 

           In response, Gil-galad sank into one of the chairs at the hearth and pressed a hand over his eyes. His head tipped back against the chair.

           “I do not know how I shall manage this,” he said. He dragged his hand down his face. He rested an elbow against the arm of the chair and cradled his head. “I know not what I’m doing.” 

           “Surely…anything here is better than there, Your Grace,” Celebrimbor said, settling on the edge of the other seat. “Are they…are they hurt?”

           “Physically?” said Gil-galad. “No, I don’t believe so. Can you tell me anything else?” Gil-galad asked, raising his head. 

           “Everything I can tell you, I have told,” answered Celebrimbor, shaking his head. “As I said, I never spent much time with Maedhros and Maglor. They did not much like children, especially Maglor, in Aman. They were adults; they had not time for me.” He pulled at one of his earrings. “But here in Middle-earth, I have seen…Maedhros brings out the worst in them. He is the most determined of all of them, perhaps even more than my father. He will not allow Maglor to wander off this path they are on.” 

           “Stars.” Gil-galad rubbed his eyes again. 

           Celebrimbor, a step away from actually wringing his hands, got up and went to the nearby table to pour two goblets of wine. More, Gil-galad suspected, to have something to do with his hands than any desire to drink. Gil-galad took the proffered goblet and set it down undrunk. 

           “Have you had any word from the survivors?” he asked. Celebrimbor gave a bleak laugh.

           “Me, heard from the Iathrim?” he asked, bitter rue tinging his tone. “I would not reach out to them even if I knew how; they ought to have some peace. I have heard nothing of them since you left for Sirion, except that I understand they have moved into the Greenwood?” He sipped at his wine and his shaking hand dribbled it down his chin; hastily he swiped it away. 

           Gil-galad stared brooding into the fire, drumming his fingers slowly on the arm of the chair. Then, abruptly, he brought his fist down on the table between the seats.

           “We should have been there sooner!” he raged. He squeezed his eyes shut. “We should have been there sooner. We could have had the twins then, and spared them the last six years.” His muscles were a knot at the corner of his jaw. 

           “You did what you could,” Celebrimbor said softly. “And believe me! You have done the right thing bringing them here. No child deserves to live in Amon Ereb as it is now. Not with them.” He shuddered. 

           Gil-galad said nothing, but lapsed into stillness, gazing into the flickering firelight. Celebrimbor shifted uneasily in his seat, debating, and then said:

           “Will you be alright, having them here, when they have grown?” Gil-galad looked questioningly over at him. “I only mean…as direct descendants of Turgon and therefore of Fingolfin…do they not technically have a better claim to the crown of the Noldor than you, Your Grace?” Gil-galad exhaled and rubbed his eyes again.

           “Yes, I suppose they do.” 

           “And…do you think they might…want it?”

           “They are mortal,” Gil-galad emphasized. 

           “Yes, but…so was Dior.” 

           “We are not the Iathrim. What is your point, Celebrimbor?” Gil-galad snapped, his nerves worn thin.

           “If they chose to challenge you for the crown, what would you do?”

           “Give to them and wait,” said Gil-galad flatly. Celebrimbor was quiet, but evidently not satisfied with this answer, and Gil-galad went on: “We do not have time for these squabbles among Elfinesse. How can we think of coups and usurpations at a time like this?” His hand curled up on the arm of the chair, and then he drummed his fingers again, and then crossed and uncrossed his legs, finally sinking once more into stillness under the thrall of the fire. At length, he said, very quietly, almost as if he feared breathing a curse into the world: “We are losing this war.” 

           The fire popped and crackled in the hearth.

           “I know,” Celebrimbor replied, equally soft. 

           “Círdan still has seen no sign of Elwing, nor of the return of Vingilot.” In response to Celebrimbor’s silence, he added: “If they cannot succeed at bringing help from Valinor, I think we are only waiting for the end.” 

           “They cannot,” said Celebrimbor gently, as one might speak to a dying pet. “They are mortal, Your Grace. That path is closed to them.” 

           “They must,” Gil-galad replied. “If they do not…if no aid comes to us…then this war is already lost. If there was a time when the free peoples of Middle-earth had the strength to unite and overthrow the Enemy, it is gone. Without the Calaquendi…without the Valar…I fear the continent will soon go dark. And soon.”

           Celebrimbor said nothing.

Gil-galad sighed, and nodded to himself, and rose to his feet.

           “Thank you for coming, Celebrimbor,” he said.

           “Of course, Your Grace,” said Celebrimbor, rising with the king. “Anything I can tell you which may be of help I am glad to do.” 

           “I pray we may recover some of the damage,” said Gil-galad, shaking his head. “But only time will tell.”

           The next day, Gil-galad’s men hustled Celebrimbor and his small retinue out of the city and no more was said of his visit. It was the last time Celebrimbor came to Balar.

V.

           The Iathrim survivors of the sack of Sirion had not been seen since. It was known their small band had traveled east, and settled in the Greenwood, but they had gone quiet after their relocation, and no one had sought them out. It seemed best to let them be; by the measure of Elves, it had been a mere blink of an eye since that terrible day, six years only. 

           But when Gil-galad wrote, the answer came promptly, and Oropher came forth from the wood. 

           He would not enter the city, but established a camp on the shore of the mainland, along with the retinue he had brought. In concession to his guest’s understandable wariness, Gil-galad did not summon him to the castle, but brought the twins out to Wood-elves’ camp to meet with Oropher there. The effect on the assembled when they entered the tent was immediate.

           One man began weeping openly. Several others covered their mouths and looked away; some others appeared to visibly restrain themselves from more overt reactions. The twins walked forward, pressed together at the shoulder. 

           In the seat at the back of the tent was Oropher, newly-crowned king of the surviving Iathrim, though he did not title himself as such, preferring to attach his kingship to the Greenwood. He made no claim to be any heir to the kingdom of Elwing. He was perhaps slightly taller than average for the Sindar, with golden hair and blue eyes, and he bore no crown the children could see but a thin wreath of wood and leaf. He held himself placidly, but there was a shadow on his mien, something unspoken, but imminently present. Facing him, Elrond and Elros clasped hands. 

           “Elrond,” said the king of the Wood-elves. “Elros. My name is Oropher. I have come because Gil-galad—” He glanced past the boys to the king of the Noldor behind them, “—has said you wished to speak with me.” 

           “King Gil-galad says…” The boy trailed off.

           “…you knew our parents,” the other finished for him.

           Oropher tilted his head from side-to-side, saying neither yes nor no. It was a gesture that suddenly and aggressively reminded Gil-galad of the Sindar Wood-elves who had joined them in Nargothrond, but he had to push that memory aside.

           “I served the house of the Greymantle,” he said. “But my personal acquaintance with Queen Elwing was little, and less still with Lord Eärendil.” The twins shuffled, and squeezed hands, and looked at the floor, then back at Oropher.

           “Do you…”

           “…know where they are?” the boys finished together, gray eyes turned hopefully on this new king, though the tension of their shoulders suggested they were braced for disappointment. The shadow on Oropher’s face deepened, and he cast his eyes askance, and shook his head at last.

           “I do not,” he said softly. 

           Elros bit his lower lip, and Elrond swallowed hard. 

           “I cannot answer this question for you,” Oropher said, leaning forward. “But others, I may. And I shall. Anything of Sirion or Doriath is your right to know. I do not imagine your…previous guardians knew much of it.” The effort with which Oropher restrained himself from snarling was immense. He looked up at Gil-galad. “Perhaps we might speak privately.” 

           Gil-galad hesitated only a moment, before he determined no harm could come to them there, and nodded. He departed with his guard, and might have gone off to other kingly affairs, but he chose to wait until Elrond and Elros emerged with Oropher from the tent. They filed obediently back to Gil-galad’s side, like a dog returning to its master. 

           “I will leave some individuals here, though we cannot spare more than one or two,” said Oropher, “that they may act as tutors, to teach you things the residents of Balar are not likely to know.”

           “Yes, that would be ideal,” said Gil-galad, choosing not to take offense that Oropher did not ask the king’s permission to add to his staff. It would be good for the boys to have teachers that knew the Iathrim traditions and history; certainly Gil-galad knew little enough of it, and he imagined Maedhros and Maglor had known less still. Gil-galad at the least had had a Sindarin mother (though she had been of the Falas, and not the woods). “We would be most grateful.” Oropher nodded.

           Gil-galad never knew what Oropher said to the twins in the tent, but they were quiet the rest of the day, speaking only between themselves, and quickly hushing up the moment someone else appeared within earshot. If their hearing was weaker than Elves, they must have learned already the approximate distance at which an Elf could hear them whispering.

           At dinner, they were still silent, until one of them—Oropher believed it was Elros, though he could not say why—announced: “We wish to go with Oropher.”

           “We were told we might leave,” Elrond added, his small body tensed as if for a blow.

           “We were told you take no prisoners,” said Elros. 

           Gil-galad, taken aback, stared for a moment, and then said, slowly: “If you wish to depart with Oropher, and he would welcome you, you are of course, free to go. It is not my intention to keep you here against your will.” 

           “He said we were welcome to accompany him—”

“—if we wished it.”

           “Very well,” said Gil-galad. “We will prepare supplies for you to take with you.” The twins exchanged a look, then stared back at Gil-galad, but when he said nothing else, they spoke again.

           “You really mean—”

           “—to let us go?”

           “Just like that?” They finished together. 

           “As you heard,” said Gil-galad, slicing a bit of pork loin, “I do not keep prisoners, and certainly not children. It was my desire to ransom you away from the sons of Fëanor for your own sake, not that I might keep you in their stead. I spoke truthfully when I said you are welcome to stay in my home, but you are welcome also to leave, if that suits you better. I trust Oropher and his people will take great care in looking after you.” 

           “Oh.” Some fight seemed to ease out of them, and they began to share more frequent looks, and jab at each other under the table, though they remained quiet, and quickly stilled if Gil-galad looked directly at them. 

           After dinner, he sent a runner out to the camp of the Wood-elves. Not that he did not trust the twins’ report—but it would not hurt to verify with his fellow monarch that this was agreed upon, before he simply sent two children off with them.

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Chapter End Notes

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VI.

           The twins had never lived in the woods before, and the Greenwood was far thicker and taller than those small clusters of trees which dotted the landscape rarely around Amon Ereb, and it was packed with many plants they had seen only sketches of before. When they neared the camp of the Iathrim, and they looked overhead and saw Elves running about the branches, they cried out with delight. The road there had been tense; everyone was keenly aware how dangerous travel had grown, and the adults all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when they were back under the shelter of the trees, even if the foliage did not truly protect against attack.

           Oropher and his retinue led them into a dense cluster of tents, about which the Iathrim seemed quite busy. There were tables with maps laid out across them, things being skinned and smoked over fires, bows and other tools being crafted—a whole city shrunk down into one bustling camp. 

           “My lord,” came a relieved voice, from another man striding towards them.

           “Ah, Thranduil,” said Oropher, his face breaking into a smile. Away from Lindon, he seemed to do that much easier. “I trust all was well in my absence?”

           “Well indeed,” was the distracted reply. “But we are glad for your return.” Plainly, Oropher’s son could not get the badge of office back into his father’s hands quickly enough. The prince was a full head taller than his father, his hair a paler gold, and his eyes a piercing green. His face bore none of the levity which flashed across Oropher’s with some regularity, as if it had once been more at home there. He was broad about the shoulders, and like many of the Wood-elves, wore his hair loose. There were several tiny braids in it, drawing it away from his face and the graceful swoop of his ears.

           His attention went quickly to Elrond and Elros.

           “You brought the children?” he asked Oropher.

           Elrond stared, and stared, and stared, until Elros dug an elbow into his ribs. He gasped and then cried out in a high voice: “I’m Elrond!”

           “He lies,” said Elros casually. “I’m Elrond.”

           “No he isn’t!”

           Thranduil blinked at them. 

           “They wished to come,” said Oropher. “Well, certainly one of them is Elrond, and one of them is Elros!” The boys looked around them again. 

           “Do you live in tents?” Elros asked.

           “Never have we seen a settlement like this before,” Elrond added hastily, glaring at what he perceived to be his brother’s rudeness. 

           “I did mention our home was still much under construction,” said Oropher, which he had. On the road, he proved himself to be a great deal more talkative than he had been before Gil-galad. “So tents for now!” He smiled. “Worry not—they are quite warm, and dry.” Thranduil glanced between his father and the Peredhil. “Perhaps you can help them settle into our tent for now, Thranduil? There should be room enough.” The solemn, comely prince nodded. “Go on, Thranduil will show you the way,” said Oropher to the boys.

           “You are a Wood-elf too?” Elrond said after a few beats of silence, as they followed Thranduil through the camp.

           “Yes.” 

           “But you lived in Sirion?” said Elros.

           “Yes.”

           At these one-word answers, the twins grew anxious, and fell silent. Thranduil swept aside the flap of the residential tent where he and his father lived, separate from the one in which Oropher conducted the business of ruling. He began to rearrange things around the edge of the circular structure.

           “You may enter,” he said, casting a glance over his shoulder when he noticed the twins had not come in. “Leave your shoes at the door.” They quickly did as they were told. There was a beautifully woven rug laid out in the middle of the tent in bursts of red and blue, and around it, animal skins, so that the ground was indeed quite dry when they stepped in and curled their toes into the furs. In the center, in a small stove, burned the coals of a fire, the faint wisps of smoke wafting up through a hole in the roof.

           “Doesn’t rain come in there?” Elros asked reflexively. Thranduil shrugged.

           “Yes, some,” he said. “Don’t sleep there.” Elros looked at him a long moment, and when he understood this to be a joke, he flashed an astonished little grin. “You can put your things here,” said Thranduil when he had cleared a space. “We will get you sleeping rolls as soon as possible…for now perhaps one of you can share with my—with the king, and one of you with me.”

           “I would share with you,” said Elrond breathlessly. Elros stared at him with faintly disgusted confusion, as if watching Elrond pull a beetle off a tree and eat it.

           “He was telling the truth before,” said Elros. “He really is Elrond.” He wandered over to one of the tent poles, from which hung a few backs and bottles and other trinkets. He examined with wonder one of the charms there, a bear carved with such detail he could see the ruffles of fur. 

           “You may touch it, if you wish,” Thranduil offered. Elros did, running his small fingers over the carving, stroking along the bear’s back.

           “Did King Oropher make this?” he asked. Thranduil shook his head.

           “I made it.” 

           “What is it for?” 

           “It looks nice,” Thranduil answered. “To me.” A smile tugged at Elros’ lips, and Elrond came over to look at the bear as well, their fingers overlapping as they pet it.

           “Do you carve things?” Thranduil asked the twins. They shook their heads.

           “We were not supposed to have knives,” said Elrond. Thranduil stared at them a moment, then turned and dug into a satchel. He withdrew a small knife, which he offered to Elrond.

           “I will procure a second, for you,” he said to Elros as Elrond took the blade. They both looked at it.

           “Thank you,” said Elrond, before Elros could ask why they were being given these.

            “I will leave you to settle in now,” said the prince. “When you wish, you may come and introduce yourselves.” He made to exit, and then turned at the entrance to face them again. Inclining his head respectfully, he said: “Welcome to Greenwood the Great.”

VII.

           “Come in.” Elrond drew in a long, steadying breath, and pushed through the entrance into the King’s Tent. He stopped just inside, hands clasped behind his back, fingers brushing against the fabric of the entryway.

           “All the way in, Elrond.” 

           With a quiet exhale, Elrond slid off his shoes and shuffled nearer to the low dais, bedecked in pelts, where Oropher sat cross-legged. 

           “Do you know why I asked you here?” 

           Well, he had no shortage of guesses. But none of them he wanted to say aloud; he merely hung his head and rocked forward on his toes.

           “Elrond?” Oropher prompted him gently but firmly. 

           “Because I got in a fight,” Elrond mumbled. Oropher nodded sagely.

           “That is a way of putting it,” he said. “Do you wish to have a seat?”

“No, thank you.” His body thrilled with this defiance and tensed with his expectation of response. But Oropher only went quiet, and then said:

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

           “I…” Elrond fisted his hands in his trousers, hunched his shoulders. Wood-elves wore trousers more than the Fëanorians had; he supposed because of all the climbing. “I don’t know,” he said at last, stubbornly clinging to his refusal to explain.

           Oropher sighed. Elrond glared at the carpet. 

           “I am not angry with you,” said the king at last, and his tone was even, almost like that which he used to soothe a spooked animal. “But I am disappointed. I know you can do better than that, Elrond.” 

           The effect on the boy was immediate. Elrond’s head snapped up, wide eyes fixed on the king, and all the tension and fight went out of him at once, as if he had had the wind knocked out of him. 

           “Are you sure you don’t wish to have a seat?” This time, Elrond slowly accepted, folding himself down on the carpet before Oropher. “It’s alright for you to be angry,” he said. “But you may not exercise it however you wish. You should not have spoken to Gwass the way you did.”

           “I know,” Elrond murmured, lowering his gaze again.

           “Why were you angry with her?” 

           “I don’t know,” Elrond insisted. “I just…was. I did not mean to say those things, I really didn’t. I just…did.” 

           Oropher regarded him for a long moment.

           “I think, for one, you have reason to be angry,” he said at last. Elrond looked confused, so Oropher went on: “A great deal in your life has been unfair. None of which was Gwass’ fault, but we do not always choose the moment a feeling wishes to be expressed. Furthermore, I think you are entering adolescence, which is always an emotionally difficult time.” Like the Fëanorians, the Elves of Greenwood could only largely speculate on the biology of Peredhil. Dior and Elwing were the only two who had come of age among the Iathrim, and both had been lost before anyone could understand the lifespan of a half-Elf, nor could they necessarily assume that every half-Elf aged the same way. But some things, Oropher found, were true across the bounds of species. “You are almost fourteen years old now, correct?” 

           “Yes,” said Elrond. Then, anxiously: “Does that mean something?” 

           “Not that I know of,” said Oropher. “But I am afraid we know comparatively little about what your and Elros’ adolescence may look like. However, we shall endeavor to come up with more information, wherever possible.” The king smiled. “You need not worry too much. Thranduil was a terribly sulky adolescent, so you see, even Elves do not escape such things!”

           Elrond picked at the fabric of his pants.

           “What shall my punishment be?” he asked at last, unable to take any further suspense.

           “No punishment,” said Oropher. “But I think you should apologize to Gwass. And you should redo the work, as she asked you to do.” Elrond nodded quickly, tugging at his pant leg. He was permitted to leave, but as rose back to his feet, Oropher extended his hands to the boy. Elrond came nearer, and laid his hands on the king’s, and Oropher closed his hands gently over Elrond’s, warm and lightly calloused.

Then he said: “If you ever wish to speak of your feelings, Elrond, you are welcome to do so. You may find it a better outlet than other things. And in your home, you should always have a listening ear.”

Elrond only nodded hastily, unable to think of anything to say, and took his leave once Oropher had released him. He couldn’t say why this particular day he had felt so put-out by being asked to redo work he had done poorly, only that lately it felt at times like anyone who spoke to him was irritating him.

           Back in the home tent, Elros was sitting all-too cheerfully in front of the fire, carefully working over some clothing repairs with which he had been entrusted.

           “What are they going to do with you, since there are no floors to scrub?” he asked. Elrond made a face at him, and flopped down onto one of the skins a few feet from his brother. “I mean, if you had cursed at Maedhros…” They never would have, certainly not without Maglor there to intervene.

           “I…it was quiet,” Elrond protested.

           “The rest wasn’t.” 

           “I am not to be punished,” said Elrond, laying on his back. “Oropher said he was…disappointed.” 

           “Ugh.”

           “No, not like Maglor did. I think he…really was not angry.” Elros paused in his work, casting a puzzled look at Elrond.

           “He truly means not to punish you?”

           “No. I have to apologize, but nothing more.” Elros’ needle moved very slowly as he considered this. 

           “Well,” he said at last. “I suppose that’s well. It could have interfered with your inviting yourself on another one of Thranduil’s hunts so you can remind him that Lúthien is our relation.”

           Elrond picked the rudest way to tell Elros to stop talking that he could think of, and rolled over so his back was to his brother. With the fingers of one hand, he pressed and rubbed at the smooth chipmunk carving that hung from the belt of his tunic. They lapsed into silence, listening to the pop of the fire and the movement of the people beyond the tent walls, and Elrond resolved privately never to disappoint Oropher again.

VIII.

In Amon Ereb, chores were handed out as a punishment. Elros remembered scrubbing floors until his knees and hands and back throbbed or laundering until his eyes stung from the lye after any one of their escape attempts. In the Greenwood, chores were a matter of course. The kingdom was too small and too new for anyone not to pull their weight. The boys’ days were split between tasks for the group in the early morning and academic lessons in the late morning, then back to chores in the afternoon. The rest of the day after dinner was usually theirs to spend as they pleased, as were other hours if they expressed enough of a desire for it: the Wood-elves considered wandering amid the trees and taking in the experience of nature a necessary part of any healthy lifestyle, so few were keen to stop the boys from wandering.

(One day, Elros had decided they ought to see just how far they could go. When they returned well after dark, having been gone all day, prepared for a terror of a scolding, they received only amicable questions about what they had seen while they were out and faint admonitions about the potential for roaming troops of Morgoth.)

On one quiet evening, Elros finished cutting wood for the new apiaries several of the Elves were planning to build, and, being done with his chores for the day, went walking alone until he found a nice clearing where the sky was visible from the ground. The Wood-elves had been teaching him and Elrond to climb, but they were not natural at it after so many years on the ground, and he didn’t care presently to end up stuck somewhere, wailing for help. In this rare clearing, he lay back into the grass and watched the stars.

Mother used to say that they were never too far from Father, for the moon that shone over Sirion was the same one shining on Vingilot; it was a claim he and Elrond had recalled many times gazing through their locked window in Amon Ereb at night. As he watched the stars overhead winking at the moon, he found that strange and opaque weight, the one that felt almost like grief, drawing over him again. Elros was beginning to suspect he would forever carry the weight of questions unanswered, but he had not yet grown accustomed to it.

           In this case, he thought he might find a suitable answer, and so he went in search of his most reliable source of remembering: Elrond. Elrond seemed to have a mind as sharp as the Elves, and he remembered nearly everything (and he loved to gloat about it). Often it was irritating, but it also relieved Elros the responsibility of bothering to remember things: why bother, when Elrond would?

           He found his brother out back behind their tent, with the project he had been working on lately, which was a panel of wood inscribed with the full alphabet of both Daeron’s runes and the tengwar. However, he was not working so much as idly doodling about with the tip of his knife in the dirt, staring off at the ground in a daydreamy way. 

           “Elrond,” said Elros, throwing himself down in the dirt across from Elrond. “Do you remember what Father looked like?” Elrond didn’t look up, but his hand slowed, and there was a thoughtful tilt to his head.

           “He was blond,” he said at last. “His eyes were blue.”

           “I thought they were green.” 

           Elrond looked up, a slight purse to his lips. “No, I thought they were blue,” he said.

           “Okay, but…what did he look like?” 

           Elrond’s brow furrowed and his eyes were focused on the corner of the panel in his lap. Carefully, he set down his knife.

           “I remember he could lift us both, one in each arm, like Mother did. And the hair on his face scratched when he kissed us.”

           “But what did he look like?” Elros asked again, and this time, when Elrond met his gaze, he was startled to see his brother’s eyes had gone glassy, and his hand was trembling.

           “I…I don’t know. I do not remember.” It had been a long time since he had heard Elrond sound afraid.

           “I do not remember either,” said Elros softly. 

           They had learned years back not to bother adults with silly questions, unless they were drinking and in a good mood (drinking and in a bad mood was the worst time to ask questions), but gradually it had seemed to them that King Oropher did not mind questions, and so they sought him out. He had said when they met that he did not know their mother and father—but he had still lived in their city, so it seemed not impossible he could answer Elros’ question. They crept into the King’s Tent when it sounded quiet, and they guessed that Oropher was present, but not too busy.

           “Did you ever meet our parents?” they asked. 

           “Do you…”

           “…know what they looked like?” 

           Oropher observed them both for a moment with that sorrowful gaze that came over him whenever they spoke of the Havens at Sirion, and then he said: “I recall, but there is one who would know better than I. Come with me.” And he at once set down his work to guide them out.

           He took the twins to a woman currently bent over a loom, her hands moving with fantastic rhythmic speed. She was responsible for the majority of the garments in the village, though neither boy had yet been assigned to assist her. Elros had the sense she preferred to work alone, which was somewhat unusual for an Elf.

           “Esgaldes,” said Oropher, and gave her a moment to pause in her work before she turned to the king with a respectful nod. “Do you recall the appearance of Lord Eärendil and Queen Elwing?” 

           The woman considered, and then nodded.

           “Would you tell us?” Elrond and Elros cried at once, leaning towards her. Oropher put a hand on Elros’ shoulder.

           “Esgaldes does not speak,” he said. The twins must have looked crestfallen. Esgaldes made a gesture at Oropher. “She says we should leave her now.”

           Elros waited until they were likely out of Esgaldes’ earshot before he exclaimed: “My lord, how can she tell us anything if she cannot speak?”

           “Why does she not talk?” Elrond asked. Oropher shrugged.

           “She never has. Presumably she cannot. But possibly she simply does not wish to. However, she has heard your request, and I am sure she will have an answer for you eventually.”

           He wasn’t wrong.

           Parchment was not in common supply in the Greenwood. King Oropher seemed to have taken up Dior Eluchil’s feeling that the Iathrim would benefit from writing things down, but they were still, as a people, unaccustomed to it. There was little rhyme or reason to the things they did make note of—there was a scroll hanging in the King’s Tent which was nothing more than a list of the names of the people who lived in their village, along with what Elros supposed was their favorite flowers—and while they had picked up some knowledge of parchment-making while in Sirion with the Gondolindrim and the Men of the town, they had not made a craft of it much themselves yet, and most of what they produced was rough. Many still could not write, although Oropher mentioned that Esgaldes had taken quite quickly to both alphabets and was very keen on Oropher’s goal to collect more written materials of the Iathrim.

There was a small stock of parchment which they had traded for from others, and it must have been on this that Esgaldes drew. She delivered to the King’s Tent sketches by her own hand, labeled, respectively, “Lord Eärendil” and “Queen Elwing.” Oropher passed these onto the twins.

“Esgaldes did work for Queen Elwing over the years,” he explained. “Therefore she had much more occasion to see her up close. I hope these can help answer your question.” And he left them to examine the portraits privately.

           These, the twins poured over.

           “We really do have her eyes,” said Elrond softly, reaching out to their mother’s portrait, but keeping his fingers just off the surface, to avoid smudging the careful shading. 

           “And Father’s nose,” Elros said. His eyes skimmed from the countenance of Eärendil, face tilted upwards, eyes squinting slightly, as if he were looking onto a bright horizon, over to that of Elwing with her long dark hair and slightly withdrawn, wary expression, and he ran a hand through his own hair, tugging at the thick black locks. 

           These portraits they kept tucked safely in the base of a chest they had been given to store their belongings, and kept them close until they had crumbled apart with age.

IX.

           When Elrond and Elros were seventeen, they asked Oropher’s leave to return to Balar, and it was granted. They departed the Greenwood amid much fanfare and well-wishing, loaded down with gifts both practical and sentimental, and a pair of scouts to accompany them safely into Gil-galad’s territory. While the Wood-elves wished them to depart in cheer, however, even the young men could see they were anxious at the thought of the twins traveling far. It’s not safe, said the silent furrows of their brows.

           King Oropher embraced them both tightly before they went off, until Thranduil had to intervene to make him let go, at which point he was starting to cry. Thranduil presented them each with a new dagger, and touched the tops of their heads lightly, calling them little brother. The twins dragged him together into a hug. The Elves seemed amazed at how quickly they had grown, but Elrond and Elros were equally amazed at how far-off Amon Ereb seemed by the time they left the Greenwood. But then, they supposed, five years was nearly a third of their lifetimes. (They had discussed, once or twice, what was going on there since they had left, and agreed that it was likely the exact same things that had been going on when they left.)

Neither twin would admit to being misty-eyed as they rode away from the woods.

           They could not be wholly certain they were making the right choice. There was a heaviness of mood between them as they left the Greenwood, a sense that home was behind, yet neither could they shake the feeling they had more questions than could be answered there, no matter how much love was there.

           Gil-galad received them as well as he had the first time, but Balar had grown more crowded still since last they were there, and this time he had only one room to spare for them. Each kept to his own bed this time around.

           Furthermore, Gil-galad’s court had only grown grimmer and busier since their earlier years, and few could spare the time for idle questions. Therefore, Elrond and Elros spent a great deal of time in the library furthering their own lessons, when they were not assisting with whatever tasks about the castle by which they could make themselves useful.

           One year they planned to stay in Lindon, and then they were promised to each other they would go in search of what remained of the free Edain, in particular those of the house of Bëor. But Elros sensed, as they drew near the twelfth month of their stay in Balar, that Elrond had no plans to depart. Reluctant to fight openly with his brother about this matter, Elros first tried encouraging him: speaking of the great excitement of this journey, and the things they might learn of the Edain, and the wonder of seeing new things. When that failed, he wheedled, emphasizing how much he wished to go and see the Edain. Time continued to pass.

           While in Balar, they made contact with the former Gondolindrim, the most part of whom had retreated to the island after the sack of Sirion, and a greater part of whom had survived the event than the Iathrim, who had rushed to the front during the attack. They had only the dimmest memories—they weren’t even sure they were memories—of their grandmother Idril and their grandfather Tuor, but the Gondolindrim were able to provide more information about their father’s family and his people—and his life in Gondolin before he too, barely older than the twins had been during the destruction of the Havens, had been forced to flee his home. One of them had even sailed with Lord Eärendil, and Elrond and Elros hung onto her stories with breathless interest.

           At last, when the seventeenth month of their stay in Lindon drew near, with Elros’ temper growing increasingly sour, he could bear it no more.

           “This is not fair, Elrond!” he shouted into the quiet of the study. “You promised, and already we have been here half again as long as we had said, and you don’t even budge towards leaving! We haven’t even set a departure date! All this because you have developed feelings for Gil-galad!” 

           “That is not so,” Elrond said from his desk, flushing. “It is true we have been in Lindon longer than we planned, but do you mean to say you have run out of things to do here?” 

           “It is not a matter of having things to do, or no things to do,” said Elros. “You promised we would seek for the free Edain. Do you have no interest in them at all? They are our people too!” Elrond toyed with the quill in his hand. “You know this is important to me,” Elros said softer, pleading. 

           By the end of the next month, they had set sail from Balar, accepting fond goodbyes from Gil-galad and his court, in search of anyone nearabout their great-grandfather’s people.

X.

           Meera, who was chief of the village where Elrond and Elros landed, permitted them to stay so long as they worked. Unlike among the Elves, their names and their heritage garnered only mild interest. Few Men, it seemed, were willing to throw open their doors to the twins purely on the basis of their ancestry. 

           “I don’t mind!” Elros said cheerfully as they bathed one night, sluicing a great deal of dirt off their skin from a day in the fields. “I think it’s rather nice, isn’t it? At least you know when they appreciate us, it has nothing to do with someone else!” 

           Finding a place to stay at all had proved to be the first challenge. Nominally, all of Middle-earth was under Morgoth’s domain; there were only pockets of resistance, and he was continually seeking to stamp them out. Those that survived generally did so either by going beneath his notice, or being in a particularly difficult place to attack—such as an island. It took them time to learn the signs of a settlement which had bowed its head to the Enemy, but they began to recognize a particular defensive aggression and ill feeling among these places, a lack of trust among neighbors, a pervading disinterest in the goings-on of the world. These places they left as quickly as possible, or avoided altogether if they could.

           Elrond was reluctant to admit he missed the amenities of the Elves. Life among Men was harder, meaner. They were too cold, or too hot, or the food was too plain, the cloth too coarse, the houses dirtier. There were fewer books, and less time to read.

           Yet Elros’ enthusiasm reminded him there were other things: great music, and remarkable joy, and much that was unique about their cultures. Both twins were delighted to purchase their first Mannish costume, and each spent much of the day admiring himself by looking at his brother. There was this, too: It was the first time they had ever spent around other mortals. Both had underestimated the impact of this.

           They had never considered much—as they had been children in the bud of youth—what it meant to have spent their whole lives under the care of immortal beings. Even from childhood they harbored the sense the Elves looked upon them with pity, like candles about to be snuffed out. Among the Edain, for the first time, they saw how mortals celebrated life and mourned their inevitable deaths. For the first time, they saw what it was to have a relationship with death.

           They also encountered other youths. 

           There had been young Elves in the Greenwood, but no children, a situation not uncommon among Elves, particularly in such fraught times. Men seemed to have no such compunctions, which Elrond and Elros attributed to their shorter lifespan, until they were made aware that Men did not control their reproduction, something which shocked them and made the Men howl with laughter to learn the twins had not known.

           Naturally, they became objects of curiosity among many in the village, and were shyly approached by a group of teens to go swimming in a nearby pond one late afternoon.

           “Do you want to come with us?” offered one young woman with tight black braids and dimpled cheeks, who had introduced herself some days earlier as Deryn.

           They agreed at once.

           Swimming was something they were accustomed to after several summers in the Greenwood, although they could not help but feel they were being observed as they undressed for it. No one in the village had ever met a half-Elf before, naturally, and almost none of them had met identical twins before either.

“Did you make that?” Deryn asked, pointing to the owl charm attached to Elros’ bag with a bit of twine as he braided his hair back to keep it out of his face.

           “This?” He touched it. “No. It was a gift, from a friend.”

           “It’s quite lovely!” She smiled brightly.

           In the end, Men played much like Elves, and they passed a few hours in raucous games of chasing, splashing, and pushing in the muddy shallows. The Men were especially delighted to see how easily the Peredhil could heft them about, being stronger generally than most Men, though not as strong as many Elves. 

           As the sun moved lower in the sky, they climbed back onto the banks to dry themselves, and one of the young men stretched out in the grass and closed his eyes, bathed in sunlight and gleaming with pond water.

           “What’s he doing?” Elros asked, looking past Deryn. She shrugged, seemingly nonplussed by the question.

           “Taking a nap, I suppose,” she said. Elrond and Elros both looked at her. “What? We all finished our chores before we came out here,” she added somewhat defensively, as if she anticipated being chided for idleness.  

           “Is that…normal for you?” Elrond asked. “Sleeping in the middle of the day, even when you aren’t ill?” She looked at them like they were trying to trick her. 

           “Of course it is, just most adults take it for idleness,” she said, starting to look uncomfortable. “What, do you not nap?”

           Elrond and Elros looked at each other in silent conversation, then turned back to Deryn.

           “We do,” Elrond began.

           “But Elves don’t,” finished Elros.

           “They thought—”

           “—that something was wrong with us.” They had thus always internalized the sense that if they felt like napping, it was a sign something was amiss, and it warranted a measure of anxiety. 

           “Oh,” said Deryn. Then she laughed, although not all of the uneasiness faded from her face. “Well, it’s normal for us.” She too, then laid herself out in the grass, stretching her arms up over her head. “It feels nice, doesn’t it?” she murmured with a smile, closing her dark eyes. 

           Elrond and Elros joined her in laying out under the sun, but neither of them was calm enough to sleep—nor, on the whole, did they need as much sleep as full-blooded Men—so they simply laid about until the teens decided it was time to go home, lest anyone return to cranky parents.

           Back at their host’s home, Elros flung himself down on his bed, toweling off his hair with a dry undershirt.

           “That was nice,” Elrond remarked from where he stood combing his hair out. He cast a sly look in Elros’ direction. “Although I think I was invited only by association with you.” Elros blinked up at him.

           “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

           “I think Deryn fancies you.” Elros looked thoroughly shocked by the possibility.

           “No,” he disagreed energetically. “She was only being friendly! We’re new. They don’t see a lot of new people. It was kind of her to invite us.”

           “Did you not notice? She was watching you nearly the whole time,” Elrond pointed out.

           “It wasn’t like that,” Elros insisted, and he seemed so genuinely upset at the notion that any of the teens had ulterior motives for inviting them out that Elrond let it go.

---

Chapter End Notes

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Part 3

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XI.

           One day in mid spring, they celebrated the birthday of a woman so old Elros could hardly fathom how she hadn’t withered up entirely yet.

           “How old are you?” he asked in astonishment when she beckoned him over to refill her drink.

           “Eighty-five,” she said with a cackle.

           Eighty-five. Oropher, Elros knew, had seen Cuivienien. Oropher was thousands of years old, in all likelihood, though he himself could not put a number to his age. Among Men, Madelyn was remarkable for her age—hence the scale of her party.

           “Are you not grieved?” Elros blurted out, setting the pitcher of cider back on the table. They had dragged a good number of them outside, as the birthday girl wanted to make the most of the lovely weather. 

           “Grieved?” she said. “What about?”

           “You’re so old now,” Elros said uneasily.

           “And you think I shall die soon, is that it?” Elros blushed, feeling the rudeness of his inquiry. “So perhaps I will,” she said with a shrug. “Why should I be grieved about it now? It hasn’t happened yet!” 

           “Are you not afraid?” he asked wondrously. 

           “Come here, let me tell you something, Peredhel,” Madelyn said, crooking her finger at him. Elros leaned in towards her wrinkled face. “A great many things have I feared and grieved in my life,” she said more quietly. “A great many. Many of them were silly to fear. Many warranted every bit of it. Some I probably should have feared more. Here is the secret: if you get old enough, death loses its shadow. I have watched men and women cut down in the prime of life; I have watched babes perish in the cradle, some of them my own. That was something to fear. Now? When death comes for me, I imagine it will feel just like laying down and taking a nap, and just as easy.

           “If you spend your life always looking over your shoulder for death, you let it rob you of your chance to live,” she said. “There’s your birthday wisdom. Now, go and bring me one of those honey-cakes, like a good lad.”

XII.

           Elros insisted they stay a full year and a half with the Edain, as it was only fair given how long they had stayed in Balar, and Elrond could not dispute with that. But as the eighteenth month drew near, both brothers became increasingly aware that they had made no plans beyond this deadline. Their only thought when they left the Greenwood had been to learn more about where their families came from, with the idea that it might help them understand their own places in the world. 

           Furthermore, it was apparent that Elrond was eager to be on, while it was Elros’ turn to drag his feet about leaving. 

           “Elrond,” said Elros to him one day in early fall. “We need to talk.”

           “I’m busy,” said Elrond, who was at the butter churn and definitely not so mentally occupied with this task he could not bear to converse.

           “Are you really?”

           “I am,” said Elrond. “Certainly this talk can wait.”

           “It really cannot,” said Elros sharply.

           “Well I’m busy,” snapped Elrond, pumping the butter churn viciously. 

           “This is important,” said Elros. When Elrond said nothing, Elros went on: “We need to talk about what we are going to do after our last month here is over.” 

           “I told you I do not have time for this now.”

“You’re being a child!” Elros shot back, which earned him a furious glare.

           “You’re the one who’s not listening!”

           “Well, if you don’t want to talk about it,” said Elros, aware even as the words were bubbling up in his throat that he was saying something he didn’t mean, “perhaps I should just be off! You can find someone else to walk you back to Balar! Since Elrond always gets what he wants in the end, doesn’t he?”

           Elrond tore off his apron and threw it on the ground, storming out the back door and leaving Elros with the half-churned butter. For a long moment, Elros watched the door, but in the end, he did not follow Elrond out. Instead, he picked up the apron, tied it on, and silently took Elrond’s place at the churn.

           “Ah, thank you, Elrond,” said Rusbes, who was hosting them in her home, when she passed through the kitchen. “I shall sorely miss having you to help out when you and your brother are gone!” 

           “Of course,” said Elros with a small smile. 

           When he had finished, and his back and underarms were beaded with sweat from the vigor of his churning, he went out into the front yard to draw in the fresh air. 

           “Hello, Elros,” called a familiar voice from the street. Elros opened his eyes and turned his face from the sky to smile at Madelyn. Immediately he crossed over to the fence.

           “How did you know it was me?” he asked.

           “I can tell,” said Madelyn confidently, waving a hand as if to scoff at the notion she might confuse the two of them. 

           “Are you going to the butcher or the baker? I can carry something for you,” Elros offered. 

           “Oh no, I’ve just promised to meet Arn for tea this afternoon,” she said. “A fool thing of me to promise, now I’ll have to finish that embroidery tomorrow.” But she didn’t sound too terribly put-out by her own social engagements.

           “Ah, well, have a lovely time,” said Elros. “And take a good helping of honey!”

           “You know I will,” she said with a mischievous grin, and then she carried on, slow, but not unsteady. 

           When she was gone, Elros let out a sigh, and went back inside to hang up the apron. He said little at dinner that night, picking over his food in relative silence. When Rusbes’ husband and the two younger children retired to the hearth to play dice and sticks, Elrond joined them half-heartedly, but Elros merely sat on one of the chairs and watched with disinterest. He and Elrond said nothing as they prepared for bed. It was only when they were tucked into their bed with the candles out and the curtains drawn that Elros spoke.

           “Elrond?” 

           Elrond pretended to be asleep.

           “I know you’re awake!” Elros did not know, but he felt quite sure. Still, Elrond did not respond. So Elros said nothing more, and waited until Elrond might truly be asleep before he slid out of bed and pressed his feet into his shoes. 

           In just his nightshift he went out into the cool autumn air, passing through the rear yard until he was beyond the shed. He leaned back against the far wall of it, out of sight of the house and out of earshot, too, and then he cried. He wasn’t even sure he could name what he was crying for, or perhaps it was that it seemed too frightening to give it a name, or outline in his thoughts that he might understand the true shape of it. 

           When he had begun to weary of his crying—when his throat ached and his eyes and nose felt raw—he heard a rustling in the grass too strident to be an animal. He wiped his nose on his forearm and swiped the heels of his hands over his eyes, so that he might look a bit less pathetic when Elrond rounded the corner of the shed in the silver moonlight. He stopped when he saw Elros there, and for a moment they just looked at each other.

           At last, Elrond said: “I’m sorry. I acted a fool today.” Elros nodded somewhat stiffly. The sight of his brother made the lump in his throat return instantly. “We do need to talk,” Elrond agreed, quieter. 

           “Where are we going after this?” asked Elros, his voice not quite as steady as he had hoped it would be. 

           “I…suppose I thought…back to the Greenwood,” said Elrond. “Or I suppose we could return to Balar. Gil-galad wouldn’t turn us away.” But Elros was already shaking his head.

           “I’m not ready to leave the Edain,” he said. Elrond said nothing. “Come on, Elrond,” he urged. “Our whole lives we have spent with Elves. Do you not wish to see something else? Are you not curious about them?”

           “I think we’ve gotten to know them relatively well,” said Elrond with a shrug. The truth was, of course, that he missed the Elves. He missed their philosophic conversation, and the beauty which imbued seemingly everything they did, and the libraries, and the way their thinking stretched so far into the future.

           “I am not ready to go back,” Elros repeated. 

           “We could stay another month,” Elrond proposed generously. Again, Elros was shaking his head.

           “That is not enough,” he said. 

           “Well, how long do you want to stay?”

           “I don’t know. I don’t know how long will feel like enough to me.” 

           The twins stared at each other. 

           “Elrond,” said Elros very softly. “Do we not both know where this is going?” Elrond looked away, fisting his hands in his nightdress. “We won’t be apart forever,” he insisted. “Just a little while. Until we both have what we want.” 

           “What do you want?” Elrond cried, looking back at his brother. Elros tensed and scratched the back of his head.

           “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I…feel like I’m looking for something, and I have not found it yet. But I’m close.” 

           “How can you do this?” Elrond whispered, his eyes welling up. “Just leave? Just break us apart?”

           “I don’t wish for it!” Elros exclaimed. “But I see no another answer, do you? You will be unhappy if I make you stay here indefinitely, and I will be unhappy if you make me leave. Is that what you want? For us to end up like them, hating each other?” 

           “I would never hate you,” said Elrond furiously, hands balling up. “How can you even say that? That we could be that way?” 

           “We won’t,” Elros said. “But I do not know what else to do. Do you?”

           Elrond said nothing.

           “It shall not be forever,” Elros repeated quietly. Elrond still said nothing, for he could think of nothing to say, no way around the conclusion Elros had drawn. Instead, he only came nearer, and the two embraced tightly, both tight in the throat. 

           “Not forever,” Elrond echoed, holding Elros as tightly as he could.

           “Not forever.”

XIII.

           The roads had grown ever more dangerous since Elrond and Elros’ youth. Morgoth’s hand now stretched effectively over the whole of the continent, and among most villages, there was a gloomy sense of when not if his forces would ravage their homes. Nevertheless, life went on, if more warily than before, and a small merchant wagon accompanied Elrond back to Lindon, hoping to trade some of the village’s wares with the Elves. 

           Elrond and Elros hugged another goodbye, but Elrond looked back many times at the village as he departed, and before it was out of sight, hurried back.

           “I forgot,” he said—Elrond hardly ever forgot anything— “I wanted you to take this. I don’t wear it anymore.” He handed off a cloak clasp to Elros, whose lips were twitching slightly. 

           “Very well,” he said. 

           “I shall want it back later, so keep track of it.”

           “Very well.” Elros was outright smiling by then. 

           This time, he really left. They camped within sight of the road that night, and Elrond had little to say, leaning back against the trunk of a tree and watching the flames dance in the firepit. He had been looking forward to returning to Lindon someday, to seeing Gil-galad again, but it felt now overborne by his grief. It seemed to him that some line had been crossed, to which he and Elros could never return. They had broken the heretofore impenetrable barrier of their togetherness—and now that they had parted once, who was to say they wouldn’t part again? If they could part, then what was keeping them together? Only the presence of the merchants kept him from breaking down in tears.

           He barely slept the whole journey back, and abruptly left the Mannish traders as soon as they had arrived in the city. He made straight for Gil-galad’s castle, and the sentries must have seen him coming and announced his coming, for Gil-galad was in the front courtyard when he arrived.

           “Elrond!” the king greeted him warmly as Elrond dismounted his horse. Gil-galad tilted his head and looked past his guest. “Where’s Elros?” 

           Elrond’s throat was aching at once. He said nothing, only came nearer, and Gil-galad opened his arms in invitation. Elrond nearly collapsed into this embrace, and could not stop himself from weeping, even if it seemed childish.

           “He stayed,” he managed to get out, lest Gil-galad think the worst, but no more could he say after that. 

           “Ah,” said the king softly, his arms light around the young man. “I see.”

XIV.

           There had been a time he had not believed the world could keep turning if he and Elros were parted, a time he would have sooner died than let go of his brother’s hand, but alone in Balar without Elros, he found that life did, in fact, continue. 

           It soothed the pain that Gil-galad was so genuinely pleased to have him there. Were he less pressed by the loss of Elros, Elrond might have been less willing to impose his company on Gil-galad, but as it stood, the loneliness that threatened him was immense, and he would cling to whatever could alleviate it. He asked to accompany Gil-galad on the hunt, and invited him to play games of chess and go, and took seats nearby him without being asked, and through all, Gil-galad seemed to have infinite patience. It reminded Elrond of all the reasons he had been reluctant to part with the king in the first place.

           He picked up a correspondence too, with Thranduil: He wrote to let the prince of the Greenwood know what he and Elros had been doing, and that he had made it safely back to Balar. Thranduil sent him a response, and Elrond was happy to continue it. Parchment was in increasingly short supply in Balar, as was everything else—the more entrenched Morgoth became in Middle-earth, the less trade went on, and Balar being an island was a boon to its security, but a terrible detriment to its import/export industry. As a result, Elrond and Thranduil were often obligated to re-use the same paper for a reply as they had gotten from the other, writing crossways between the other man’s lines. Occasionally, Thranduil included a greeting from Oropher, and Elrond found it warmed him, to think somewhere beyond his sight were people wishing him well.

           When Elrond had left Lindon last, he had still been quite young. A year and a half made no difference at all to an Elf, and yet Elrond was changed when he returned, and so too was his relationship with the king. Gil-galad looked more on him as an equal now, a fellow adult, and not a wayward child for which he felt some responsibility. Gil-galad even honored him with an official position at court: the king’s herald. 

           “This way, you have a reason to stay,” he said with a smile, pinning a little ribbon of office onto Elrond’s robe. 

           Elrond wanted to sweep him off his feet. 

           He so wholeheartedly threw himself into any task that Gil-galad gave him that the king had to laughingly insist he take more rest, and on this account, Elrond was only too happy to accompany Gil-galad on slow walks around the garden, or down to the market to browse aimlessly, or to watch Gil-galad at play with some of the other Elves in the games they enjoyed in Lindon. (Any of these were preferrable to watching the far more common instances of Gil-galad rubbing his temples or wringing his hands over the state of Middle-earth and his fear for the future of the continent.)

           Still, he watched for correspondence from Elros. Letters took a good long while these days, as there were fewer travelers, and they were less likely to make it to their destinations than during the Long Peace, a time Elrond and Elros had never known. It took five months for the first of Elros’ letters to arrive, announcing he had gone south to a larger village—a real town, he said—and that he was staying with the lord there. Pages and pages he wrote about everything he had seen and everyone he had met, and he waxed rapturously about the Edain and their mythology and philosophy, and this he followed up with a full page of questions about what Elrond was doing and an exhortation to give Gil-galad his best.

           Elros sounded happy, and this made Elrond cry over the letter, because his brother was happy, and because his brother was happy without him. It felt right, and wrong, and he was too tangled up to sort out what was the most sensible thing to feel. 

           When he raised the letter with Gil-galad later, he knew everything was different. When Gil-galad touched his cheek in comfort, he knew that the hammering in his heart was not his imagination running away with him again. Yet he demurred, accepting the nominal comfort without acknowledging what lay beneath it, and so he demurred onwards. He drew near to Gil-galad, only to pull back at reciprocity; he invited Gil-galad’s familiarity, then turned away from him seemingly on a whim; he let them dance endlessly around each other, both feinting towards crossing a line that Elrond was keenly aware of, and pretending he did not see. 

           It was during one of their many late nights on the balcony of Gil-galad’s personal study that Elrond felt he needed to give the king an unwelcome reminder. He felt that he needed to do this because of how deeply Gil-galad was looking into his eyes, and how, over the course of the last few hours, they had been shifting nearer and nearer together, until they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

           “Gil-galad,” he said softly, then glanced out at the horizon, behind which the sun had disappeared and from which, to Elrond’s eyes, the last of the light had faded. “Ereinion,” he said, turning his gaze back to Gil-galad’s eyes. The king was certainly listening now. Elrond forced himself to hold Gil-galad’s stare and keep his face neutral when he said: “I am mortal.” 

           “I know,” Gil-galad replied, too quickly. 

           “Sometimes I think you need to be reminded,” said Elrond. 

           “Perhaps there are more important things to remember of you,” Gil-galad replied. Elrond said nothing, but averted his eyes again, and Gil-galad straightened up, shifting slightly away. “If I have misunderstood…” he said. “If I have done anything to put you ill at ease, Elrond, then you have my sincerest and most profuse apologies. It was not my intention to do anything unwelcome.”

           “You did not…misunderstand,” said Elrond very quietly. “I simply feel I must warn you. You are immortal. I am not.”

           “Neither was Dior Eluchil,” pointed out Gil-galad, and Elrond’s eyes snapped up to his. “Yet still Nimloth wed him.” It seemed to Elrond he could hear the beat of his heart in his ears. “Neither was Tuor, who wed Idril. For that matter, neither was Beren, though Lúthien was still counted among immortal Elves when first they pledged themselves to one another.” And Elrond was silent, searching for some irrefutable point on how this was different. “As I said,” Gil-galad concluded cautiously. “If I have overstepped…then I will withdraw, and say no more of it. But if your only concern is for some future pain of mine…I would beg you trust that I know what I am doing. That I understand what I desire. At any rate, it may not matter much one way or the other,” he added, casting a gloomy look out at the invisible coast of the mainland in the dark distance. “Mortal or immortal may make no difference within a few years.” 

           And he had been on such a romantic bent up until then.

           “I would not wish to cause you pain,” said Elrond carefully. 

           “You would not,” said Gil-galad.

           “I do not wish to play with semantics,” Elrond replied a bit sharply. “But perhaps none of it matters, if we are doomed to see the end of a free Middle-earth.” 

           Both men lapsed into silence, studying the orange glow of the city below, which from on high felt so achingly small relative to the great darkness of the night. 

           “If we are to see an end,” said Gil-galad at last, very quietly, “I would rather have what joy we may, first.” Elrond looked over to see Gil-galad looking at him. 

           “So would I,” Elrond agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. A slow smile spread over Gil-galad’s face.

           “Then, at last, we agree,” he said. Elrond nodded mutely, and, in lieu of words, took Gil-galad’s hand tentatively in his, and they went back to watching the city.

XV.

           Two years after they had said goodbye, Elros returned to Balar. He had written ahead to suggest he might be in the area sometime in the future, but not to say specifically that he was coming, so when the message from the guard came, Elrond was caught entirely by surprise. Gil-galad was meeting with some of his advisors, so Elrond alone rushed out to the courtyard in time to see Elros returning from leaving his horse at the stables.

           “Elrond!” he cried, waving. “I brought you—”

           Elrond said nothing, but charged at his brother, a run that Elros met until they crashed somewhat painfully together, immediately wrapped up in a hug. For a few moments, they stood silently holding each other, and then Elrond said: “Your hair!”

           Elros drew back with a grin and raked his hand back through his short black hair.

           “Do you like it? The Men down south wear it like this. You wouldn’t believe how much easier it is to care for! It dries so quickly now!” 

           “I suppose people will stop confusing us now,” said Elrond, and he felt curiously sad about it.

           “One solution to that, brother,” said Elros, grinning again and raising his eyebrows.

           “No.”

           Elros said nothing else then, just stood grinning at him, then grabbed his shoulders, then let go again.

           “Ah! I brought you something.” He handed over a leaf-wrapped sweet bun.

           “This is…is this from the market here?” Elrond asked, taking it.

           “I didn’t say it was an exotic gift. I stopped through on my way up here.” Elrond looked at the pastry again, then carefully split it in half and gave one side to Elros. “I already had one,” said Elros, but Elrond just waved the pastry half at him, and he took it with another grin. He threw an arm over Elrond’s shoulder and steered him towards the castle.

           “Now, you must tell me everything you left out of your letters,” he insisted.

           “I didn’t leave things out!” said Elrond. Elros just looked at him skeptically, and Elrond sighed and looked askance. “Very well, I left some things out. Some things are better discussed in person!”

           “Agreed,” said Elros. 

           Elrond was relieved to see much about them was still the same. They were still the same height, and there were no great changes to Elros’ face. Neither of them had ever much come into growing facial hair the way Men did, and that hadn’t changed. Elros seemed to have put on more muscle since Elrond had seen him last, and he’d obviously spent a lot of time outside, but their builds still largely matched, and somehow, Elrond was relieved. 

           Very soon, it felt as if no time had passed at all. Elros was sitting cross-legged on Elrond’s sofa, telling him about a party he had attended recently, when Gil-galad announced himself, and then let himself in, as was his custom by then.

           “Elros!” he exclaimed, glancing between the twins. And then: “Your hair!” Elros grinned, but rose to his feet and offered a bow to the king. 

           “My lord Gil-galad,” he said. “Forgive me for not writing to announce myself. I wanted to be something of a surprise.” Gil-galad smiled.

           “No apologies needed,” he said. “As I have always said, you are both always welcome here. And of course, Elrond is permitted whatever guests he likes.” Elros looked over at Elrond, who glanced away from both of them, slightly flustered, but not displeased. 

           “Come and sit with us,” he said to Gil-galad. “Elros has some very entertaining stories of his travels.”

           “Oh, don’t let me do all the talking,” said Elros, noting that Elrond had not risen when Gil-galad entered. Elros took his seat again once the king had done so also. “I’m sure you have things to share also.” 

Part 4

Read Part 4

XVI.

           With Elros returned, the final reluctance in Elrond to advance their relationship dissolved, and within six months, he and Gil-galad were affianced, and later that year, wed. If Gil-galad had ever noticed Elrond dragging his feet about any of it, it didn’t show, and it was Elrond who broached the subject of their marriage, declining to explicitly point out that he couldn’t wait forever. Elves did not make great ceremony about marriages the way Men did—which Elros found all the more puzzling given that Elves frequently married but once in their long lives—and so he felt it was necessary to inject a bit more festivity into the event. 

           He hosted a party in their shared quarters, even inviting some of his friends from the Edain towns and villages in which he had lingered. Madelyn was too old to travel so far, but she wrote with her best wishes for the new couple, as did the others who judged travel too dangerous or time-consuming. Most of them had never been into an Elven city before, and were much at a loss at how to handle it, but Elros had a hand for putting them at ease.

           Oropher and Thranduil sent much congratulations from the Greenwood, but could not be spared from the hard-pressed new settlement. Along with Oropher’s overflowing well wishes came a new dagger, and a new carving, built and sent by Thranduil: still a chipmunk, after all these years. Elrond smiled so when he saw it that his cheeks hurt.

           Elros gave a small speech to honor his twin’s marriage, and bade them exchange a kiss at the end, at which all of the Men hollered in support, none as loud as Elros.

           “Congratulations to both of you,” he concluded. “And my lord, please remember just one thing…I’m the one with short hair.” And the guests cackled with laughter.

           Elrond moved out of their quarters, officially into the king’s chambers, and when it was all said and done, Elros sat alone on the end of the bed, and found himself, he thought, uncharitably unhappy. Elrond had fretted so much about their parting, but what could be more parting than this? Elrond was one half of a happily wedded couple now—what need had he of other attachments? 

           But Elros steeled himself. He would simply have to bear it; there was no other option. He had had dalliances among Men during his travels, but nothing that, thus far, had inclined him to lifelong partnership. The day might come though—and surely he would want Elrond to be happy on his behalf. And even if it did not…the terror of the thought that he could grow to resent his twin over anything pushed him to set aside any negative feelings he might have.

           Yet where he had expected to be closed out of the new pair, he found it was not so, not as he had imagined. Gil-galad more often than not invited Elros along to anything he was doing with Elrond, and his brother was nearly always happy to have him along. They hunted and played games—indeed, Elros was far more enthusiastic about the sort of sports that Gil-galad enjoyed than Elrond, who frequently preferred to be a spectator in such things—and Gil-galad even spoke to him of the tasks of the kingship. Elrond had an official position with the court now, which he had not relinquished with his marriage, though that title reigned over “herald of the king.” He said privately that it was good they helped Gil-galad to get out of his head—he seemed to have less and less time for anything approaching fun these days.

The time was surely coming, the king confided to Elros with some quiet resignation, when Morgoth would stretch out his hand and crush these final pockets of independence. 

           “What are you waiting for, then?” Elros asked him one day with some distaste. “To die?” Gil-galad went silent for a long time.

           “For a miracle,” he said at last. On this, he did not elaborate, and Elros did not care to ask.

           On one day, when Gil-galad had been especially troubled by the latest reports from his scouts, Elrond and Elros pulled him into the garden to play a strategy game the Iathrim had taught them. The board was makeshift, as no one they knew in Balar made them, but they remembered the rules well enough to explain it to Gil-galad.

           “I hope you both know how proud I am of you,” he said suddenly, as they were all scrutinizing the board for next moves. Both brothers looked up in some surprise. Gil-galad raised his eyes from the board. “When first you came here, you were both so angry,” he said. “Not that you had not good reason! But it worried me. I didn’t know how we would care for you to heal such a thing. And now, when I look at you…I would never know that it had been that way. You have both grown so far beyond your childhood. I think it shows great strength of character.” 

           Elrond and Elros looked at each other, then blinked awkwardly at Gil-galad, and then Elros said: “Truly heinous cheating, my lord. He’s distracting us, Elrond.” 

           And they laughed, and finished the game, and afterwards, Gil-galad wrote to Círdan, asking if there had been any sign from the west of Eärendil or Elwing, and any help they might bring.

XVII.

           Elrond and Elros continued to age. Few in the court were willing to comment on it, and they had reached a point in life when a few years here or there made little difference in their appearance, but Elros could not shake the awareness of his mortality that he had gained among the Edain, and Elrond found that being wed to a man who would, in theory, live forever made him suddenly and sharply aware that he would not. Gil-galad did not like to talk about this, and often found ways to silence Elrond when he tried to mention it, often with something seemingly lighthearted whose levity was belied by the desperation under it. 

           Elros was the only one whom Elrond could speak to of death, but his brother seemed so much more accepting of this final fate than Elrond could find it in him to be. 

           “Are you not afraid at all?” Elrond asked in exasperation during one of these rare conversations. Elros shrugged.

           “Sure, of course. Anything which you do not understand is frightening. But what can we do about it? It will come, whether we want it to or not. I shall not let death rob me of my chance to live.” Then he grinned, as if he had said something profound. It took him a moment to consider another element that existed to this for Elrond.

“Gil-galad knew what he was doing,” said Elros quietly.

           “Sometimes, I am not convinced he did,” Elrond muttered. “Did you know that Elves can die of grief? I read that in the library recently.”

           “He did, though,” said Elros. “He knew. And still he chose this. You should honor that.” Elrond looked at him a long time.

           “Why do I feel sometimes like you’re older than me?” he asked at last.

           “I have an old soul,” Elros boasted, tapping his chest dramatically. 

           “And a thick skull,” Elrond replied. 

           It was raining on the mid-fall day when Gil-galad and Elros went hunting on the mainland. They caught little, and despite the weather, took their time on the way back. They were already wet; the spitting rain that continued wasn’t likely to make much of a difference.

           “You shall look after him when I go,” said Elros into the quiet, apropos of nothing. Gil-galad nearly came to a halt. They were too far off from the beach to see it, but in the distance, they could still hear the sound of the waves.

           “You do mean to leave again, then,” he said with some chagrin. Elros flashed a brief, bittersweet smile.

           “I do. I thought maybe I could stay this time, but…I find myself so terribly restless. This…is not my place. But it is Elrond’s.” Gil-galad nodded slowly. 

           “I admit, I had hoped you would remain with us.” 

           “You speak out of love of Elrond, and that reassures me.”

           “I speak out of love of you as well,” said Gil-galad. “Are you not my brother?” Elros’ face turned serious, and for a moment he only stared, and then he swallowed hard and glanced away, shrugging one shoulder.

           “I never considered to have more than one,” he said with a faint laugh. “But yes, I suppose I have room for another.” 

           “Good,” said Gil-galad. “I have never had a brother at all, so I am quite pleased to have one now.” 

           “I think if Elrond had not wed, I could not in good conscience leave,” Elros said, nudging his horse to continue walking. “But he has you now, and so I know he will not be too lonely.”

           “Yet it is not the same,” Gil-galad said. “I have never replaced you in his heart, you know that, do you not?”

           “Of course,” said Elros. “How could you? Meaning no offence, Ereinion. But we are twins.” He glanced up at the fussy sky, smiling lightly. “We used to do everything together. Everything. We didn’t take a shit alone. It was the only way the world felt safe. Now…” 

           “Now you trust that when you part, you will come back together,” Gil-galad suggested. Elros tilted his head.

           “I…suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said. A smile started on his face. “Yes, I like that.” He sobered again. “I do feel though…” He shifted his hands on the reins. “We separated once before,” he said very quietly. “Still now, I dislike the thought of it. But before, it was simply unthinkable. What if one day it becomes easy as walking out the front door? I can’t imagine that. Not being connected to Elrond anymore. We’re two sides of the same coin. The world doesn’t make sense any other way.” 

           “I think even distance cannot break that bond,” said Gil-galad. “May I confess something to you, Elros? In that way, I find myself a little envious of you. Finduilas and I were never so close. I was an adult when she was born, and we spent much of her childhood apart. And then, of course…” A shadow passed over his face, as it always did when the death of his sister was mentioned. Even now, it pained him, and Elros thought of how long these wounds lingered with Elves. Men knew grief, of course, but with Elves, those wounds frequently seemed to fail to heal at all. “I wish I had been able to spend time with her as an adult. I…should have liked to get to know her that way.” 

           They spent a few minutes in silence, Elros turning these thoughts over.

           “In any case, I think Elrond would wish you to do what makes you most happy,” Gil-galad said, somewhat awkwardly.

           “You’re most likely right,” said Elros. “Still, a part of me will always wish he was coming with me.”

           “If you would only settle down somewhere, certainly he would visit!” They smiled, and lapsed into an easier silence, and then Gil-galad asked: “When will you go?”

           “Oh, I’m not sure, yet. Not soon. I want to spend as much time here as I can. But if I’m honest, I know the day will come when I must be off.” After a moment’s more thought, he quickly added: “I haven’t told Elrond this, though, so I would beg you say nothing of it.” 

           “I think he knows already,” Gil-galad pointed out. “He knows you, Elros.” That made Elros smile again. 

           “Yes, he does.”

XVIII.

           In spring, Gil-galad called the twins together into his office, and skulked about the circular table like a child preparing for a scolding. This went on for so much time that both of them vowed to say nothing, waiting to see how comically long Gil-galad would delay whatever it was he had to say.

           “There is something I must tell you both,” he said at last, after Elrond and Elros had exchanged several questioning, and then entertained, glances. 

           “Yes?” they prompted him together.

           “I…did not tell you before because I did not wish to upset you, but I feel now that it must be told, as it is your right to choose a response.” Another, more concerned glance between the Peredhil. 

           “What is it, Ereinion?” Elrond asked. 

           “You received a letter,” said Gil-galad. “Well. I received a letter, but the subject was yourselves.”

           “From whom?” Elros asked.

           “Maglor and Maedhros Fëanorion.” 

           The reaction was immediate. Both twins’ expressions cycled in a matter of second through astonishment, rage, disgust, curiosity, and confusion.

           “Well what the fuck do they want?” Elros snarled, his nose wrinkled like some dog had just fouled his bed. 

           “They want to make a trade,” said Gil-galad reluctantly. “Or rather, reverse one. They have offered to return the Silmaril to me, if I deliver you both back into their care.” 

           “Deliver us?” Elrond echoed. “Do they imagine we have been your prisoners all this time?”

           “And they are only just now—”

           “—considering that might be a bad thing?”

           “Why are they only writing you now?” they demanded together. 

           “I must say…no, I was as repulsed by this communication as you are, but I must say, for the part of the Elves, particularly ones as old as Maedhros and Maglor…ten years’ time is little. To them, it may feel as though they have immediately repudiated this choice. I know time is different for the both of you. But in their minds, they have taken no time at all to make this decision.” 

           “Maglor always did excel at being reasonable in his own mind,” Elros sneered. “I should not be surprised at all—”

           “—that they would think they still had the ability to take it back,” Elrond muttered. “Anything else would necessitate—”

           “—considering our perspective,” they finished together. 

           “Tell him to choke on a chicken bone,” said Elros. “Or better yet, say nothing at all.” Gil-galad shifted uneasily.

           “I had originally decided to say nothing,” he said. “But…given the…general temperament of these men…I consider it may be better not to ignore them entirely.”

           “Oh, you think they shall respond better to being told ‘no’?” Elros asked. Gil-galad shrugged.

           “I would feel more comfortable with the matter closed, personally.” 

           “Fine, then. You can tell them both, from Elros Eärendilion, to go pound sand.” Gil-galad frowned.

           “What does that mean?”

           “It means fuck off,” said Elros. 

           “Ah. Very well. I will decline. Better to keep the response as short as possible, I think.”

           “I agree,” said Elros. “The more you say, the more room they shall believe they have to bargain.”

           “I want to see them,” Elrond interrupted. Elros and Gil-galad both turned to look at him.

           “The subject is still Maedhros and Maglor, in case you have forgotten,” said Elros. 

           “I know,” said Elrond peevishly, his eyes flashing as he looked at Elros. “I want to see them. Do you not?” 

           “I absolutely do not,” said Elros. “I’ve seen dog excrement before.” 

           “I want to see them,” Elrond insisted. “I would have them look me in the eye while they tell me they wish to take possession of us again. I would see their faces. I would hear them have to explain it. If you let them write out their answer with pen, they shall pick and pour over their words until they have sent the most eloquent and evasive and reasonable letter there’s ever been. I would see them deprived of the opportunity for such reasoned diplomacy.”

           Elros blinked.

           “That…is rather sadistic, isn’t it?” he said, not disapproving.

           “I think they owe us this.” 

           Gil-galad looked uncomfortably between the two, scraping one nail lightly against the tabletop.

           “Then…” 

           At last, Elros shrugged. “If that is what you prefer.”

           “I…” Gil-galad clearly had not expected the discussion to take this turn. “I cannot simply invite the sons of Fëanor into Balar,” he hissed urgently. “The city would not stand for it! And for good reason!”

           “Make them come in disguise,” said Elrond. “And unarmed.”

           “To that they will never agree, you know it. Even if they appeared unarmed, it would not be the truth.” 

           “Amon Ereb lacks any strength to attack Balar,” said Elrond bluntly. “If they attempted to match you in arms, you would run them down like reeds. They were hemorrhaging followers after the attack on Sirion; even if that has abated, the damage has been done to their numbers. Not to mention none of them can sail. I am not certain they can even swim.”

           “An inability to completely invade my capitol does not mean an inability to do significant harm!” Gil-galad objected heatedly. 

           “If they are writing you and making requests and not demands, then even they see they have a weak position,” said Elrond. “They will attempt to be conciliatory first. They will do as you ask.”

           “And when you and Elros tell them to go pound sand?” Gil-galad demanded.

           “I think Maglor would not hurt us, not seriously,” said Elrond. “He will be restrained.”

           “And Maedhros? And what makes you so sure they have changed not since you saw them last? You do not know my cousins!”

           “You said yourself a decade is the blink of an eye to them,” said Elrond. “What time have they had to change? Insist Maglor come alone, if you like.” 

           Gil-galad was grinding his teeth. “I think this is a poor idea, Elrond.”

           “As do I,” said Elros. “But I am curious to see the result.” Gil-galad glared at him. 

           “We can surely ensure the safety of the city and the castle from two lone Elves!” said Elrond. “Elros and I have had martial training as well. We will go armed, if it will reassure you.”

           “Yes, the notion of your being cut down in a battle with Maglor Fëanorion is awfully reassuring! Perhaps you do not remember—” But Gil-galad cut himself short, deciding partway through that throwing Sirion at Elrond was not a sportsmanlike argument. But he had seen the damage left in the wake of Maedhros and Maglor, and the terrible twins Amrod and Amras, and he would not forget that carnage if he lived another ten thousand years. 

           “I want to see them,” said Elrond again. Gil-galad closed his eyes. He exhaled carefully. 

           “As you wish. I will write the response, and the both of you may look it over before I send it. Will that suffice?” The twins nodded. 

           So it was done, and Gil-galad sent the letter, signed by Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, and Elros Eärendilion, and Prince Consort Elrond Eärendilion.

And Maglor came.

XIX.

           Maglor rode cloaked into the city from the pier. He gave the false name at the gate he was due to give, and was led up to the castle. His sword, without which he did not travel, he left with his horse in the stables. The valet waiting for him inside the front hall took him quickly not to the throne room, but to a dining hall, where there was a long table, and at the end, a man. His dark hair was drawn back into a bun, its length impossible to guess at, and was capped in a delicately-wrought silver circlet. His jaw was strong, though his ears were oddly-shaped, and his eyes—his eyes. 

           “Elrond?” Maglor gasped. 

           The heir of Elwing and Eärendil blinked indifferently at him with Dior’s eyes, which were Lúthien’s eyes, which were Elu Thingol’s eyes.

           “Maglor,” he said. When he observed Maglor’s shock, he said: “Did you think we were still children?” 

           “I…” 

           “Ten years may be nothing to you, but it is a long while to a Man,” said Elrond. “Not that I would expect you to have thought of that.” 

           “I made a mistake,” Maglor blurted out feverishly. He fumbled in his worn cloak and produced a lumpy bundle, thrusting it towards Elrond, quickly approaching his seat. “I made a mistake, it was wrong, I shouldn’t have—here, please—”

           “Get that away from me!” Elrond snarled, leaping back from his seat. The door was flung open, and two guards burst into the room, lances drawn. Elrond threw up a hand to hold them off. “Put that away,” he said to Maglor, as if Maglor had drawn an awful blade. Maglor hesitated, then did as he was told, and Elrond ordered the guards away. “Sit down,” he commanded, and Maglor sat. “What makes you so sure you made the wrong choice?” 

           Maglor did not know what he looked like to Elrond. He knew what he looked like to himself, when he had the misfortune of glancing in a looking-glass, but he also knew what he had looked like Before, before Sirion and Doriath and the Nirnaeth and Middle-earth, which Elrond did not. He hated the stranger in that glass, with his hollow cheeks and hateful, hopeless stare and unkempt, unbejeweled hair. 

           “I…” Maglor gnawed on his lower lip. “Elrond,” he whispered. “I should never have…” 

           “Never should have what, Maglor?” 

           “So many mistakes have I made,” the onetime prince whispered. “So many. This was one I…thought I could take back.” 

           “Interesting. Between the choice of kidnapping us and taking us away from other, more responsible, more capable guardians, and the one of trading us off to a relative stranger, you think the mistake was the latter?” 

           Maglor chewed at his lip again. “That was…Elrond, you know, we swore—”

           “Yes, yes, your bloody oath,” Elrond snapped. “Can you imagine I do not recall?” He drummed his fingers on the table, looking between Maglor and one of the side doors. 

           “Where is Gil-galad?” Maglor asked at last.

           “Pacing one of the halls, biting his nails to the quick, I imagine.” When Maglor sat in confused silence, Elrond said: “I invited you here. Gil-galad and Elros both wanted to refuse you outright. Well, Elros wished not to respond at all. I was the one who summoned you.” 

           “You called me?” Maglor asked, hope swelling in his breast until Elrond’s chilling look quelled it. He looked back down at his knees, sitting somewhat diagonal to the table in his chair, and picked at the fabric. “Is it true you are prince consort of the Noldor now?” he asked.

           “It is.” 

           “Congratulations,” said Maglor with a tentative smile. “I cannot be surprised Gil-galad found you so charming. I am particularly glad now to find you grown!” 

           Elrond stared at him.

           “But…if you are not children in need of care…why did you ask me here?” he asked softly. 

           “I summoned you because I wanted to see you again. It is not often we have the chance to look our childhood monsters in the face as adults.” 

           Maglor stiffened in his seat, feeling as if he had been slapped, but unwilling to flinch. Elrond deserved to hit him, if that was what he wanted. Instead, Elrond simply let the silence draw out until he whipped more words into it, seeming to crack the air.

           “Do you remember when you nailed our bedroom window shut?”

           Maglor was digging his nails so hard into his palm now that it would sting later, but presently he felt the pain only distantly.

           “You kept running out onto the roof!” he said. “You could have fallen!” 

           “Or tried to run away again,” Elrond pointed out in a flat tone that made Maglor’s throat convulse. 

           “I gave you poetry lessons,” he said. “Do you remember?”

           Elrond took a small breath.

           “A king and queen thus lived they long,
            and Doriath was filled with song,
            and all the Elves that missed their way
            and never found the western bay,
            the gleaming walls of their long home
            by the grey seas and the white foam,
            who never trod the golden land
            where the towers of the Valar stand,
            all these were gathered in their realm
            beneath the beech and oak and elm.” 

           Something trembling and sickly, almost like a smile, came to Maglor’s face, as if he were relishing digging a dagger tip into his palm. Elrond seemed to struggle with something for a moment, but gave up, leaning back against his chair. Maglor sought for something to say, for some other, rosier memory of the past to call up, but each thing which he had held golden in his mind then seemed full of the holes Elrond might poke in it if he raised it then.

           “Does Maedhros know you are here?” Elrond asked suddenly, and Maglor went rigid.

           “I could hardly leave Amon Ereb without his notice,” he lied. For one who drank but rarely, Maedhros paid remarkably little attention to what went on around the estate anymore. Or, perhaps, Maglor reflected more bitterly, he simply did not care what Maglor was doing. Impossible for him to be any kind of threat, surely.

           “Does he know you brought that?” Elrond asked, indicating Maglor’s cloak. Maglor fiddled anxiously with the hem. 

           “I…” 

           “He doesn’t, does he? You wrote his name on that letter without him, didn’t you?” 

           Maglor had gone pale, and for a moment, something flashed dangerously in his eyes, but he quickly squashed it down. There was no need for such reflexes here, he told himself. 

           “Maedhros does not believe you made a mistake,” Elrond concluded.

           “I would explain it to him—”

           “This was your plan?” Elrond interrupted, agog. “To trade, without Maedhros’ knowledge, your blood-oath-bound family heirloom back to Gil-galad, and then bring two children into the house with that man, who had every reason to want to kill you at that point? What do you think he would have done to us when he was done with you?” 

           “I can reason with him!” Maglor insisted. “He is not some beast without sense; I would not have let him hurt you, I—” At the look on Elrond’s face, his words petered out.

           “Why would you do that to us?” Elrond asked very softly. “How could you? How could you have taken us from—from our home? Did you know that Oropher and the others lived? That they wanted us? Did you even try to find them?”

           “We had to leave quickly,” said Maglor, again speaking rapidly, as if to get his explanation out before Elrond cut him off or made a wrong assumption. “Decisions needed to be made; Gil-glad was coming—”

           “To stop you,” said Elrond faintly. “Gil-galad was coming to stop you, to protect the Havens. He was so near on your tail?”

           “He was! And I thought it better to take you than leave you alone!”

           “Alone…for Gil-galad to find.” Maglor squirmed in his seat. “Yet you knew,” Elrond went on after this pause. “You knew, at some point, that Oropher and the others were alive. You knew that Gil-galad ruled still in Balar. Yet you waited until he offered you something.”

           “It was Maedhros who—” Maglor drew in a deep breath and shuddered. “I would…have taken more time to consider,” he said. It was too ingrained a habit not to publicly criticize his family, and he was too accustomed to suppressing the full measure of his anger with his brother to show it there.

           Elrond’s face was utterly impassive.

           “You cannot know,” Maglor pleaded with him. “You cannot know what it was like in Amon Ereb with them, with him…We were so wretched, Elrond. The thought of the oath tormented us. We had no hope. We could not back down. But then there was you, and Elros. And you were so small, and so delicate, and you should never have been mine, but I—how could I let you go? 

           “Without you, I was—without you the world was dark, and I bereft of any good deeds or even the option of them on the horizon.”

           Elrond was rising to his feet, turning his face away from Maglor.

           “So we were the sacrifice for your salvation,” he said, one hand curling up on the table until his nails scraped against the wood. Without waiting for a response, he made for the door behind the head of the table. “Be still,” he demanded roughly before wrenching the door open.

           And he left the room. When he returned a few minutes after, the circlet was gone. Tensed and wary, he eased back down into his chair, watching Maglor as if he had some wild thing in his house.

           “Maglor,” he said. When Maglor said nothing, he said: “Did you truly think Gil-galad would accept this offer?”

           “I thought it was worth the effort,” Maglor said quietly. “Perhaps he had not grown attached to you, or perhaps he did not like children, or…” Elrond went on staring. “I thought it was worth the effort,” Maglor repeated, squirming in his seat. 

           “Do you know why we went on the roof?” Elrond asked, and Maglor had the sense he was trying to speak angrily, or at least sternly, and failing. Maglor only shook his head. “We wanted—” Elrond swallowed hard, hands fisting in his lap. “—we wanted to look at the stars.” 

           Maglor thought of Gil-estel, and the many hymns of the Elves to the beauty and artistry of Varda, the queen of the night sky, and he lowered his head, unable to present a worthy response.

           “Why did you come?” Elrond asked faintly, more collected than he had been a moment ago. “What use could you possibly have for us?” 

           “Use?” he rasped. “What use is a child? I…Is it so impossible I might have realized I made the wrong choice?” He asked for faith from Elrond he could not give himself.

           “Yes,” said Elrond bluntly. “I imagine only that you realized you had let the better prize go and now wish to take it back.” 

           At this, Maglor’s eyes welled with tears, which he determinedly swallowed down, in a rare instance of choosing not to make a show of his weeping.

           “I know how we must seem to you, but we were people once—”

           “You do not know,” Elrond interrupted. “You insult me to pretend you do. You never bothered to try to understand a single thing the way we saw it. The only right perspective, the only one that mattered, was yours.”

           “You make it sound as if I do not care for you at all,” Maglor whispered desperately.

           “Tell me then,” Elrond demanded. “Tell me how you care for us.”

           Maglor trembled and licked his lips, searching Elrond’s face for any sign of softness, of pliability. Finding none, he nevertheless plowed on: 

           “I love you,” he said. Elrond again rose to his feet, shoving back from the table, his nose wrinkling, lip curling. “No, this is true,” Maglor pleaded, jumping out of his seat. “That does not mean I have not done you wrong, but I do, I do love you, both of you, you were the only good thing that ever happened to me here, please, that you must believe!” 

           “You do not love us,” said Elrond in disgust, but there was a quaver in his voice. “You love the way we made you feel. Like you were more than a complete failure. You know not how to love anything but yourself.” 

           Maglor’s face warped into a bitter expression, then he stilled, looking over Elrond as if to drink in the sight of him.

           “Can it not be both?” he asked softly. “Teaching you…it was the only time I felt I was contributing something good to the world. Seeing you learn…I had not known I could be so proud of someone else. I never liked children, you know, in Aman, not even my younger brothers. But with you…I understood.” 

           “You chose to contribute misery and sorrow to the world,” Elrond said severely. “No one made you do that.” 

           “And you made me want it to be otherwise!” Maglor cried. “Is there no value in that?” 

           “It should not have taken our suffering to teach you to be better!” Elrond bellowed, throwing his hands down on the table. “We should not have had to bleed for you to learn to put down your blade!” 

           His words rang in the hall, and Maglor did not respond until silence had enveloped the room once more.

           “It should not have,” he agreed, his voice nearly a whisper. “Nothing you say is untrue. Yet this is how it has been. Would you prefer I were wicked until the very end, entirely a creature of Morgoth’s ilk?”

           “Yes,” said Elrond immediately. When Maglor looked at him with breathtakingly wounded astonishment, Elrond said: “Then I could hate you entirely. Would that not be easier for me? You could have done me that favor, at least.” 

           “Then…you do not hate me entirely?” 

           “How could I?” Elrond asked, again with that repulsed expression. “A child will cling to anything before it that represents stability. Even a hand that strikes with regularity is preferrable to chaos. We had nothing but you. Even Maedhros didn’t want us.” Maglor did not attempt to deny this. “Tell me,” said Elrond, his tone less rigid, “did you really believe we might feel otherwise? That we might forget what you had done, what you were doing, and love you?” 

           “I…hoped,” Maglor whispered. “I believed I could make up for what had been done. You must believe that I wish for it, more than I have ever wished for nearly anything. But even if you hate me entirely, still I love you, even if it repulses you. Of course I do not deserve your love. But I desire it. Always I have been greedy, you see.” 

           Elrond rubbed his eyes with one hand, and dragged it down his face, and stared at Maglor.

           “You cannot erase the past,” he said. “It is all built upon itself, don’t you see? We are here because of what you did to our mother, who was in Sirion because of what you did to our grandfather…you Elves may live a very long time, but if you do not learn, it is only a very long time to make mistakes.” 

           “Elrond,” Maglor pleaded.

           Elrond made a choked sound and looked away a long moment before he again went to his feet.

           “I’m Elros,” he said. “And nothing more have I to say to you.” 

           And he left, and Maglor was shown out of the city, and as Elrond had predicted, he made no trouble.

XX.

           In the morning, Gil-galad’s messenger came with a letter from Círdan, which he opened over the breakfast table between a much-subdued Elrond and Elros, who had said next to nothing since the night before. 

           They had watched Maglor leave Balar, both feeling some responsibility to ensure that he did in fact leave. Then they had passed the night in Elros’ rooms—Elrond had found that after meeting with Maglor, he preferred his brother’s company for the night—but they had not spoken of what had been said. Elrond had meant to ask questions—why Elros had not introduced himself when they traded places—indeed, why Elros had gone in at all, for he had been insistent he did not wish to speak with or even see Maglor—but the questions wouldn’t come, and instead they had sat in silence on the sofas for most of the night, occasionally refreshing their drinks and meditating on the conversation. Perhaps those words would come another time, or perhaps their thoughts were destined to remain private—or perhaps they did not need to be spoken between twins such as these, so accustomed to already knowing one another’s thoughts.

At the table, Gil-galad’s eyes scanned the parchment quicker and quicker as he went down, until it fluttered from his hand into his porridge, his mouth agape, rising automatically up to his feet. Gil-galad stared at the parchment as though it were performing some spectacular feat of magic.

           “What is it?” Elros asked, perking up.

           “They did it,” he said softly. 

           “Who did what?” Elrond asked fearfully, suddenly awash in fear that he had stirred the sons of Fëanor.

           “Your mother and father,” said Gil-galad. “They have brought the host of Aman. Our miracle has come.” 

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Chapter End Notes

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