It was dark under the bed and so cramped that Elros could hardly breathe.
But he couldn’t leave. The bells had rung like they’d never rung before, and Nurse had grabbed him from the corner in his and Elrond's room where he’d been left to think about his latest mischief and flung him here and told him to hide, hide, hide, I’ll be back with your brother soon -
He had scooted into the back corner under the bed so that there would be enough room for Elrond when Nurse brought him.
It shouldn’t be this dark; it was Emel’s room, and the window of Emel’s room stretched up to the ceiling almost down to the floor, stopping just before the little bench that was hugged against it. It was only afternoon, and there should still be plenty of light spilling through it, enough even to reach the back corner under the bed.
Only there had been storm clouds this morning, and they had only gotten thicker and thicker, and there was smoke now too, tickling the back of this throat, and Nurse had slammed the curtains shut before she left to try to keep the smoke from sneaking in.
He had been trying to count ever since Nurse left. He thought - he thought she should have been back by now, but he wasn’t sure. He had never checked to see how high he could count when walking from the lessons where Elrond was to Emel’s room, and he kept getting distracted by the way his heart kept slamming into his chest and losing count.
The rhythm of his heart almost sounded like footsteps. That’s why it kept distracting him. He kept thinking he heard footsteps on the stairs, and -
The door slammed open, and warm light flooded into the room.
Emel was here. He knew it instantly from the light; only Emel had that light around her, dancing over her heart. Emel was here, which meant it was her footsteps, and her dust stained slippers that slid to a halt right at the foot of the bed.
He wanted to call out, to tell her he was here, but it was hard to get his breath when he was so cramped and his heart was still pounding so hard.
Another set of footsteps pounded up the stairs. Heavier ones. Boots. The guards had boots like that, so it might be Artanor, or -
The boots halted. He could just see them out the left side of the bed. They had little stars emblazoned on the buttons.
“The necklace, please,” and that was not Artanor’s voice.
His mother’s shoes stepped back.
“You have nowhere left to run, my lady. Give me the necklace, and I promise I shall leave you be at once.”
The clasp on Emel’s necklace was tricky, he knew, but the chain was big. If it didn’t get caught in her hair, she could take it off in just a moment, and then the man would leave, and he could get out from under the bed and tell Emel that they needed to go find Elrond, and -
The light was still dancing in the same place on the floorboards; the necklace had to have gotten tangled in her hair, and he should crawl out and help her. He was her good helper, she always said so, and he knew he should, and he would, if he could only convince his arms to move.
His mother’s shoes stepped back again.
And there were more boots on the stairs.
His mother’s went flying back, and he had to look out the right side of the bed to see them at all now; she was just before the bench by the window, and he wondered if she was going to throw that instead, throw it and make the men leave -
“The stone, please, Lady Elwing,” the man said, and his voice was sharper now. “Unless you really wish to keep playing these games when my brother here has a knife at your son’s throat.”
For a moment, Elros’s hand flew to his own throat; this was a nightmare, it had to be, and sometimes in nightmares things became true before you realized them, like knives materializing at throats.
“Elrond,” Emel whispered, and Elros had to shove his fist at his mouth to keep himself from crying out.
Nurse hadn’t found him. The nightmare men had found him, but now mother would throw the necklace, and they would leave, and Elros could drag Elrond under the bed with him until Emel was absolutely sure all the nightmares were gone -
“My father’s jewel for your son, my lady,” the man said. “We can all still leave here with what we need most.”
Yes. Yes, they needed Elrond; more than anything, Elros needed Elrond, and Emel knew that, Emel would throw the necklace any moment, any moment - he couldn’t imagine how tangled it must be in her hair that it was taking so long -
“Rot in the darkness,” his mother hissed, and then her shoes leaped up, onto the stool, and then further, out of sight -
The boots lunged forward.
Shouting. They were shouting.
It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone.
The necklace was - Emel was -
But Emel had to give them the necklace. She had to give them the necklace or they were going to - Elrond was going to -
He shoved himself out from under the bed, scrabbling frantically at the floorboards to push himself forward. “Wait!” Wait, they had to wait - He banged his back against the edge of the bed planks as he clawed his way free, but it barely slowed him. He knew what he needed - it had to be there -
He snatched Emel’s jewelry box from her table and spun toward the nightmare men. They were by the window; the taller of them was still staring out of it, but the other one, the important one, the one who was holding Elrond, had turned.
Elrond was hanging in the nightmare man’s arms, pale and limp and trembling like he had been when he had fallen into the well last summer and had to be dragged out, but he was trembling, so he could still be alright, like he had been then; the knife was still at his neck and not buried in it.
He ripped open the lid to the jewelry box. It was carved and pretty, and normally he liked to look at it, but that didn’t matter now; the men hadn’t come for boxes. What mattered was the strand of pearls the oyster divers had collected and given to Emel, and the little chain gold necklace she had been wearing when she fled Doriath and now had to wear as a bracelet, and the rings Atar had given her; those weren’t necklaces, but they had jewels in them, that might be good enough -
“You can have these,” he said quickly, thrusting the box out. “You can have these instead.” They weren’t as good as Emel’s special necklace, he knew, but there were more of them; that had to count for something.
They were both looking at him now. They weren’t moving.
Not hurting Elrond, not taking the box, not moving at all, so he kept talking because if these weren’t enough - “I know where Nurse’s are too,” he blurted out. She had lots and lots of them, pretty chains of beads and sea glass that glinted in the light. He wasn’t supposed to take them without asking, but this was for Elrond; she would understand, and if she didn’t, she could stick him in his room for as long as she liked, but he needed them, and - and they had wanted the jewel, wanted the stone, and, “And I have a rock collection, you can have that too,” and he couldn’t think of anything else, he couldn’t, but there had to be something, there had to because all of that together wasn’t worth Elrond; there wasn’t anything in the world that was worth as much as Elrond.
They still weren’t moving.
“I’ll help you look for more,” he added desperately. “I’m good at finding things. I’ll help you find every necklace in Sirion if you won’t hurt Elrond.”
The one holding Elrond looked down at the knife in his hand. Something flickered across his face, and then he jerked the knife back and shoved it into its sheath.
Elros nearly dropped the jewelry box in relief. Elrond still wasn’t moving except for shaking, but that was alright; that was just what he’d been like after the well, and he’d be alright once Emel - once Nurse got him a blanket and something hot to drink and Elros hugged him till they fell asleep.
But the man holding Elrond said, “We don’t want your box.”
The fear came back at once because he thought they had a deal, and if they didn’t -
“You have to,” he said desperately. “Or - or Nurse’s, or the rock collection, or - “
“Take it,” the other one said abruptly. “Take it and take him.”
The one holding Elrond was still for just a moment before he finally strode forward and reached for the box.
Elros clung to it a moment longer. “If you take it, you can’t hurt him,” he insisted.
“Agreed,” the man said, and his voice was strange, but Elros didn’t care. He let go of the box and let the man stick it into a pouch at his waist, and he didn’t protest when the man shifted Elrond into one arm and reached for Elros too.
He reached for Elrond’s hand, and it was alright that Elrond didn’t hold hands properly back; Elros could look after him now.
(The box was small and scratched in several places, but it was still beautifully carved, and Elrond still recognized it instantly when Elros pulled it out and laid it out on the table in Elrond's room to be divided up with their other handful of heirlooms before Elros sailed for Numenor.
“How did you come by this?” he asked in wonder, turning it over and over in his hands. He had thought it long burned.
“Oh, Maglor gave it back to me when he sent us off to Gil-Galad,” Elros said with a strange twist to his smile. “Scared me half to death with it too; I thought it might mean . . . well. You know.”
Elrond did not know, though he wouldn’t admit it. Elros knew perfectly well that Elrond had withdrawn into himself sometime during the battle for Sirion and had not come back to himself until weeks later, drawn out half by the power of Maglor’s songs and half by his brother’s desperate pleadings, but Elros had never quite realized what that meant. Elrond had known perfectly well where they were and why and with whom when he had come back to himself, and so Elros had never realized that Elrond’s memory of that period was . . . strange.
He had known that Sirion had burned; he could have listed several people he knew to have died in that burning. He knew his mother had leapt from the window. He knew, he knew, he knew.
But they were facts, presented without context, and with no detail connecting them in between. It was not how elvish memory was supposed to work, but even now, he was still not quite an elf.
He had never wanted to explain it to Elros; Elros should not have to be alone with his memory of what had happened.
He could explain it now, he supposed. Now that Elros was leaving him in turn. He could lay out their memories as one last thing to be divided between them instead of shared between them at need.
He hummed as if in understanding instead and opened the box.
He remembered playing with the jewels inside as a child. He hadn’t realized then how paltry they were for a princess of the elves; how even the jewels worn to war by a host of Aman would outweigh them.
But he knew the story behind each piece, and they had been given with love, nonetheless.
There were rocks in there too, and those he did not remember; he looked up at Elros questioningly.
They were interesting rocks; some brightly colored, some strangely shaped, some gleaming with hints of quartz or crystal. Elros seemed faintly embarrassed by them.
“I used to give them to Maglor when I thought he was angry,” he admitted. “I knew they wanted the Silmaril most, but I suppose I hoped any rock might help. I realized eventually. I hadn’t thought he’d kept them, though. I never actually opened the box when he gave it back.”
Elrond remembered that habit of Elros’s now. He’d thought at the time it was to cheer Maglor up; Elros had kept his own rock collection in Sirion that he’d treasured, and Elrond had more than once presented a pretty one to cheer him out a sulk back then.
“I thought you should have them now,” Elros said. “Since you’ll see Emel again one day, and I won’t. You can give them back to her.”
There was something very strange in Elros’s voice as he said this. Elrond did not quite dare question it. He focused instead on quietly sorting out the rocks he remembered Elros giving Maglor from the ones he didn't; those memories he thought he could risk asking for, and he should, before - Before.
Elros shrugged. “Or you can see if Maglor will take them back if you can find him again. Your choice.”
Elrond looked at the tiny necklace his mother had worn as she ran out of Doriath. “That would be an interesting choice to explain to her someday.”
For a rare moment, Elros’s voice turned to steel. “That would be fair,” he said. “As she has a rather interesting choice to explain to you.”)
