the age beyond

They studied Elerossë, his fiery reaction, and wondered if Maitimo shared his sentiment.

"I care that he hopes," Makalaurë answered earnestly. As if to look for him, they turned their gaze over their shoulder, back to the house upon the island hill. Yet there was naught to see but the thin line of smoke from the fire and Maitimo's cloak hung out to dry, fluttering in the winds. "It is a gift to see such pain and still find hope. It will bring him strength, just as it will cost him. Time will teach him lessons, and yet ..." With a brief sigh, they turned back to Elerossë and his stormy eyes. "I admit I wish he would keep his hope. Tempered, perhaps, but alive."

elros stiffened his spine, planted his feet to the ground and found—not for the first time—that he did not flinch from sharp words or targeted strikes. it was more curious in their childhood, where he puzzled over what set a gloom over elrond's mood. now it was just what he saw when he looked into himself; his reflection had looked distinct from elrond's not for their self-same faces, but the differing materials they reflected off of. while elrond was often tranquil and pensive, elros had found his face in choppier waters.

"we knew what you spoke of, you know. we might not have understood the tongue, you cared to converse out of our earshot, but you could not hide the mood between you from children who were on edge and looking for signs of discord. if it were nelyafinwe alone, we would not stand here now at this shore. " he frowned, not from anger or pain, but some long-held vexation and perhaps frustration. "i could not figure which is more perplexing: why you did not heed your brother's advice, or why he indulged your fancy despite his objection."

Of course he remembered. The innocence in Elerondo's question had been so thoroughly disarming, Makalaurë, golden-tongued, found himself at a loss for an answer. Even what he once considered righteous truth had then felt dubious, and the fire in his heart had cooled too much to scorn their mother a thief to the childrens' faces.

A moment of silence passed, where, listening only to the wind and the gurgling of the water in the hollows by the rocks, Makalaurë attempted to reassemble themself. Not six brothers nor centuries of war had prepared them for the disarming honesty of youths. Though this moment was precious in its rarity alone, and so they wished not to disturb it.

Still they could not make of Elerossë's words what he thought of them. What surprise he would hope for and what he would believe. There had always been a veil the Noldo could not quite see through. They couldn't but silently wish it were not so, all the while wondering if he had today granted them a glimpse. The question, then, was carefully probing, wearing on his face a genuine but measured curiousity.

elros just wants to look it in the eye, size up its shape and mass, and each roams these waters, knowing one another.

there are worse things in the world than a sea beast, the young elf lord surmises, just like there must be greater treasures than the three jewels, and graver tragedies than having fathers who are not dead but flawed, or a people who yet lives but never knows you as grown. sometimes his world feels so small, not because of the vast sea calling him from the mythical west, but because those he loves have convinced themselves that their chosen fates are inevitable.

elros feels himself miffed, working to control his temper as the memory of the argument with his brother comes to the surface.

elrond's voice is low and tinged with doubt, yet gil-galad hears him well over the gentle water sounds of the fountain they stand near.  it is one of the newest constructions, as important to the young ruler as the strength of lindon's defenses; meant to uplift, to bring forth joy and levity, a reprieve from grim survival. he surveys the beautiful work of masonry a few moments longer, how the white of the stone glints in the sun, before turning towards the younger elf.

'' they will do no such thing. ''   a shake of his head, certainty shining through the bright star-silver of his eyes.  they will bear him no ill will. they will not dare impart any cruelty on him, borne out of deep rooted mistrust of the sons of feänor. that, ereinion understands. yet elrond and his brother shall have nought to do with it. here in golden lindon, at the very least, the high king of the noldor can attest to it. '' you are now under my care. a slight done unto you is a slight done unto me, you should bear this in mind. ''

his expression softens into a smile, setting aside the sterness his position often dictates. he wishes for elrond to be free of strife in this safe haven they have built.

"even if i still think of them? still cherish their memory?" he asks tentative first, then with conviction. "even if i were to say, they are under my care, and a slight done unto them is a slight done unto me?" he looks up at the high king of noldor, a sad smile coming to his lips as the king's hair and eyes remind him of the stars when he looks into the night sky, searching for his father's light.

he needed not suffer uncertainty long; the question placed before him told enough.

even when elros turned away, his guardian's eyes remained upon him. they seemed suddenly to recognise how much he had grown. they could not recall the shift to have been so sudden in their brothers or their nephew, though such memories were clouded with the forbidden sweetness of a home long lost and the fog of war. after a moment's silent contemplation, the noldo offered the only true answer they could give.

"i do not know."

it would not satisfy elros, of that he was certain. his gaze drifted away, out onto the water as he imagined eärendil's return upon the white ship, gleaming with the light of the stolen gem. yet what grasped first at the elf's heart was not the thought of the silmaril, but a sudden, jealous vision of the twins departing at their father's side, never to return to him. and he alone dreaded eärendil's return, for between the twins and his brother, maglor would be called to betray one or the other, and knew it would take from him the children he loved.

he spoke again, giving voice to the coursing of his thoughts. "my brother would not relinquish our task. for an oath we swore, and too much have we lost to remain, at the end, empty handed." finally, he gave into the magnetic pull of the western horizon, drawing his eyes with a longing so great, it stole his breath for a moment. "and yet ... could i turn my sword against you? no more easily could i betray my own brother. so it is that i cannot know."

"you did not surprise me," he admitted, pulling the net into his arms, bundling up like a parcel, or a living thing to be swaddled. he did not look to maglor when he shrugged, "yet perhaps i was hoping to be surprised."

he bent down quickly then, gathering the net with the rest of the tools next to the bucket of the day's catch. "elerondo, infectious is his hope, at times. i am not impervious to it, not for the lack of practice. he will always hope for... something. not for you to betray your oath, or nelyafinwë; neither could he be convinced that you would ever harm him—not in flesh, at the least."

when elros stood again, he realized he was still wearing the faint smile on his lips. he searched his heart for bitterness and came up empty. like looking through the bottom of a broken net, all he felt was a pragmatic sense of weariness.

"does he know you're here?" the question was only half rhetorical. he doubted his twin brother would complain about their early disagreement to the fëanorean at his expense. rather, little escaped elrond's notice these days. his tenderhearted mirror-self, seeing too much and caring too much. he took one last pull of the net, feeling the heft of the water draining through the mesh. two silvery fish caught in the net, bouncing off the ground in a last desperate attempt to get free.

"i hadn't meant to upset him. but i could not regret speaking what is true on my mind. i wouldn't lie to him—i won't." elros tossed the fish into the basket after untangling them from the net. he sighed then, whipping his hair back. two single braids by his temples, pulled back to together behind his head. they kept the hair out of his face, at least, though not from falling in front of his shoulders as he bent down to work. at last elros stood and turned to face maglor. he looked upon the noldor, their captor and guardian; keeper in more ways than one—proof in elros' world the self-same nature of boon and bane.

his eyes were grey, paler in the light like mist, or ash. they softened in the way of a setting moon. "...i won't lie to you either," issued like a challenge and a promise.

it did not take a great search to find elros at the shore, net in hand and the breeze in his face. their greeting was plucked from their mouth before it could be spoken, silenced by a question that needed no clarification as to who he was. "he might guess." the elf stopped a few paces away from their charge and waited, watching as elros pulled in the net. for a moment, his movements mirrored a young maitimo. they had to remind themself that, of course, it had been the very same maitimo teaching the twins how to fish. the observation passed, unspoken.

"he did not send me, nor tell of your argument."

strife between the twins troubled maglor. he had ever sought to retain peace between his own brothers and found tragedy to follow imbalance among them. here, not all too far from the mouths of sirion, the water yet carried the haven's memories, and the isle bore traces of its previous inhabitants. from the moment of their arrival on the isle, maglor had felt it stir something within him and watched more carefully over the two young men, whose hearts he believed more affected.

he found a seat on a rock that had been sharpened by the tides, far enough from the water to not be touched by the waves, but close enough to feel the seaspray on his face. his hair fell down his back in a long, heavy braid that had begun to show threads of silver ever since the massacre at the havens. a headband, no more than two fingers wide and of a deep scarlet, kept stray strands out of his face. the taste of seasalt on his tongue carried a longing, as if urging his gaze westward. it took a great effort to hold against it.

instead, he studied elros' eyes. their pale grey that could gleam like a knife, or shine softly as the waxing glow of telperion. there was in their heart a certain pride at watching the twins grow into curious and witty young men. a stolen thing, not rightly his, and yet he held it closely, as cherished their joy and weathered their storms.

"that is well," maglor spoke calmly. "i would not like you to lie to me. as have i not lied to you." at least, no more than the little lies one told children. they held the young one's gaze, the deep brown of their eyes cool and open, like a hand outstretched.

"if there is aught you wish to say to me, elerosse, i will hear it."

"there is nothing to speak of." he paused, then amended, "none you could resolve."

a knot cannot untie itself any more than the fish could swim itself out of the net, every thrashing attempt wrap the mesh tighter around its scaled trunk. he had long ceased to be fearful of harm from the brothers who had become his wards since the last day of havens. the specter of threat never realized. still, elros—elerosse—hesitated to overshare his thoughts, unsure whether he was the fish or the net.

but then, he trusted maglor to be honest.

"what would you have done? if earendil returned this eve, the jewel betwixt his brows?" it was... a version of the conversation he had with elrond—his twin with whom he'd had an unspoken pact with to never utter the name of the jewels that derailed their life. he observed this rule mostly for elrond's benefit, and elrond—elros reckoned—for the fëanoreans' benefit, more than his own.

he looked out to the water again before maglor could answer. in the days they had spent on the isle, they had discovered more traces of the elves who once fled to and sheltered here. they had gathered, now, a rough sense of where the refugees had gone for a more permanent home. the discovery made them restless, dredged up old conversations, and unresolved contention.

the music has long faded, crept away into the early night's mist, dispersing. pearls of it linger glistening in the elda's eye, sediments of the melody hummed over the careful mending of maitimo's cloak. he blinks, turning to young elrond sitting at his feet. his own voice is low when it comes. "he? ah…" understanding falls into place, its impact sending a ripple of pain through him. pain not of the shooting kind, but the one that slowly slices his chest open from sternum to midriff and sets old things free. makalaurë had not allowed himself to look into this rift in a long time. were he not sitting, his knees would have felt weak.

laurefindelë's memory is a glow kept so close by his heart, he could not hold it up far away enough to recall his countenance.

all the more does it ache to see desperation upon him.

❛ elrond ... ❜ at first they protest quietly, unmoving even as the elflord's fingers grip their arm tight enough to hurt. for a moment he is as he was, once. young again, bright-eyed and eager to please. the name becomes a plea. ❛ elrond, stop ... ❜ their palm comes to rest against the side of elrond's arm that grips them, but their own touch is light, as if to draw him from his panicked pleas.

❛ listen to me. you did not fail me. ❜ he would impress this upon him a thousand times. again and again until his dying breath, if necessary. it breathes something of life into his weary bones, brought upon by naught more than the undying wish to take care of the half-elf who pleads with him now. in truth, his decision is made the moment elrond first asks him not to leave. perhaps it would be merciful to deny him, to turn away and close the chapter. maglor finds himself lacking the strength for such cruelty.

their eyes, dark with the weight of ages and grief unending, lay gently upon him and their other hand rises to cradle his cheek. ❛ i shall stay a while, if you wish it. to know you again, your home, your family ... would be an honour. ❜ there is an absence that lingers. a third that is missing. they remember the goodbye but faintly, sometimes uncertain if it was a dream their mind wished to believe. elros has departed, from them and then the world of the living. elros, ever wise in his own ways, knew it a mercy to die. the space he left will always remain hollow.

but maglor forgives him. it seems so impossible for a moment that he could not comprehend it. but you left, the words lodge in his throat like driftwood. you left, and you stayed away. you found another kin who could love you and care for you in the way you needed. he shouldn't feel this hurt, dimly, elrond knows. he should be glad that maglor had been cared for, had lived among kin and had presumably enjoyed their company and had his own presence appreciated. it was more than maglor had for a while, elrond knows.

he knows these things because he is inconveniently wise and sensible. not sensible enough to not feel the warm compression in his chest when maglor agrees to stay (elrond has the distant feeling that he has pestered maglor into giving in, like he would as a child, gentle in his stubbornness, but stubborn nonetheless).

"the honor will be mine to host you," he could not contain the relief in his voice. "it would be a blessing to have you meet my family. i have longed for it, not knowing it could be a reality." the pang returns, but he smooths it down like a wrinkle in his robe. and like a wrinkle, elrond knows it will always return, for as long as he still has the need to move and walk the mortal realm. it will become another thing he lives with.

"yours shall not be the only weary body and mind." elrond hasn't himself understood what compels him to say this. perhaps some instinctive part of him thinks maglor needs to know that he is not alone in his wounds. or perhaps some part of elrond needs to himself not be alone in his. "these days have not been without troubles. many still bear the wounds and pain from the last war." (last war—he wishes he had phrased it differently the moment he said it, and could only hope that maglor did not notice the implication that there may be a next).

❛ they are courageous and kind young men, ❜ maglor agrees quietly at the mention of elladan and elrohir, to whom they now owe their life and this very moment. ❛ you are right to be proud. ❜ the faintest smile passes over their face, smoothing scarred features and tired eyes. it lightens the old elf's heart in unspeakable ways: to know elrond here, his potential realised, his line continued. war may not have passed him by, but it has not left him broken nor changed. he has grown into the brightest version of the boy he was. ❛ as was i, when i heard tale of the lord of rivendell. ❜ it is a quiet addition, though sincere to its core. their final star of hope shines bright in the peredhil's eyes.

yet it is swept away by the tides when the inevitable question comes. where have you been? maglor ponders the extents of his confession. elrond need not know all of it. need not know that he had surrendered himself to the waters, only to be rejected. too much has he already seen of his pain. he ought to be spared the worst of it.

❛ i dwelt for a time with my nephew, ❜ he recounts, eyes straying to the windows, and the light of the late afternoon that falls in. ❛ i never trusted the so-called emissary of the valar, who seemed to turn him to an obsession i should have known was too familiar. i left for a time. how long i cannot say, only that i returned when i heard ... ❜ brows briefly furrowing, he breaks off. does not mention pulling telperinquar's remains off the banner upon which he had been mockingly strung, nor burying him in the same manner he had his father. a moment's silence passes, ere they speak again. measured, weary. ❛ after that, i wandered. named myself gaeglim, though with time, the edain would come to call me gwaelin, the wind's song. none knew who i was. ❜

when elrond rose this morn to the first ray of the sun, he did not expect to find yet another shape of hope. he thought he had learned them all, and how foolish he was for it.

maglor lays their eyes upon him o'-so-softly like foam on water. elrond suddenly couldn't breathe. his lungs filled with a wetness that expands, and he must hold his breath or he might drown in its vastness. maglor is proud of him. his legs tingle, threaten to turn into liquid. he feels utterly unworthy.

but i lost you! he wants to cry. i couldn't find you, and i stopped looking... hope stung him, then, too. everyday felt like the day, the day that he would again see that familiar streak of black, hear that deep resonant voice. he threw himself at the pain, day after day, until it would no longer take him, until he let himself walk away. i should've stayed longer, tried harder, searched further...... it is childish, now, to want to cry out and bury his face in maglor's chest to be consoled and forgiven.

"with your nephew—" he is startled by his own voice. it sounds almost... steady, regal. three ages of discipline has schooled him into this, this strength that can hold himself upright even while he feels like crumbling. "celebrimbor..." he touches his hand to the sapphire ring again, the elven power that the peerless smith gave his life to protect. "you were... you were there, all along?" now he hears it, the crack in his voice. elrond has to remind himself to breathe. all these years, he thought maglor lost, to elrond's carelessness or his weak will (he should've kept searching...) but to know that maglor had been mobile and lucid, and simply chose not to be found...

hope is a physical pain; elrond feels it tearing at him like a familiar animal. maglor had been there, all along, through the war—all that carnage and blood, all the death and loss and defeat and triumph... all this burden of pain, they could have shared it ('tis a selfish thought, elrond chastises himself but couldn't let go of it, like an insolent child). and maglor says...

BUT I WAS LITTLE TOO // ON THE FAILURE OF FATHERS

the reassurance is met with a small smile of relief that never quite reaches their eyes. ❛ you look well, ❜ they tell him quietly, earnestly. but their gaze turns to the ring. vilya, the ring of air. how fitting, they think, yet a shadow of grief passes over their eyes at the sight of their nephew's legacy. and so it goes on and on, this curse of their line: artifacts of beauty, corrupted into power, raining death. perhaps if any could hold such a thing and not fall to it, it would be elrond. maglor would like to believe that. still, it unsettles their heart faintly.

to lose even him would mean the end of all things.

...you remember everything, elrond. you don't let go of anything. ...it's going to hurt you. he remembers elros' words (he couldn't even forget that).

"do not apologize. you have brought me the greatest gift—" he watches the noldo back away, resisting the urge to grab them by the wrist. he remembers himself, that he is a lord venerated as one of the wise, that he is no longer a child who could run after maglor looking to be indulged. "you haven't thought that i would turn you away? elladan and elrohir know better than to abandon a kindred at our door without bringing them to me. and for that they have greatly pleased me this day." a warmth swells in his heart, full of love and pride. he opens his mouth again, to offer maglor clothes, lodging, and food. his mind races like a shooting star, to which he could nearly wish upon an image of his children, kin of his house, and maglor, sitting around a table, as a family...

then he sees maglor's eyes on his finger. the light of the blue gem too subdued to reflect in the noldo's gaze. still, elrond finds himself covering it with his other hand. is this why maglor has come? the thought comes to him like a cold draft. elrond feels his blood congealing. and for a moment, elrond is disgusted with himself. what kind of a lord is he, to think of the man who raised him as robber and thief? still, memory stirs, spitting embers from cinder, red as blood, searing like betrayal.

it's going to hurt you. elros' voice again. they so often argued when it came to memory and forgetting. it took elrond long, sons and daughters after sons and daughters, before he began to understand elros' wisdom. men's ages are short. they start anew when a new generation is begotten; their memory fades, passing into history known truly only to those who lived it. whereas an elf's memory is long. it ebbs and flows, waxing and waning to the changing of time like tides against the shore. but the ocean itself does not dry. it holds it all, the currents and their shipwrecks.

now, accompanied by the valiant pair and surrounded by all too many people for their liking, maglor awaits their lord's coming with some nervous mixture of longing and anxiety. their mind has cleared somewhat in their approach, which has in turn only brought upon the return of concerns. 'twas a selfish thing, to come here at all.

there remains but a shadow of the elf he once was. prince, regent, commander ... some old grace has not yet been banished from him, keeping his back upright and a fluidity to his movements, slowed though they are. and there is yet some pride in the way he holds himself, though his chin is not raised, and his shoulders sloped with a weight upon them. he waits standing entirely still until steps approach. upon his entering, maglor's eyes instantly lock with elrond's, and this time it is a rush of relief down his back, gripping his heart. his voice, then, almost shatters what remaining composure the noldo has managed to cling to.

it is a relief to be alone with him. maglor finds themself in his embrace ere they can utter so much as a word. after only a moment, the gesture is returned, arms wrapped around the younger elf in relief and in soothing alike. ❛ i am lord of nothing, ❜ he reminds him in quiet quenya. ❛ it is i who ought to call you that, dearest elerondo. ❜ with that he withdraws part way, remaining close enough to lift his hands and cradle in tender, trembling palms elrond's cheeks. ❛ how glad am i, how glad ... to see you again, my child, hale and hearty. ❜ there is a moment's hesitation. a thumb brushing along a cheekbone, his light-less eyes search those of the half-elf he loves as a son.

"i never stopped hoping—" hope is all he has, in the dark days. it was in hope that he built rivendell; in hope that he wedded celebrían (and in hope that he let her go); in hope he raised his children and his house, that shelters and fosters the line of isildur... holding onto the shards of narsil to one day be reforged he wants to believe that given time, anything could heal, in one manner or another.

he pulls himself away from maglor by sheer will power, taking solace in the touch upon his cheeks that the man before him would not vanish in front of his eyes. he has changed much, but also not at all. a silver circlet sits upon his brows, signifying his station and responsibility. as he clasps his hand over maglor's hand cradling his cheek, the blue ring of sapphire gives off a subtle, temperate shine. it has none of the brilliance of the silmarils, nor the fiery fortitude and indomitable radiance of narya and nenya. it is quiet, tender. merciful. it glints softly as a drop of tear slides down elrond's cheek to be caught in the band of the ring.