Of Elrond and the things he could keep
Sudden feeling tonight for Elrond and the few things he was allowed to keep and claim from Maedhros and Maglor.
Years after the end of the First Age, he is used to people searching for bits of LĂșthien in him, telling him that his hair shines just like hers under the stars. He is used to people saying he has his father's eyes, the same blue-green as the sea that EĂ€rendil inherited from his own father.
Elrond is used to being a constellation made of tiny pieces of his famed ancestors: LĂșthien's hair, EĂ€rendil's eyes, Elwing's jaw, Dior's height, Turgon's expressions.
In the early Second Age, as he builds his life in the Noldorin court, those kinds of comments happen often. He meets more and more people who knew, from near or far, one of those ancestors. As they look at him, they see those kings and princesses lost to the ages. And Elrond does not fault them. He considers himself to be made of all those parts that once belonged to somebody else.
Yet, as Elrond continues to make a place for himself, most people do not see the eight-pointed star embroidered at the collar of his clothes or etched into the clasp of his winter cloak.
They do not see it, or they choose not to acknowledge it, because this claiming of Maedhros and Maglor is not something Elrond is supposed to do.
Elrond never claims them publicly and never speaks of them. But he cannot let them go altogether, either. He would never be allowed to publicly ask to be named as their son. The memory of their deeds is still too fresh in Elven memory, and it will remain so for centuries.
Yet Elrond cannot let them go.
So he claims the eight-pointed star for himself and puts it wherever he can. Maedhros and Maglor are a part of him as much as LĂșthien or EĂ€rendil, and placing those little stars upon his clothing is his way of making them part of the constellation of parents everybody sees in him.
Though few and far between, Elrond occasionally meets someone who sees Maedhros and Maglor in him more than any of his other parents. And those small similarities, he keeps close to his heart.
Galadriel's soft laugh as Elrond argues against another loremaster in Gil-galad's court. Makalaurë of old would have had the same opinion, she says, her eyes shining, lost in a memory lit by the Trees.
Ereinion's tired but friendly smile after a long day of court. Thank Eru one of us inherited Maedhros's silver tongue for diplomacy and patience for politics. I would have thrown my wine goblet at that Sindar's head long ago if you hadn't been here.
Celebrimbor's exasperated sigh as he follows Elrond out of his workshop after spending too long away from his bed, convinced to go eat in exchange for a song. You are as annoying as Uncle Maitimo. At least you're as sweet as Uncle Kano when it comes to convincing people.
Those comments, those similarities, Elrond keeps close to his heart. Because to him, they mean that Maedhros and Maglor made him theirs just as much as he made them his.
Those tiny parts of them, he allows himself to keep as bright little stars in his constellation.
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
romaincrisis
2087
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