I own nothing.

Elrond and his brother had lived at Amon Ereb for months now. They had explored the fortress when they first arrived, but had not noticed every single small detail of their new 'home.' Once they had committed every corridor to memory and could find their way through the bleak fortress, the young twins no longer paid a great deal of attention to things like the way the halls were lit and exactly where the light was coming from—not that they had been paying a lot of attention to begin with.

It had been an embarrassing oversight, to be honest.

"What do you suppose it is?" Elrond whispered to his brother. He knew that whispering wasn't necessary, but he still felt the need.

Elros just shrugged, staring up at the blue light with a frown on his face, brow knitted.

High up on the wall, hanging from a long chain, there was a bright blue flame trapped in what looked like a cage of crystal; it was hard to tell, from their viewpoint.

"What are you two staring at?"

The twins whirled around when they heard that familiar voice, and saw Maedhros standing in a nearby doorway. He stared quizzically down at them, brow furrowed.

It was Elros who first pointed up to the blue flames in its cage, while Elrond was still wondering how to ask the question. "What is that?" Elros asked curiously, his gaze wavering back and forth between Maedhros and the flame.

Maedhros's furrowed brow shot up. "You mean you never noticed them before?"

Elrond had already been embarrassed enough by the revelation of his inattention when there was no one but his brother, who was equally ignorant, to know about it. Having Maedhros be aware of it was another matter entirely. "We didn't expect them," Elrond protested, feeling his face grow warm.

"I hope that's not going to be your answer to shock, disappointment and setback you encounter in life," Maedhros retorted, folding his arms across his chest and gazing sternly down at them. Somehow, Elrond wasn't sure, but somehow, these simple actions managed to make Maedhros look even more imposing than he already did.

When neither of them gave him any sort of response, Maedhros sighed. "Let me show you, then."

It was no trouble for Maedhros, tall as he was, to reach out and take the chair of the caged blue flame off of the hook high up on the wall. He knelt down in front of Elrond and Elros, and held the caged flame so that they could see it clearly. The cage was diamond-shaped, tapering off to fine, sharp points on each of its long ends. "This is what the Noldor call a Fëanorian lamp," he said to them. "You can touch the casing, if you wish; you will find it quite cool."

At Maedhros's behest, they timidly reached out to touch the case of the "lamp." By now, neither of them really thought that Maedhros would do anything to hurt them, but it was more the fact that they could not feel any heat radiating from the lamp that convinced them that it was safe to touch the case.

And indeed, the case was cool to the touch. Elrond stared at the lamp, marveling at the blue flame within. How could fire burn without giving off heat?

"My father made thousands of lamps such as these during the Noontide of Valinor," Maedhros told them, his dark eyes growing sharp with recollection. "The casing is made of quartz; the metal frame is steel. Here are the charms meant to ward against decay and breakage." Maedhros held the lamp so that runes on the underside, etched into the steel frame, were visible. The flame—" Maedhros's gaze became fixed upon the blue flame "—can not be quenched by wind or water. If left in the casing, it will continue to burn eternally."

"It will burn forever?" Elrond blurted out, gaping at Maedhros. "How does it do that?"

For a long moment, Maedhros stared at him very hard, saying nothing. Then, he stood, and replaced the lamp on its hook. "I couldn't tell you," he said simply. "My father never revealed how he fashioned the flame."

-0-0-0-

Sometimes, Maedhros wondered why he bothered preserving what they still had. Patching roofs, repairing broken beams and rebuilding crumbling walls, these were but a few of the things that he felt like he was always doing, and had always been doing for the past five hundred years or so. Once upon a time, he would have been trying to soothe tensions at the negotiation table and keep ill-behaved siblings in line as well. He didn't even have that anymore, and it still felt like too much.

But Maedhros still threw himself into the business of preservation, of fixing things, because that was what he had always done. Tried to keep things that were falling apart from shattering, failed more often than he cared to recall, and kept going regardless. Sometimes he felt like someone trying to hold up the ceiling of a burning house, only to open his eyes and find himself standing in a pile of ash and cinders. It would have been appropriate.

Fëanor had taken more than one secret to his grave. Among them was, as Maedhros had illustrated to Elwing's boys, the secret of the blue flame contained inside of his lamps. Maedhros knew why Fëanor had never told anyone how he made his lamps. At first, he had been worried that rival craftsmen would copy his idea. Later, in his paranoia, he had believed that Fingolfin would somehow use them against him. Maedhros was never entirely sure how Fëanor had come to that conclusion.

They had indeed once had thousands of these lamps, but in Beleriand their numbers dwindled. Smashed in Alqualondë, sent to the depths of the Sundering Sea. Given to the Mithrim as goodwill gifts, or lost in raids sent out by Morgoth. Burned by dragon-fire in the fall of Himlad, Thargelion, the Gap. Lost to Angband when Himring fell. There were a few dozen in Amon Ereb, and some others scattered all over Beleriand, but very few. And still, no one had any idea how they worked.

After the Nirnaeth, Curufin had taken one apart, trying to figure out how their father had fashioned an unquenchable flame. He had spent weeks examining the lamp, attempting to unravel its secrets, but to no avail.

Maedhros was not the craftsman his brother had been. He had no skill in such areas, and no insight into his father's mind. If Fëanor had not confided the secret of his lamps even in Curufin, it seemed unlikely that he had confided in anyone else.

And it was not like Father to leave written notes behind. He could remember every detail of every experiment he ever conducted, every tool he ever forged, every thing of beauty he ever crafted. Even if he did write notes on his lamps, he likely would have left them behind in Aman, or burned them.

Maedhros sighed.

When an army was running short on swords, they did not simply cherish the weapons they still possessed. They forged new arms, so they would not be caught ill-equipped when the enemy found them. It seemed to Maedhros an ill thing that they should not know the secret of one of Fëanor's inventions. Truth be told, the lamps were not vital to the Noldor's survival here in Beleriand, but they were useful. They were one of the few things Maedhros had of Fëanor. But Fëanor had never opened his heart to his eldest son on this matter, so there was no way to make more.

Best to try to cherish what they still had, before it disintegrated into ash and cinder.