I just have a lot of headcanons about Elros randomly cutting his hair through his life. Also, I have no idea how ósanwe works.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Silmarillion, Lord of the Rings, or any affiliated characters or locations.

Twilight stretched its sheltering arms over the Havens of Sirion, and the motion and chaos of life slowly faded to a gentle ebb and flow. In one of the most distinctive buildings, at the top of a tower carved with waves and vines, the darkness was permeated with a brilliant light.

Colorless and at the same time kaleidoscopic, it swelled to encompass the entire room, reflecting off of glass and dazzling against smoothly carved wood and rich tapestries. Framed against the light, a slight elven woman stood frozen, staring into a velvet-inlaid box.

Around the corner, small hands quietly slipped a door open. Two identical pairs of eyes peered in.

"I told you," Elros Eärendilion hissed to his brother.

Elrond, dark grey eyes sparkling in the light of the Silmaril, frowned unhappily. "She's normally better by now."

Elros huffed and pushed the door completely open. Elrond frantically grasped at the hem of his shirt, spurred by the vaguely superstitious fear of waking their mother when the Silmaril stole her from them.

But Elros shook him off and said, at full volume, "She won't notice anyways. She's been like that for three days, El! Three!"

"She hasn't eaten anything." Elrond crept quietly after his brother, carefully averting his eyes from Elwing's form, standing as if carved from ice in the center of the bedroom. "Do you think she's okay?"

Elros' expression was briefly sad, but then he swallowed hard and glared. "What should we care? She never pays attention to us. She's always staring at that rock or looking at the Sea."

"She's waiting for. . . ." Elrond trailed off, unsure how to refer to the father that he could hardly remember.

Elros stared at their mother, expression hard and mulish. Elrond reached out and took his hand. He could sense the anger and hurt that Elros — perhaps unconsciously — harbored, like tangles in a fishing line, and he didn't like to see his twin so upset. Rather than relaxing, Elros got the distinctive rebellious look in his eyes that meant he was planning something reckless.

"El—" Elrond began, wary, but Elros stepped forwards and tapped Elwing's thigh.

Elrond froze, fear suddenly coursing through his veins. He didn't like it when his mother became like this, when the Silmaril stole her heart and mind and left her body behind. He didn't like to look at her, much less to touch her, and he was suddenly terrified.

But nothing happened. Elros' face scrunched up. "Nana? Nana, come back."

Elwing's fingers shifted, dancing across the face of the Silmaril.

Elros' eyes darkened, and he reached up. Elrond, in one of his unpredictable displays of Elvish foresight, suddenly understood what his twin intended to do. With a burst of panic, he launched himself forwards, snatching Elros' wrist before it could reach the Silmaril and dragging him forcefully into the nearest closet.

Breathing hard, Elros exclaimed, "What was that for?!"

"Don't touch it!" Elrond hissed, and he heard his voice break. "Please don't." He couldn't stand the thought of his brother, standing just as still as Elwing, his fingers wrapped about the stone and his eyes far away.

Elros quieted, perhaps catching the image before Elrond could properly vanish it. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I thought it would help."

The twins sat still in the semi-darkness, Elrond trembling and stifling the need to cry. Elros wrapped his arms tightly about his brother and buried his face in his shoulder. Elrond's fear and Elros' anger and both their pain rebounded across their shared bond, and the magnified effect of their emotions left both boys breathless with overwhelming sorrow.

When they'd finally calmed, Elrond picked up his head to see where they were.

He expected to see clothes, or perhaps jewelry. When his eyes were met by the sight of swords and mail and daggers, he stiffened. "El. . . ."

Elros raised his head and looked around. In the light of the Silmaril, which seeped through the cracks in the door, the weapons glittered tantalizingly. "This must be one of . . . Adar's," he mumbled. Like Elrond, he hesitated just slightly before saying the word.

Elrond wrapped his arms around his brother and whispered, "We should go before Nana wakes up and finds us here." But he was curious. He'd seen Eärendil's weapons before, but these didn't look like his. They looked older and less well-tended.

He wanted to explore, to figure out where these strange things came from.

Elros disentangled himself from their pile and approached a rack of lovely daggers. He picked one up, and Elrond frowned.

Sensing his disapproval, Elros muttered, "They're pretty. Look." Turning, Elros handed the dagger to Elrond. Its hilt has feathers engraved into it, and the tip of the dagger had been fashioned to look like a bird's head.

Elrond fingered the handle, his curiosity piqued. Though the blade's intricate engravings marked it as an ornamental piece, the hilt was worn and well-used. "Perhaps it's a relic from Gondolin," he suggested, "Adar said that a lot of the elves carried ornamental blades just for show, but they ended up using them during the Fall." When Elros didn't answer, he looked up, about to ask a question. The dagger slipped from his grasp when he saw Elros turn the blade of a short knife towards himself. Forgetting his need to be quiet, he exclaimed, "Elros!"

Elros looked up, alarmed. "What?"

Elrond wordlessly sent Elros a barrage of thoughts and impressions. Elros hastily shut him off after several seconds.

"I'm not going to kill myself!" Elros hissed.

"Sorry," Elrond muttered, but didn't take his eyes off his brother as Elros examined the blade.

"Look, it's still sharp." Elros held the knife out towards Elrond, but then pulled it back after half a second. He stared at it, and Elrond didn't like the light in his eyes.

"Elros. . . ."

Abruptly, Elros grabbed a fistful of his hair and slashed the knife through it.

The ensuing silence was so intense that Elrond could hear the soft sounds of Elros' hair hitting the carpet. Horrified, Elrond exclaimed, "Elros!"

Elros shifted around to examine his reflection in a shield. His hair — which only seconds before had gone down to his shoulder blades and been decorated with his customary tiny braids and silver beads — was now chopped crookedly just below his chin. "I think it's an improvement," he said mulishly.

Elrond just stared. "Nana will be furious," he hissed.

Elros tilted his head, trying to see the back of his hair. "If she comes back to see it. El, cut the back, will you? Make it neat?"

"Do you remember how mad Nana was when we cut out hair last year?" Elrond demanded.

Elros nodded. "Yes, but even you said that having our hair to our waist was impractical. Hurry and cut it."

With a reluctant sigh, Elrond leaned over to take the knife from Elros' hands. "Only because it looks horrible," he warned. He did his best to straighten it, but it was dark and Elros kept moving. By the time he finished, the hair at the back of Elros' head was barely an inch long and all of his braids had fallen apart.

Elros polished one of the shields with his sleeve to better look at himself. "It looks good."

Elrond nodded and handed the knife back. "Do me now."

Elros looked up, startled. "Truly?"

Elrond nodded. "Nana will know I cut your hair anyways." He hesitated before admitting his true concern. "Besides, we aren't identical anymore."

Elros hesitated before nodding and taking the knife. He didn't share Elrond's need to look the same, and their caretakers insistence on dressing them similarly had always irked him. But he shrugged and said, "Sit down, then."

The next day, the Silmaril finally released Elwing. She refused to go down to eat in the main hall, and so the twins' caretaker sent them in to convince her.

Elwing took one look at her sons, at their twin expressions of defiance, and she didn't say anything. She merely dropped to her knees beside them and pressed two kisses to the tops of their newly shorn heads and sighed.

"Liniel says you need to come down and eat," Elrond informed her.

Elwing smiled at him. She looked pale and drawn, but she normally did after attacks like that. "Tell her that I'll be down shortly," she said simply. And then, perhaps because she felt badly for leaving them unattended for so long, she asked, "Perhaps I can meet you by the shore after breakfast?"

Her offer managed to wrest a smile out of even Elros, and both boys nodded eagerly and ran to get ready.

Elwing stood up, watching her sons as they scrambled from the room, and she shook her head. Other elf-children wouldn't dare cut their hair, even if left unattended. She'd never intended to let either child become Mannish, either in thoughts or in impulses.

Somewhere, when she hadn't been looking, they'd grown past what she'd intended. Somehow, when she'd been distracted, they'd become more than they should've.

She wasn't sure what to make of their change.

At the door, Elros paused and turned back. Quicker to both anger and forgiveness, he smiled openly at his mother. "Thank you, Nana!"

Elwing laughed, the sound startled from her lips by the genuine affection in her son's gaze. "You're welcome, Elros!"

They both knew they weren't talking about the shore trip.

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nana: mommy

adar: father