Elrond was so caught up in his thoughts, whatever they might be, that it was easy for Elros to slip away from him. It was often this way, Elros had found, either in Sirion or here in Amon Ereb. Elrond was easily distracted with contemplations of some sort, and did not notice when Elros wandered away from him. But honestly, he'd been so much more vigilant than usual for all the time that they'd been here that Elros was amazed that he was able to get away at all.

Elros was the younger twin. This defined him, or it defined much of him and what he did. Though he was the more outspoken, the more boisterous, the more impulsive, Elros was usually content to follow Elrond's lead as regards to, well, just about everything. Elrond was older than him, if only be a few minutes, and he got worried a lot.

But today was different.

They were not home anymore. Sirion was long-gone behind them, and now they had been taken to another town far away from the sea, which Elros already found himself missing terribly. Amon Ereb was not Sirion. Amon Ereb was a gray, desolate, dreary place perched atop a hill, where there was nearly no one around and absolutely nothing to do. Elros knew the truth of his situation, though he supposed that Elrond might think that he'd forgotten. He'd been taken from his home, and wasn't free to go back. Maglor and Maedhros held them here, and would not let them go. They were hostages, not simply children anymore, and Elros found that the name 'hostage' suited him ill.

All the same, though, Elros found that their kidnappers weren't really a bad sort. Well, he found that Maglor wasn't a bad sort, kindly as he was; he'd not seen enough of Maedhros to be able to pass judgment on him. The most he had seen of Maedhros was looking down out of a window and occasionally catching sight of him directing the soldiers in their drills, the weak Sun drifting out from behind leaden clouds and shining on his long, bright copper-colored hair. That was the point to this, he supposed.

Elros did not know if there would be anyone coming for him and Elrond; he couldn't answer that question one way or another. But he did know that he and his brother were going to be here for a long time, whether or not anyone came to take them home. Elros didn't want trouble with their "caretakers." Elrond might have thought it better not to open up to either of the two brothers, but Elros was ultimately a friendly soul—he wasn't unaware of the potential danger here, but he thought it better to make friends with the two brothers, rather than hold himself aloof.

And he was very curious.

Maglor he'd already befriended, and though Maedhros, what little Elros had seen of him, he found deeply daunting, would it not be best to try to do the same with him?

So Elros wandered up and down the halls, checking doors he'd not been through before. All too often he'd find that one of the heavy doors was locked, and would glare up at its wooden grains; Elros had no love for locked doors (They reminded him too much of that last day in Sirion, when all too few of the doors he and his brother tried would consent to harbor them).

Amon Ereb had three floors, and he'd reached the top one, where he and his brother slept. Elros bypassed his and Elrond's shared bedchamber door, and began peering through the doors on each floor. He came to the last door on a particular corridor. Finding it unlocked, Elros pushed it open, and looked inside.

There he was.

-0-0-0-

It was five past noon.

Since before the days of Rána and Vása it had been considered sound practice amongst the House of Fëanor not to start a meal until everyone who was expected at the table arrived. Of course, knowing the House of Fëanor, this meant that all too often the food was stone-cold by the time, which would invariably send Curufin, who was very particular about what temperature his food should be when he ate it, into a silent, glaring mood. Fëanor barely noticed it; rarely did he notice things like the fact that the stew he was eating tasted as though it had spent a year in the snow when he was in the midst of creative zeal. However, like Curufin, Maglor could count himself as one of the members of the family who noticed how hot and cold his food was (unless he was in one of his own creative spates, in which case he wouldn't notice if he was being fed shoe leather, but frankly he'd not gotten in one of those moods since before he left Aman) so he preferred for everyone to be on time.

The rule of Amon Ereb was that no one could start eating until everyone who sat at the high table was present. Maedhros didn't take his meals there. He hadn't taken his meals in public in a very long time, didn't even like for his brothers to be around when he ate. Since the disastrous assault on Menegroth and what—and who—had been lost there, Maglor had gotten used to eating alone, as much as he didn't like it.

However, of late, there had been two others eating with him. And their chairs were quite glaringly empty.

The others in the great hall, the sergeant-at-arms Sartandil and the servants who took their meal at this time in the great hall, were all looking up at Maglor, unsure of how to proceed. Maglor sighed, and stood. As he swept from the great hall, the light from the clerestory windows falling on his back, he called back, "Go on and eat." They did not need to be told twice.

Maglor could well remember the days of his youth, when his younger brothers wouldn't turn up for a meal, or when he wouldn't turn up for a meal (Maedhros could generally be counted on to show up for meals on time). Under such circumstances, it fell to those who were present at the table to go looking for the missing brothers.

Maglor would usually be found in his music room, so deeply absorbed in his harp-playing that he had absolutely no idea what time it was or how long it was that he'd been there. Curufin could be found in Fëanor's forge, looking over the tools with intense interest. Celegorm and the Ambarussa could be found in one of the gardens of the wild, untended patches of land on the estate. Caranthir would turn up in the library, or somewhere else he could find peace and quiet solitude.

Elrond and Elros hadn't been here for very long. It was easy to suppose that they'd gotten lost somewhere in the fortress, or that, if dinner was held at a different time in the palace in Sirion, they weren't accustomed to thinking of noon as dinnertime.

Or perhaps they simply didn't wish to come down, he admitted reluctantly to himself.

It wasn't unreasonable to suppose that the twins simply didn't want to have to come down and eat with him, and face the scrutiny of their kidnapper and his servants. Maglor took a heavy breath at the thought, pausing in the hallway. His fingers rose to his forehead as though trying to ward off a headache. They still need to eat, he told himself, trying to muster an ounce of determination. I'll find them and bring them back down.

So began the search. Maglor combed the first floor up and down, and found no one who could have been either of the twins—though somehow he doubted he'd find them separate from one another. They can't have gone far; the guardsmen have their orders not to let them out of the fortress by themselves. So where are they?

The first floor was empty of the twins of Sirion, and Maglor headed up the stairs, starting to feel a cold curl of worry in his stomach.

That cold curl turned to a lick of cold flame when he heard muffled sobbing from somewhere down the hall.

"Elros? Elrond?" Maglor followed that piteous whimpering, turning down the bend in the hall, barely noticing how his pace had picked up until he was nearly running. His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest; was one of them hurt?

He found Elrond huddled in a shadowy corner, shaking, knees curled up to his chest, his face hidden. Maglor sank to his knees beside him, resisting the urge to pull the child into his arms. Elros didn't mind that, but this wasn't Elros. Elrond would not be held, not by him. He hesitated, wondering what exactly he should say. How do I—

"Where's Elros?!"

Maglor had hesitated, but Elrond did not. His head snapped up as he asked the near-hysterical question. The boy's eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks wet. Maglor's heart seized, and it took most of his self-control not to draw the child onto his lap, despite knowing how likely Elrond was to balk if he tried that. As it stood, he had to say something to him. "I don't know," Maglor answered gently. "Did you lose him?"

Elrond nodded, lip wobbling and eyes filling with tears again. Oh, Elrond. At that point, Maglor decided to just throw caution to the winds and pulled Elrond on to his lap. The child squeaked and stiffened, looking as though he'd like nothing better than to pull away and run in the opposite direction; that hurt, frankly, even though it ought to have been no surprise. "Elros…"

"…is somewhere here in the fortress," Maglor told him, in a voice that he hoped would sound soothing. "You and your brother are the only children in the town, Elrond. The guards know not to let either of you wander about in the town on your own. Elros is still here, and we will find him, but you must calm down first."

For a moment, Elrond looked as though he would still try to run away. His mouth twisted ambivalently, and he didn't meet Maglor's gaze. But then, he slumped against the nér's chest, drawing in a few deep, shuddering breaths. He sniffled a bit, and Maglor was irresistibly reminded of Caranthir as a child, utterly exhausted after working himself up into a fit. A lopsided, slightly shaky smile stole over Maglor's face, and he rubbed Elrond's shoulder. "Are you always so concerned over where your brother is?"

The child shrugged, small fingers clutching at the front of Maglor's gray robes. "Have to keep him safe," Elrond muttered, swollen eyes half-shut.

Maglor flinched.

Elrond's fears were justified, he told himself, and completely rational. He and his brother had been kidnapped from a city whose streets were flowing red with blood, blood shed by the ones who had kidnapped them. That was all that kept him from snapping that there was no reason for Elrond to be so worried over his brother's safety, reminding himself that Elrond had every reason to be worried in his young, troubled mind.

Maedhros had suggested that he was losing track of past and present. Maglor suspected that what he'd suggested next, that he was also losing track of what had never been and what never would be, was far more apt. He really was starting to confuse things. "You are completely safe, little one. You and your brother both. There is nothing here that will harm you, or that I will ever let harm you," he said.

And found that he meant it.

Perhaps he heard the sincerity in his voice, because Elrond looked up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He swallowed, his small pink tongue flicking over his lips. Then, he asked, in a stammering voice, "Maglor… Back home, you said our Mama had gone?"

Oh, how I'd hoped that neither of them would ask me about that. Slowly, Maglor nodded. "Yes, she's…" Dead, he nearly said, before biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood; the copper taste flooded his mouth, and a faint pitch of nausea rose in his stomach. One day… One day, he would have to tell Elwing's twins of what had become of her, and what he'd had to do with it. But he couldn't do it. Not today. He couldn't look at Elrond and tell him that his mother had chosen to take her own life and keep the Silmaril, rather than give it to him and stay with her children. That the Silmaril had consumed her as it had consumed so many others before her, and that she loved it over her two boys. "Yes, your Mama is gone," he croaked, and hoped that the fact that it was only a half-lie meant that Elrond would be more likely to forgive the day he found out. "She left."

Elrond's face closed up again, and he pressed his cheek against Maglor's chest. Still, he did not seem entirely comfortable, and Maglor got the strong impression that Elrond was allowing him to hold him, rather than actually wanting it, but it was something. He was breathing through his nose, a sharp, whistling noise, and he was silent apart from that for a long time.

Maglor wished he could know what Elrond was thinking. There was a core of sorrow there, cold and dark and deep, there had to be. It was there, and he could not reach it, could not touch it, could not even see it.

"You said something to Elros, on the way here."

At the sounding of that small voice, Maglor looked down, startled. Elrond was staring off at some point down the hall, chin tucking into his neck. He sounded exhausted, though it was no physical exhaustion that he felt. "You said you don't sing much anymore. Why?"

"Ah… I… I've simply found that my heart's not in it as it used to be."

Elrond stared up at him at that, surprised. "Why?"

A faint, faintly rueful laugh escaped Maglor's lips. "I… I really don't know, Elrond." That was a lie; he knew very well why he'd had no enthusiasm for singing, not since before he left Valinor. "I suppose there's just been nothing interesting to sing about." Another lie. "The closest I've come to wanting to write a song was when that dragon came through my lands—"

"You've seen a dragon?!" Elrond asked, suddenly full of excitement, eyes shining.

It hadn't been terribly exciting for him when Glaurung had laid waste to his lands, so many years ago—terrifying would be a better word for how it had made Maglor feel. But seeing Elrond shed his worry outweighed his dark memories of the day his home in Beleriand, the only place that had ever truly felt like home, and not his brother's home that he was merely staying in, was enough to lighten him a little bit. "Yes, it was a decidedly harrowing experience. I barely got out without being scorched on my horse, and Ilmanis will tell you…" His voice died on his lips.

Elrond looked up at him uncertainly, brow furrowing. "Maglor?"

Maglor smiled weakly down at his little charge. "Nothing, Elrond. I just found myself talking about someone whom I sometimes forget is gone." He set Elrond on his feet. "Now, let's go find your brother."

-0-0-0-

The door was unlocked, and Elros peered inside. His heart caught in his throat at what he saw.

This room was not a bedchamber; there was no bed, after all, nor a wardrobe or anything that would be considered a feature of a bedchamber. It was a relatively small room, all things considered. There were two large, mullioned arched windows on the opposite wall from the door, letting in light that was no longer overcast, but dazzling bright out of a dazzling blue sky. Almost as dazzling as sunlight reflecting on seawater. There was a desk pressed against one of the other walls, a shelf stuffed full of scrolls on the other, and in the center of the room was a table.

And at that table sat an Elf.

It must have been time for dinner, because a plate sat on the table in front of Maedhros, and an earthenware goblet at his left hand side. Elros stared at him, suddenly not as sure about trying to make friends as he was before. Should I go back down for dinner? Elrond'll be looking for me; so will Maglor.

He hesitated a moment too long, for Maedhros started to speak. "What is it, Kano?"

Elros said nothing, frozen in the doorway, and Maedhros, when met with silence, looked up. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither spoke, nor moved. One thought rang through Elros's mind: I'm in trouble.

But Maedhros did not shout, or scold, or do anything to make Elros think that he was in trouble. He merely nodded, laying his fork down on his plate. "Well come inside."

Slowly, still wide-eyed, Elros slipped through the door, creeping slowly up towards the table where Maedhros sat. He stood by the table, near an empty chair that sat to Maedhros's right, and did not approach any closer than that. The tall, red-haired Elf, ate a little more, but then he looked down, and looked at him. "Well, Elros?" he asked quietly.

Elros blinked at him, stunned despite himself; it was a rare person indeed who could tell him and Elrond apart despite having barely interacted with either of them before. Elros would tell anyone and everyone all he liked that he and Elrond weren't identical, that they really didn't look that much alike, there was pretty much no one who could tell them apart without getting to know them first. But Maedhros hadn't seen him and Elrond together since they'd arrived at Amon Ereb.

Maedhros's lip twitched, and if his hadn't been such a grim, shadowed face, Elros would have sworn that he was smiling. "I have some experience with differentiating between twins." Elros wasn't sure what differentiating meant, but he supposed it meant that Maedhros was good at telling twins apart; so much the better. Maedhros crooked a finger at him. "Come sit down, if you're going to stare at me."

The chairs were very tall for such a small child, and it took some doing, but eventually Elros clambered up onto the chair, and got a good look at the surface of the table. There was a neat stack of papers at the far right-hand corner, right in front of him. There were scribbles written on it, probably some language, though Elros didn't know what. But what was really drawing his attention was the smell of food emanating from Maedhros's plate.

Warm bread and cuts of heavily-salted venison it was, a simple meal to be sure, but Elros was hungry, and his stomach growled loudly at the aroma of meat. He looked at Maedhros, and at the plate. He looked at Maedhros again, and, careful to keep his gaze firmly fixed on Maedhros, Elros snagged a bit of venison off of the plate and popped it in his mouth. He chewed as quietly as he could, and sopped his rather sticky fingers equally quietly.

He could have sworn he saw Maedhros smirk.

They went on like this for several minutes, Elros occasionally sneaking tiny bits of venison off of Maedhros's plate, and Maedhros pretending not to notice. Eventually, however, Elros began to notice something odd. He looked at the plate and frowned when he realized that the venison was already cut up into tiny pieces. Elros well-remembered what Glessil would say to him in Sirion about that, that only small children who couldn't be trusted with knives had their meat already cut up for them when they ate. But Maedhros wasn't a small child who couldn't be trusted not to hurt himself if given a knife to use. So why this?

He does only have one hand, Elros mused. Maybe that's why.

May as well ask him.

"Erm… Maedhros?"

"Yes?"

"Why is all of your meat cut up into little pieces?"

Maedhros visibly stiffened at that, and Elros started to get the impression that if he wasn't already in trouble, he would be soon enough, but at that very moment, quite improbably, there came a shout from the doorway.

"Elros!"

Elrond and Maglor stood in the doorway, one openly shocked, the other no less so but for different reasons. Elrond's face went bright pink at the sight of him—never a good sign, Elros knew, and given how adamant Elrond was about avoiding their "caretakers" it was surprising that he'd apparently enlisted Maglor's aid in looking for him.

Well, maybe things changed.

The two wasted no time in crossing the room. Elrond immediately started trying to tug Elros out of his seat, much to Elros's annoyance. Meanwhile, Maglor was speaking to his brother. "I hope you weren't too bothered," he said in an oddly neutral tone.

"Not at all," Maedhros replied succinctly, clearly trying to ignore that neutral tone.

Then, Maglor leaned over, and pulled the loaf of bread from Maedhros's plate.

This got a reaction. "Stop that!" Maedhros exclaimed, reaching to swat at Maglor's hand. Maglor let out a rather high-pitched giggle and tore a piece of bread off of the loaf, before depositing the rest of it back on his brother's plate and eating what he'd gotten. Maedhros glared up at him, and Maglor seemed quite unconcerned.

Elros stared. Judging from the fact that he'd stopped tugging on him, it seemed that Elrond was staring too.

Finally, Maglor realized that he was being stared at, and began to usher both of them out of the room. "Come on, I'm sure you're both hungry. There should be warm food in the kitchens still."

Elros could get behind that. For all the meat he'd taken off of Maedhros's plate, it wasn't very filling, and he was still quite hungry.

And it probably wasn't a good idea to press too far with Maedhros, anyways.

-0-0-0-

It was two hours past supper.

That meant that Elrond and Elros were being put down for bed, having been thoroughly scrubbed by a taciturn maidservant despite the fact that they'd not gone outside at all that day and that they could bathe themselves, so they loudly insisted. All the same, the Nandorin maidservant, Merwen by name, insisted that they needed to be bathed, and that she would be the one to do it.

However, Elrond didn't say anything rude to her, and made sure that Elros didn't either. Mama said that they needed to be polite to servants, and he'd listen to Mama, even if she… Even if she was 'gone.'

"Alright little ones, it's nearly time for you to go to bed."

Looking rather tired himself, Maglor checked the two of them over, asking them if their faces were properly clean and if they were still hungry. The answer was 'yes' in Elrond's case, but he forbore to say so. He wasn't all that hungry. And he still wasn't sure if it was a good idea to make demands on his "caretaker".

But suddenly, sitting up in bed, he found himself making another sort of demand anyways.

"Maglor?" Maglor's pale eyes were suddenly on him, and Elrond felt his face grow hot. "I was wondering… Could you read to us?" He did not say why; he did not want to say that he missed when Glessil or Erestor would read to them, because they were probably both dead, and he didn't want to think about the fact that they were both dead. "It's just that, we can't really read…"

Elros nodded vigorously, eager for a story, and Maglor smiled a twitching smile. "Alright. I think we do have some books here that would have stories to interest young boys. I'll be back in a minute with one." He turned his gaze back to Elrond. There was something there in his eyes, something hesitant and oddly child-like, and Elrond was left reminded of the moment, earlier that day, when Maglor had promised him that he and Elros were safe here. There had been the same look on his face then. And Elrond found that he had believed him then, and still did. "And if you want to learn how to read, I can teach you."

Slowly, Elrond nodded. That didn't sound like it would be so bad.

Kano—Maglor

Rána—The name given by the Noldor for the Moon
Vása—The name given by the Noldor for the Sun
Nér—man (plural: neri)