Drabble 36: First Word
He had not spoken a word since Sirion.
He had accepted their food, their blankets, and even occasionally their comfort.
But he had not spoken. Not a word.
Maglor sighed as he watched the youngest Peredhil out of the corner of his eye. The elfling lay curled on his side in the corner of the cave, arms drawn tightly about himself. Was he crying? Maglor could not tell. Elros hovered over him, chattering away in a soft voice, but Elrond did not move.
Maedhros stepped up behind him, leaning against a wall, and as Maglor glanced up at him, he saw that his eldest brother's eyes were fixed upon the twins as well. For once there was more than contempt in his eyes. Pity, perhaps, and sorrow, but not disdain. Maybe he saw in the Peredhil his own youngest brothers, torn apart from their family by war and senseless slaying.
Perhaps he regretted Sirion, Maglor dared to think, but then Elrond stirred, and a choked sob escaped the little body. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, hurrying over to the elfling, ignoring Elros as he patted consolingly at his younger brother. Strong arms, gentle and comforting, wrapped around the Peredhel and lifted him, and he rested Elrond's dark head against his shoulder and hugged him tightly, and tried not to think about his own brothers as Elrond sobbed out one word against him.
"Ammë..."