Hello! I uploaded because I'm bored, broke my leg, and can't do much else.

Edlendaer was very good at keeping his gaze dead forward. It'd been a skill he learned early in life, when he'd first started learning to count the scratches on the wall and ignore everything happening behind him. He'd perfected it through all the times he'd implemented it. It was better not to look at the wounded lined up in the halls, better not to see the hopeless eyes in people he knew, people he'd traded jokes with, trained with, exchanged favors with. It was easier.

But sight was not the only weapon a warrior learns to hone, and his ears and nose told the story just as plainly anyway. Cries were just as frequent as breaths—and, for some, they went hand and hand. Blood was matting on the walls

All at once, Edlendaer stopped, took a breath.

Something hardened in his eyes, something old and infinitely pained, and he pushed on.

A flash of blond hair turned a hallway, and Edlendaer quickened his pace.

"Hîr-Athaer!"

Teithaglar turned back to look at him, blue eyes just as agonized as his brother's.

"Len," the healer sighed out, catching him in a hug, "I am so overjoyed that you're alright." Elrond's eldest pulled back slightly, cupping his brother's wrapped hands in his own. "The burns will heal," he promised.

Edlendaer just blinked at him, confused. Teith smiled at him gently, warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges like a grandfather watching his descendants play.

"I had a moment of clarity," his always stoic brother said, brushing a lock of hair behind the ear of the green-eyed elf. "Do you want to speak to ataryo?"

Now Edlendaer knew something was wrong. Teithaglar never called someone father—not even their birth one. Sworn-father was the same story.

But his brother just still smiled that strange, wistful grin and pulled him into another unwilling hug.

"He's in room enebaen," he whispered into Edlendaer's ear. Pulling back, Elrond's firstborn looked his brother straight in the eyes and murmured, "Cilim meldhir," before rushing off.

Edlendaer blinked in confusion at his retreating form, feet moving without his knowledge. A moment of clarity, his brother had said. Clarity over what? And why? Why after all these years, all these years of needing his older brother to notice something was wrong, all these years of wanting his brother's arms to wrap around him and promise him he was safe, why now? Now when he was finally in a good place in his mind, even with everything breaking down around him?

Why now?

Edlendaer sighed, repining his hair behind his head. He was in front of room enebaen now, which was, thankfully, far away enough from the excess of wounded and homeless that you could not even hear their cries anymore. Perhaps that was selfish of him. But moaning elflings shivering on the floor was enough to give him a panic attack, and that was not happening in public.

He stood there a moment, debating. If his adar wasn't asleep he'd appreciate a knock. If he wasn't, it might wake him.

The lord sighed, resting his forehead on the door for a moment. Teithaglar had told him nothing, and there weren't many people he could ask. Eventually deciding on politeness, Edlendaer stood straighter, readjusting the pin on his cloak, and knocked. Four raps, four seconds in between.

Just like Naneth taught him

That thought brought a fleeting grin to his face, but it dropped off his lips when his adar called from the other side of the door.

"Maedol!"

Edlendaer drew another breath and pushed open the handle-less door.

His adar was sitting up slightly in bed, a blanket pulled to his shoulders. He was shirtless, burns twisting down his face and neck. But his eyes were still the same misty grey as always, smiling through pain.

Edlendaer snapped his heels together, gaze pointed forward, hands crossed behind his back. He was a Son of Elrond. He was a Lord of Imladris. He would not disappoint.

"My lord," he began formally, voice devoid of the accent he had purged from his speech years before, "it is my deepest regret to inform you that the Lord Elrohir Elrondion Ereinion of Fëanor was not found within close distance of the city of Imladris or his original route. The only thing to be found was the remains of his horse, Celegsûl Swift-Wing, discovered killed by a spear to the side, by the Lady Sáfëa. He was unburied by the side of the Bruinen." Edlendaer's voice broke on the last word, and he steadied it, hands clenching into fists behind his back. His eyes did not waver. "Myself and the Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower discovered a man of above-average height, with green eyes and dark skin and hair. When asked if he knew the location of the Lord Elrohir Elrondion Ereinion of Fëanor, he did not have a chance to answer before he fainted. The Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower believes he saw realization come across the man's face and takes this as a reason to mean that he might the location of the Lord Elrohir Elrondion Ereinion of Fëanor or," he forced himself to add, "his final resting place."

"Edlendaer…" his adar said quietly, making his breath stutter to a stop, "won't you look at me?"

The lord let a single tear trail down his cheek, and it took all of his self-will not to wipe it away.

"No, Lord Elrond of Imladris. I will not."

Without another room, Elrond's son stormed out of the room, sword on his hip, closing the door behind him without a creak.

And Elrond buried his head in his hands and wept.

How many more sons was he to lose?

Translation:

Hîr-Athaer: Lord-Healer (A title belonging to Master Healers, another translation of the term)

Enebaen: Sixty

Cilim meldhir: I love you/I choose to love you

Adar: Father

Naneth: Mother

Maedol: Welcome