They reached the Hill of Himring in autumn, and there were hosted royally by Maedhros as if they were a part of the family. This did not entirely please Elros nor the people of Amras and Amrod, whose lords had been slain during the attack at the Mouths of Sirion. Now only two Sons of Fëanor were left, sick at heart with the oath that bound them still. They were ringed round by foes, and had no friends. The only light within the March of Maedhros during those dark days were the sons of Eärendil, captives to Maedhros' hospitality and his brother's kindness.

Needless to say, the twins would not stay long in the fastness of Himring itself. Maglor had been dwelling with his brother since the Dagor Bragollach, but now at the urging of Elros and his brother he removed with a part of his people to the ruins of his great hall in the undefended open lands east of Himring, there to make a last stand of defiance against the orcs that had overrun most of Beleriand. His new hall was of stone, not wood, and its walls were high, and for a while Maglor's Gap was swept clean once more of enemies. Morgoth was brooding away north and west in Angband, pondering a new light in the sky, and made no hostile moves towards them.

So the boys grew to manhood under Maglor's tutelage, riding out on errantry against fell beasts and orcs. Elros proved a great hunter, fearless even as a youth, and Maglor was torn between worry and pride. For Elrond he had fewer concerns, since he took fewer risks, and his talent was ever in words and counsel more than warcraft. Also in healing. Elros did not always emerge unscathed from their forays into the Gap, and everyone soon learned which of the pair had inherited the healing gifts of their forebears.

"You should not hunt at night," Maglor scolded them one time, when Elrond had brought his brother home with orc-arrows embedded in his side.

"We see better by the light of our father's star!" Elros said impenitently, closing his eyes to mask the pain while his brother silently cut the arrows free. Maglor, holding the young man's head and singing to soothe him while his brother worked, wondered for the hundredth time to which kindred belonged the red blood that spread out beneath him staining the coverlets.

"He will not die this side of the sea," Elrond remarked, his hands gentle and his movements unhurried as ever.

"There!" Elros said through gritted teeth. "What did I tell you? We will see our parents again, before we die."

But to that Elrond would not speak.

The sun and moon shone as before, now joined by a bright star in the evening and morning sky. The people of the Sons of Fëanor licked their wounds at Himring, and far away south and west the people of Eärendil rebuilt their ships and their havens and gazed westward in gladness and longing. They had a sign. But of what? The final years of the Age were passing swiftly. All Beleriand was holding its breath. They no longer had the power to defy Morgoth. The next move and the next victory would be his, unless Eärendil's embassy succeeded where all others had failed.