A/N Possibly I am obsessed with the hair thing. Title taken from the Matmos album, 'A Chance to Cut is a Chance to Cure', entirely out of context and such.

A Chance to Cut

When Maedhros entered their room, they were both still there: that was the first thing that occurred to him, both alive, to his relief. He did not stop to think exactly what he had imagined the stupid boy would do with scissors, or how he had wheedled a pair out of Maglor.

Only then did he notice that Elrond's face was closed in, even more so than usual, and there was a guilty flicker in his steady gaze. Elros stood to his side, in the shadows.

Elros, on whose head was now a brutal mess of black, at whose feet lay dark patches of the hair he had, inexpertly, and, it seemed, in great rage, shorn off. The scissors he held limply in his fingers. No guilt on his face, only defiance.

Defiance. Should he laugh or should he cry? Maedhros wanted to sit down, suddenly. Mastering himself, he smiled, and nodded at Elros. 'Do you know what you look like?'

Elros blinked, very slowly.

'You look like a child of Men,' said Maedhros. And remembered that Elros must have only a very vague idea – if he had any at all – of what they were, much less what they looked like.

'A child of Men?' Elros had a habit of repeating things, but Maedhros knew better than to think this was because of childhood trauma or some inherent lack of wit on the boy's part. He could see the thoughts turning behind his dark wide eyes. 'Tell me about them.'

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