Maglor

Maglor called out as Maedhros walked up. "What have you come to tell me today? Something that could have been sent in a letter?"

He waited for Maedhros to shoot back with some quick, familiar rejoinder. Instead Maedhros looked apologetic. "Perhaps I should have let you know in advance."

Maglor stared.

Maedhros stood at the bottom of the steps as a stableboy came up to lead his horse away. "You look well," he tried.

He's waiting to be invited in. Maedhros, or at least the Maedhros that Maglor knew, would have been on the doorstep already, nudging Maglor with his elbow as he shed his cloak. But that was before Sirion perhaps, and now both brothers stood outside in the winter chill.

"Come inside," said Maglor at last, and tried not to notice the flicker of relief that passed over his brother's face.

._.

Inside the study – My study; Maedhros' is across the hall, for all that it's been collecting dust for months – Maglor threw his cloak back down on the couch instead of on the hook where it belonged, just like he always did. His head whipped to and fro, taking in the crumpled-up wads of paper and stray breadcrumbs littering the carpet. He moved to set more fuel on the fire.

Maedhros was watching him. "I've been at Amon Ereb for the last few months; you needn't worry about creature comforts."

Maglor nearly dropped the log in his hands. "This whole time? I thought you were on the road."

Maedhros frowned. "Of course, ever since we returned from Sirion. I only made a few short trips. I didn't want to leave the Lonely Hill unmanned too long; you know this."

"Right, right." Maglor's knuckles clenched on the length of wood. He noticed Maedhros' gaze. Maglor cleared his throat and dropped the stick into the flames.

Seconds ticked past as the fire crackled in the hearth. Maglor watched pale sun-bleached oak darken into charcoal. Out of the mass of words swarming in his head, he tried to pick out enough disparate ones to form a sentence. Maedhros wasn't exactly contributing. "The boys are doing well," he ventured. "Rather touch and go for a while there, but they've settled in nicely. You should meet them."

"Earendil's sons?"

"Erm, yes."

"I saw the oldest on my way in. He looked healthy enough; I knew I was right to entrust you with them."

"Yes, he's quite, um, well. Spirited lad; won't let his common sense get in the way of starting a fight." He forced a laugh. "Elrond is more sensitive in contrast. He needs a gentler touch. Reminds you of someone we know, eh?" Maglor waggled his eyebrows with false joviality.

Maedhros prodded at the logs with the poker. The flames, which had admittedly been floundering before, roared up again with more life. He frowned at Maglor, not unkindly. "He's not Amrod, Maglor. And Elros isn't Amras."

"Yes, of course," said Maglor quickly. Too quickly. "That wasn't what I meant at all."

It's always like this, Maglor thought. Me going about my business, thinking I'm doing well for myself. And then Maedhros comes along to tell me all the things I've done wrong.

He considered saying that sentence out loud. That seemed unwise. So, too, were the other ones rising up in his throat. You were gone for so long, and evidently you won't even tell me why. I needed my older brother; I told you how alone I felt. I had already lost two brothers in Sirion. You made me feel like I'd lost three. The words rang out in his head like shouts. Maglor's fingers tapped frantically on the mantelpiece. He stared at the ceiling.

After a breath, Maglor looked down again and smiled. "It's good that you're back at long last."

Maedhros ran his hand through his hair. "Yes, well. This seemed like something to show you in person."

Maglor's hand froze on the mantelpiece. "What did?"

Maedhros reached inside his shirt and pulled out a crumpled roll of parchment. "Celebrimbor wrote, after all this time. Here. You should read for yourself."

Maglor didn't take it. "I thought he wasn't speaking to us anymore. Not if the heavens themselves descended on Middle Earth, I believe he said; you know how emotional Curufin's son gets at times."

Maedhros' hand remained stretched out towards Maglor, who stared at the paper as if it would burn him if touched. "I can tell you, categorically, that sentence was a lie."