Maglor

"Children listen," the nursemaid had advised after Maglor shut the bedroom door that first night back at Losselire. "And they don't forget. Be careful with your words, my lord."

That was nonsense, in Maglor's opinion. Children forgot all the time, such as when Elros conveniently forgot to wash under his arms in the bath even though Maglor had reminded him eight times by now. Likewise, Elrond developed a temporary selective hearing every night that the kitchen maids served up roasted turnips for dinner and Maglor needed to order Elrond to finish his plate.

But Elros' mind had managed to take that brief conversation on the outskirts of Sirion that night and preserve it perfectly, as if encased in amber.

He stared at Elros. "I didn't, did I? I thought Maedhros and I could find some former nurse of yours, or a family friend; someone from your home who knew you and would be a better caretaker than I. Perhaps even Gil-Galad, if there was any emissary of his that would listen to us after Sirion. Anyone would have been a better choice than me."

He closed his eyes against the pang in his stomach. "And perhaps there was someone more suitable, left behind in the chaos of departing. Being a guardian is so much harder than even I anticipated. The duties of an elder brother are familiar to me; I thought this would be essentially the same. No one warned me about sleepless nights tending to you two, or of the constant tug of fear in my chest. At all times there is a strange ache, as if my heart has chosen to leave my body and wander on its own. I never wanted this."

Maglor blinked and looked sideways along the bench. "But perhaps I need this, all the same."

Elros' arms wrapped around his knees, as they often did. He whispered, "Until my father comes."

Oh yes, that.

The mind needs certain thoughts like boats need anchors, Maglor reflected, something solid to cling to as the rest of you drifts helplessly at the end of a very long tether. For him, it was the image of his brothers – Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin. Amrod. Amras. – safely ensconced in the Halls of Mandos; not gone forever but simply away for a time, resting. Waiting for Maglor to greet them again. For Elros, evidently, it was Earendil. His home razed to the ground, his mother dead and vanished to the churning of the waves, abandoned among strangers in a strange land. But his father was on his way, surely, and would make things right. Earendil was coming, so as Elros tumbled in the current and the waters swirled irresistibly overhead there was that thought, some point off in the distance at the end of a long, thin line of silver.

My father is searching for me, Maglor imagined Elros repeating to himself in the dead of night. He will come. Earendil's son's words a hushed prayer in the darkness, and, out of sight, the Silmaril sailing unperturbed through the heavens.

Elros stared at the floor below as if to avoid looking at the carefully blank expression plastered on Maglor's face. "He will, you know. Elrond doesn't understand; he thinks Mother is still alive even though Lord Maedhros saw her go over that cliff. But my father wasn't there that day."

The response You're right, he wasn't prodded at the inside of Maglor's teeth. You're young and haven't yet learned. Your father is the center of your world, and in your innocence you assume you must also be the center of his. An image of three shimmering gems and the stark figure standing next to them flashed across Maglor's memory. The epiphany, when it comes, will be painful. Maglor bit the words back. He settled for "Your father loves you."

Elros didn't say anything. Perhaps in some deep part of his heart, he already knows.

Maglor took a breath. "Perhaps he may come. Until that day arrives, would you stay with me? As a kindness on your part."

Elros swallowed. "What if you change your mind about wanting us?"

Maglor smiled past the ache in his chest. "You were right about Losselire; it's too large. The silent empty rooms, wide stairs. More bedrooms than we have any need of, anymore. I on my own am not enough to fill it."

"Maedhros?"

"Maedhros is … he's on a journey of his own. I don't know when he'll come home. So it's quite nice, actually, having the two of you here. I fear this castle would get terribly lonely with just me wandering these hallways."

Elros frowned. "The castle would?"

Maglor lifted Elros' chin up gently with his fingertips to face him, and saw the worry glimmering in Elros' eyes. "And I, too. Listen to me now, Elros. You will always be wanted here." And with that, Maglor managed a smile.

Elros let out a little gasp before pressing his lips shut. He clutched one arm with the other and jerked his head away as trying to hide his expression from Maglor. Maglor watched the rise and fall of his back, which started out slow, speed up in time with the stuttering breaths Maglor could now hear.

After a minute, Maglor ventured reaching his arm out for a sideways hug.

Elros' shoulders, so small in this light, trembled under Maglor's hand. With a sudden movement, he turned and clasped his arms tightly around Maglor.

Elros' sobs were muffled in the fabric of Maglor's shirt. Maglor's heart beat wildly in his chest. He patted awkwardly at the tangle of black hair below which hid Elros' face. "There, there," he tried, and watched the shadows of tree branches dance gently on the far wall.

Amrod is gone, and Amras, and Celegorm and Caranthir and Curufin. Even Maedhros doesn't need me anymore. Maglor's throat burned.

Elros still wailed in his arms. Maglor squeezed tighter. "It doesn't matter how many times you lose your temper at me," Maglor murmured. "You're not going anywhere."