Maglor

Maglor chewed on his nails as the nurse examined the two peredil. "I don't have as much experience with the Edain as Maedhros," he explained. "Is it very grave, do you think? I can send out for a healer among their own folk."

She stood up. "They've caught some stomach-sickness."

"Is that quite serious? You don't think I should start digging – " he mouthed the word " – graves? Maedhros will be terribly upset; he might try to fling me off a watchtower. He trusted me to take care of them, he said." He leaned over to pat Elrond on his sweaty head and tried to ignore the anxious thump in his chest.

"They should be back to normal in a few days. Bed rest; that's all they need. Keep their heads cool, and nothing too rich for them to eat; it'll just come back up again. Something simple. Porridge, perhaps."

Maglor grunted noncommittally. Elros opened his eyes and slowly blinked at Maglor. "Thank you," he told the nurse as she packed away her neat leather bag of tinctures and mysterious shiny metal instruments.

She nodded vaguely before stepping out into the hallway. "I'll be down in the infirmary if you should need me, my lord."

Maglor turned back to the boys. "A bit of rest; that doesn't sound too complicated, does it? Just sit tight and soon you two will be right as rain."

._.

Or rather, they were until Elrond threw up in the bed. The late afternoon sun arced in a golden bow through the leaded glass panes of the bedroom window. It was really quite beautiful, if you took a moment to notice it.

Elros scrambled out of bed in alarm, and then swayed at the sudden altitude. "The floor was right there, Elrond. Or the chamber pot. Anywhere but my sleeping shirt!"

Maglor scrambled to open the door and let some fresh air into the room. Elrond glared up at him with baleful eyes. "You're not doing it right," he accused.

Maglor tried to stare back at Elrond while simultaneously summoning a maid over from her post in the hallway. "Some fresh clothes for Elros please – Not doing what right? – And a bath. Thank you."

Elros scowled. "I don't want a bath. There hasn't been any time to heat the water, and we're in the middle of winter, so it'll be freezing. You'll probably have to break the ice just to get me in the tub."

"You'd rather smell of sick, would you?"

"In Sirion the waters are always warm. Not like here where you have to put on six layers just to feel your toes."

Elrond spoke loudly. "My mother always makes me some hot water with lemon when I'm sick, and you've forgotten that. And she reads me a story from my book of lost tales every night, and you haven't even done that once. My mother counts my toes every morning to make sure they haven't run away in the night, and you don't even know about that. You're doing it all wrong!"

Maglor hissed at Elros. "Well we're not in Sirion, so this is the best I can give you."

"I know!" Elros stamped his foot. "We're not in Sirion, and I wish you'd take us back! I know you're only letting us live here because you feel guilty, or until you find someone else that will take us on. I'm not stupid; you're going to get tired of taking care of us eventually, so you might as well get it over with quickly and send us away!"

Elrond wailed. A flurry of tears brimmed at his eyelids to cascade in twin trails down his cheeks. Further down, they met a third and fourth set of rivers below his nose, so that all together it was a piteous sight.

The maid reappeared with a neatly folded stack of clothes. The poor girl froze at the doorstep at the sight of an increasingly damp and miserable Elrond, Elros in the middle of the floor with a blotchy yellowish stain on his shirt, and Maglor, adrift, between them.

"Thank you, Marta. Just set it down on the floor here; that's sufficient. Water over the fire now? Yes, that's all."

Marta obeyed and promptly vanished.

Elrond wiped his nose with his hand. Maglor winced. "When's my father going to get here?"

Maglor frowned. "Come again?" He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief.

Elrond's lower lip trembled perilously. "My father's coming to get me. Elros said."

Maglor heard a gasp behind him. His head whipped around.

Elros looked even paler now than he had been this morning. He glared at Elrond. "You weren't supposed to tell Maglor, stupid. I told you."

"Have you been giving your brother false hopes?"

Elros didn't say anything.

"It's not a false hope," Elrond insisted loudly. "Father is looking for us right now, and Mother too."

Elros looked aggravated. "It's just Father, Elrond. Mother can't come for us."

Maglor frowned. "You've been telling Elrond this whole time that your father is looking for you even now and will fetch you?"

Perhaps it sounded different coming from Maglor's mouth, for Elros' ears now burned with shame. Maglor could see the wetness that gathered at the corner of Elros' eyes, which refused to meet him. He decided not to press the issue further.

Elrond, unfortunately, was not privy to Maglor's thoughts. "Father and Mother are going to find us soon, and they'll put everything right," he repeated.

Elros' eyes darted back and forth as if trapped. His arms lifted up to clutch his own sides, only a little pathetically. "Mother's not coming, Elrond."

"She will!"

"No she won't, because she's dead!" The words burst, panting, out of Elros' mouth.

Elrond grabbed the nearest item, in this case a wooden troll that Elrond had snuggled tightly in the sheets the night before, and lobbed it at his brother. It bounced off Elros' shoulder with a thunk. There was a shocked silence, and then Elrond burst into tears.

Elros ran out into the hall.

Maglor stood frozen for a moment. As if by magic, Marta reappeared at the doorway. "Apologies, my lord," she explained. "It seemed a bit crowded in here. I can take care of the little lord now." She swept over towards Elrond, a damp handkerchief displayed in her hand. "It's warm," she told the boy.

Elrond nodded gratefully and Marta knelt beside him.

Maglor followed after Elros.