"And the inner fire of the Silmarils Feanor made of the blended light of the Trees of Valinor, which lives in them yet, though the Trees have long withered and shine no more. Therefore even in the darkness of the deepest treasury the Silmarils of their own radiance shone like the stars of Varda; and yet, as were they indeed living things, they rejoiced in light and received it and gave it back in hues more marvellous than before."

Maedhros

The ride back to Sirion was filled with the kind of awkwardness that can only be achieved between two siblings that have just had an argument and can sense another brewing on the horizon. The air between him and Maglor was so thick Maedhros felt he'd be able to cut it with a knife. Judging by the way Maglor kept clearing his throat as if to speak before inexplicably falling silent, he evidently felt the same.

Eventually, Maglor's words managed to make their way past his lips. Maglor glanced sideways at his brother. "What was Elwing like?"

Maedhros turned his head to make sure their men were far enough behind them. He turned back. "Young." He furrowed his brow in thought. "Rash."

Maglor rolled his eyes. "You sound like Tamblin."

Maedhros sat quietly. Elwing must have been younger than thirty when the Kinslaying at Doriath had happened. Her brothers had been even younger than that. In the campaign there Maedhros had glimpsed Elured and Elurin only briefly, as they were handed over to Celegorm.

._.

"Let me take custody of them," Celegorm had argued, eternally self-assured. "They can be wards of my house. And a bargaining chip, if it comes to that."

Maedhros shot him a withering look. Behind Celegorm, the young boys cowered behind a nursemaid's skirts. Sitting in his saddle now on the coast, Maedhros remembered their strange half-elven features: the broad set of their brows, faces unusually flushed and older-looking than their mere ten years would have suggested.

The cave, one of the hundreds that honeycombed Thingol's city, shook below their feet. With his left hand, Maedhros had pointed a firm finger at Celegorm as he rushed out the door. "We'll come back to this later," he warned. And that had been the last time he and Celegorm spoke. Then there had been the darkness falling over the forest every night, as he searched in vain for Dior's two sons.

And Elwing's brothers.

._.

"Did you see it?"

"What?" The road of Maedhros' thoughts hit a pothole.

Maglor nervously slid his thumb back and forth over the leather of his horse's reins. "With Elwing. Was it just like we remember?"

The Silmaril. Maedhros shifted uncomfortably. It had been a while since he had eaten, and now a hunger burned in the pit of his stomach. He looked to his right and saw the same expression reflected back at him in Maglor's face.

"Yes," he echoed. "Just like we remember."