"Maedhros spoke to Maglor his brother, and he said: 'Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?'

And Maglor answered: 'If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.'"

Maedhros

Maedhros drummed his fingers on his saddle as he waited, quite patiently in his opinion, on his horse for the portcullis at Amon Ereb to rise with its clattering of gears. Underneath, Braenor's boots slid into view.

Braenor's boots, and the rest of him, marched up to Maedhros as soon as he passed below the gate. "I saw it, too."

Maedhros jumped down from the saddle. "My study."

Once inside, Maedhros pushed the door shut with a loud thud. Braenor stood in the middle of the carpet.

"Maglor will have seen it as well."

Braenor nodded and pulled a scroll from his tunic. "The messenger arrived dead on her feet just before you arrived. She must have ridden all night. I sent her off to get some rest."

Maglor's sigil was stamped in red on the wax seal. Maedhros broke it with his finger and threw himself into a chair to read. With his right wrist, he stretched the roll of parchment across the desk. The only sound was Braenor's breathing slowing back to normal.

Maedhros sat back and snorted. "'Let us be glad'."

Braenor didn't say anything.

Maedhros tapped the paper loudly. "That Silmaril was on Elwing's neck, before she cast herself into the sea. Earendil wasn't home that day; from what I heard, he never is. Even with his boys in our custody, do you see him now? No. My father's Silmaril is with him and Elwing now, and the Valar have apparently lifted them into the sky to, to what? To mock at the sons of Feanor?" The chair moved back with a harsh screech as Maedhros stood up. "Maglor is too much of an optimist; he always has been. It's easier to see the goodness in everything when you have someone else to bear all the cynicism for you."

"What will you do, then?"

The soles of Maedhros' boots clipped across the stone tiles. "Rage against the heavens?"

"Ah, the usual routine."

That response arrived as a murmur on the edge of Maedhros' hearing as he made his way to the window. It was afternoon now, but in just a few hours evening would fall again and the Silmaril would set sail through the sky once more. He stared at the play of light on stone through the colored panes. "It's out of our control now anyway, forever. I suppose it's better to feel joy rather than anger. Maglor would have me think of it as everyone owning the Silmaril now, including me and him. 'Its glory is seen now by many', is how he put it." He pressed his forehead to the glass. The ever-present chilliness felt welcome for once against the burning in his head.

"My advice, if I may?"

Braenor was a blurry shape reflected in the glass. Maedhros waved his hand.

Braenor took a breath. "Take it as a sign of hope. This is another, far more reviled than you, who would bear the sight of that particular Silmaril as a taunt. A foe you and Elwing and Earendil, and the Valar, all have in common. Let him behold your father's jewel secure from his grasp, and let him despair."

The flurry of restlessness continued to flutter in Maedhros' chest, but he nodded and closed his eyes. "Such good sense, Braenor. One wonders how you managed to cling to it, stuck with me all these years." He opened them.

In the mirrored image, Maedhros saw Braenor relax his shoulders and smile. "Shall I pass it along to Lord Maglor?"

Maedhros froze. "No."

Braenor paused in the act of gathering together ink and paper. "Not yet, you mean?"

He spoke stiffly. "I should stay far away from Maglor, with both my presence and my words."

"It's been weeks, my lord – "

"And I'd rather it had been years." Maedhros gripped the window frame with his left hand.

Braenor chewed his lip. "I don't know what Maglor has done to anger you – "

"Maglor hasn't done anything. I have!" Maedhros slapped the stone. "I have led all those I love to their deaths." He turned around and ticked off the events with the fingers of his left hand. "The Havens of Sirion; Amrod and Amras. Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin in Doriath. The Union of Maedhros and the battle we marched to, never predicting the bloodbath that it became." He paused for a moment, breathing hard. "When Feanor burned the ships, did I do anything to stop him? No, I stood aside. At Alqualonde, I was in the vanguard."

He fell back against the wall. A wetness glimmered on his cheeks. He fought it down, and pressed his left fist into his thigh to hide the trembling in his fingers. "So many lives cut to pieces because of my father's oath. Were you there, watching somewhere in the crowd, when he swore it?"

A shadow passed over Braenor, and for a moment the years showed on his face. "I was," he whispered.

"Then in the silence that followed, you saw me leap up to follow him. And my brothers followed me."

Braenor closed his eyes. "Those were times of turmoil. We were fumbling in the dark; no one knew what we should do. It was as if there were no right answers."

"Feanor seemed to give us one. And then I agreed with him." Maedhros' head sagged. "Together we laid a doom upon so many. Maglor has endured enough suffering from my choices. I can't inflict any more." He leaned his hand on his knee. "Tell him I saw it, too. No more."

"You won't speak to him?"

Maedhros gestured at the sheet of fresh paper lying forgotten on the desk next to Braenor. "This is speaking enough."

Braenor picked up the ink pot.

Maedhros made his way to the door.

"Maedh—my lord."

Maedhros paused with his fingers on the handle.

Braenor stared off into the distance at the opposite wall. His expression seemed carefully still as he spoke. "I know you think your brother would be better off without you in his life. But Lord Maglor has lost so many of those dear to him. If you asked him, he would prefer not to lose one more." He turned the ink pot over and over slowly in his fingertips. "Trust my own experience on this matter."

Braenor didn't elaborate. He seemed lost in some memory, standing quietly next to the desk.

Outside, Maedhros heard laughter and shouted commands down below in the courtyard. The afternoon light cast a warm glow over the threadbare carpet.

Maedhros' voice was soft when he responded. "I won't keep myself from him forever, then. I will come back to Maglor, if that's what you think is best." The old heaviness, never far away these days, gathered in his chest. He spoke past the tightness in his throat. "But not yet."

Braenor didn't say anything as the door swung open and then shut again with a soft hush.