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The council room in Amon Ereb was the second grandest room Elrond and Elros had ever seen, and the first was Amon Ereb's hall downstairs. That was big enough to fit the whole of Maedhros's honor guard, and the fort's officials and residents, and all of the commanders, and the village heads with their families from the land surrounding the fort, and still have room for guests and whichever soldiers had done best in drills that week. The roof beams were carved with animals and plants of Beleriand, and the huge flagstoned floor was entirely covered with carpets, as tapestries concealed the walls – some faded and repaired numerous times, true, but the gold and silver thread still glittered.

Once, the twins had expressed this opinion through Elros. Maedhros had raised his eyebrows in a particular way that meant you had just given him a headache, and Maglor had muttered something foul and had to leave the room to calm down, from which the twins understood they should not pay any further compliments to Amon Ereb's architecture; but it remained true.

Grand or not, everyone went in and out of the hall during the day, and moved outside tasks there when it was raining, and dinner was served to the fort's regular residents and those of their people who lived just outside every night, so any actual sense of grandeur had worn off long ago. The council room was something else; Elrond and Elros had only been admitted to sit in council with Maedhros's officers the preceding autumn, a year after they had, it was generally agreed, come of age, once they had some experience on the basis of which to learn command. They weren't used to it, yet; and the council room might be small, but that meant there was no crowd to get lost in; and the tapestries here were not so worn with age or darkened with year on year of smoke from the hearth. Directly behind Maedhros's usual seat hung still the banner of Fëanor, recovered from the field when, according to legend, he fell just after the Noldor arrived in Beleriand, made in the Blessed Lands through some secret of craft that had sewn genuine iridescence into the star's components. And that was just one of the tapestries.

You've drifted off staring at the tapestries behind Father again, said Elros.

Elrond started, and hoped it wasn't too obvious. He had been up with the healers after a midnight alarm, again, and he could have excused himself on that basis, but just like Elros, he wanted to know what was happening.

"—way around it," Léraquen was saying passionately, as was Léraquen's way of saying most things; Léraquen, Celegorm's closest friend and captain, and now the second of the two remaining Fëanorian heavy cavalry captains, after Maglor himself. "We need to know what the Hosts of Aman are doing, when they're doing it, not weeks or months later when it comes to bite us in the collective ass."

Oh. This again. The Hosts of Aman had come to Beleriand a few years back, in connection with events Elrond didn't enjoy dwelling on, and started smashing up Morgoth's forces, which everyone in Amon Ereb approved of – except that they didn't seem to be setting up new elf kingdoms, or a new defensive line, so instead the remnants of those forces fled to wherever Aman's war camp wasn't.

This time, that had meant hundreds of orcs, the survivor of what had been an army of thousands, fleeing directly into the outer perimeter of Amon Ereb's regular patrols and obliterating a patrol of light cavalry they couldn't afford to lose, followed by a frantic muster of the heavy cavalry to get there in time to head the orcs off before they blundered all the way into the populated farmland. It hadn't been a disaster this time – except for the families of the lost patrol squadron and a handful of other casualties – but next time might be different.

Maedhros listened politely as Léraquen's impassioned argument – rant, really – finished, and Elrond watched him turn his gaze around the circle of officers, gauging their reactions. Then he sat back in his carved wooden chair and said, "Léraquen is right about the necessity. Yet we still have no reasonable plan for doing so."

"Lord Maglor's Song—" said Morisil, who commanded Maedhros's honor guard when he could not, tentatively.

"My brother has been pushing his abilities to see what can be shown to him of the war, and will continue," said Maedhros. "Yet we all know it has not been enough, for Morgoth's power obscures all, and Maglor has never been precisely gifted with Sight. We might perhaps convene those of our people who are, but we all know that their number is few and their strength is not great."

Elves with great gifts of Sight hadn't tended to stay with the Fëanorian hosts.

Elrond shifted uncomfortably at that thought, for he was an elf – sort of – with foresight, and he was strong; but he was also young, and none of his visions had ever been militarily useful. More incomprehensible.

"If we send a spy," said Maedhros, "We have no guarantee that they should not be turned away as a probable thrall, and in any case they should not be able to report back on the accidents of war in time to be of use. The Hosts of Aman certainly are not conspiring to send fleeing orcs towards us, such that we could receive forewarning. To the extent of our knowledge, the Hosts of Aman do not think of us at all."

That awkward – true, Elrond thought bitterly – statement echoed strangely from the power in the stones and beams of the council room, and everyone sat in a difficult silence for long moments before Nimveril, widow of Maglor's eldest, said, "It would be a difficult thing to ask, but we might send one of a wedded couple and have the other give their reports."

"And who here has the reach?" said Hirluin, captain of the light cavalry, also bitter. "And should these kin of Morgoth insist on questioning any new refugee, who could withstand them?" Hirluin was a green-elf, and did not trust the Valar.

Elrond was reserving his opinion until he met some of them – or trying.

Maedhros was saying something about the arts of ósanwe, but Elrond wasn't listening, because Elros was speaking to him again:

We have the reach, he said.

Elros, said Elrond, shocked and hoping it didn't show on his face.

It's true, though. Remember when my patrol was separated from the host and we stayed in contact? Or – years back, when that group of traitors got into the hall by pretending they wanted refuge, and kidnapped you? They made it all the way to Amon Rûdh before Dad's people caught them, and they could only do it because we were talking the whole time.

The second was a much more compelling answer from a very unpleasant memory. But it was true; the twins' ósanwe had reached over a hundred leagues with no sign of strain. They could bridge the distance between Amon Ereb and the Hosts of Aman, at least most of the time.

The councillors were debating the utility of embarking on such a plan, with the understanding that the spouse who remained would have to occasionally ride close enough to come into mental contact, and whether it was worth it for a necessarily sporadic series of reports. In the meantime, the twins embarked on a furious mental negotiation.

"Father," said Elros at last, rising as though he was a child or a subordinate reporting. Sit down, Elrond told him.

Too late now, Elros said. Maedhros had turned to him with relief, as this had cut off an increasingly less impassioned than furious tirade from Léraquen. "Father," said Elros again, when the disputants had also turned. "Elrond and I have spoken across a hundred leagues, and with no strain. We have the reach."

Elrond had never wasted time wondering what Maedhros looked like in the grips of agony; he'd seen it, or thought he had, too often. But he had never seen Maedhros make this particular face, where his pale skin paled further as if chalk, and the light in his eyes went dark, and his lips parted, faintly, but no words emerged.

Maglor was faster. "Absolutely not," he said, and power – unformed, unintentional – crackled across the room like lightning.

Elrond rose, too, so that Elros wasn't so alone on his feet. "We can do it," he said, concentrating on giving nothing but steady conviction to his words, and realizing only as they came out how very like Maedhros he sounded. "And you know there's no one else you can send, Dad," he said, directly to Maglor.

"A moment, please," said Maedhros, who sounded but did not look recovered, and gestured to Elrond, Elros, and Maglor. Feeling rather like a child who had disrupted a meeting, Elrond trailed them both out of the council chamber, down the flight of steps to the corridor below, and into Maedhros's office. "Maglor, give me a minute with them," he said to his brother, and shut the door before him. Then Maedhros gestured to the twins to sit before taking his place behind the broad desk; not a throne for this Head of the House of Fëanor, but always the records and letters. (Secretly, Elrond admired this about Maedhros immensely.)

Maedhros studied first Elros' face, then Elrond's, with some intensity Elrond didn't understand. The reflected light of the Trees was visible in his eyes again, but his lips were still nearly white. "If you proposed this plan in order to get permission to leave—"

"What?" exclaimed one twin, while the other erupted with "No!" So close – in space, in reaction – they did not actually know which word had come from which body.

"You're adults now, and the south is safer than it was; I could send you with volunteers from the honor guard if you wanted to go." Maedhros looked either ill or desperate. "It was never our intention to hold you prisoner—"

Elrond wasn't sure how much of a lie that statement contained; he couldn't remember those early days well, fallible-memoried peredhel that he was. He didn't want to know if it was true, and anyway, it didn't matter. Whatever Maedhros and Maglor had been thinking at first, they had always treated Elrond and Elros as their sons, which was what the twins were.

"Father," said Elrond, and went over to the desk to seize Maedhros's hand. He was temporarily bereft of words, so instead he pulled his father's hand up and kissed the back, the way he had when he accepted a place in Maedhros's honor guard and swore fealty to him alongside their adopted kinship. That had been the wrong gesture; Maedhros made a wounded sound. "Father, we don't want to leave, we would far rather both stay, but Léraquen's right. We need someone to tell us what Aman is doing, and Elros and I are the only ones who could do it relatively safely."

"We were arguing about whether we could bear being apart," said Elros, behind Elrond. "And if we could stand separation from you. We decided we could do it for something so important before we spoke."

Maedhros looked once more in Elrond's face, and turned his head to look at Elros, and released Elrond's hand. "Sit back down," he said, so Elrond did. "You understand that we will not be able to retrieve whoever goes if it turns out to be unbearable, or if the Hosts of Aman conclude you are a spy, and that I do not, in truth, know how Eönwë would respond to such a revelation. I do not think they would hurt you, or kill you – especially not the two of you – but I cannot truly promise it. Should they cast you out of the camp instead, that would likely result in the same end at Morgoth's hands. Possibly followed by eternal slavery to him, if he catches your soul and the war is lost."

"We understand," said Elrond.

"That's the risk we run every time we ride out with the hosts," Elros added.

Maedhros nodded. "You further understand," he said, "That if this plan is to have any chance of working, whoever goes must claim to have been held as a hostage – must give insult to me and to Maglor and to the hosts in general – and, probably, proclaim their endless gratitude to whoever is with Aman for salvation from us. Regardless of how they actually treat you. Further, we will have to suggest we are returning one twin in order to hold the other in case of further need to bargain, which will certainly confirm that we have mistreated you both to anyone with any sense whatsoever, and you must not do anything to bring this story into question."

Elrond and Elros exchanged glances; they had each begun to think so far ahead but had not really envisioned it. "We understand," said Elros, this time, and Elrond nodded.

"One additional question," said Maedhros, raising his eyebrows pointedly this time. "Which of you is going?"

There was a pause.

They need me here more, I'm a healer-- said Elrond.

There are far more Men here than with Aman-- said Elros, who took after that side of their heritage far more, for all the twins were identical in looks.

Further mental negotiations were unproductive. Maedhros watched them in silent speech for some time, and then sighed and opened a desk drawer, diverting the twins by dropping two marked wooden tokens into an empty cup. "Draw," he said.

The tokens were for tax payments. One was marked with the symbol for wheat, the other for hay. "Which...?" said Elrond.

"I'll tell you after, as you can probably See which token you're pulling," said Maedhros, specifically to Elrond.

The twins decided not to dispute this point. If Maedhros had simply commanded one of them to go, they would have obeyed, anyway. Instead, they drew: Elros opened his hand to the wheat token, and Elrond to the straw.

Maedhros gave one decisive nod. "Elros goes," he said, and the twins felt the pronouncement as one and as a blow. "Against my better judgment," he added, rising.

We won the argument? said Elros, startled.

"You will have to convince my brother yourselves," Maedhros continued, striding past them to open the door.

Maybe not, said Elrond.

A third of Maedhros's honor guard, Maglor, Léraquen, and Elros rode out from Amon Ereb and took nearly three weeks to find and reach the Hosts of Aman. (In Amon Ereb, Elrond watched, and reported, and did not ride out on patrol nor take on any task that might be dangerous, suddenly interrupted. Each night each twin confirmed they still heard the other, and the plan was still good.) It was not that the Hosts were especially subtle, as an army ten thousand strong; but the Fëanorian party left their little patch of settlement on the third day, and after that all was wilderness and hostility. That handful of elves left in the interior of Beleriand hid from all others in small and wandering groups, and the few Men lived in miserable and heavily fortified villages, and did not open the gates to strangers – except, most probably, Morgoth's tax and tithe collectors. Each night, the Fëanorians made their camp and fortified it as best they could in a hurry, and Maglor Sang to find Aman's army, and again in the morning, to compare his results.

They found Aman's army near what had once been Nargothrond, though not so near as to see the ruins. Elros was riding next to Maglor, between him and Léraquen, but when they spotted the banners on the horizon, Maglor called a halt. Elros squinted at the horizon: it was difficult to see the heraldry from so far away, but the field was blue.

"Raise the banner, Eleviel," Maglor said, and so was hoisted Maglor's personal banner, the Fëanorian star on a field of green, flanked by a harp on each side. Had the honor guard rode out with Maedhros, the field would be gold, with a blue Ñolofinwëan starburst – sign of the dead High King Fingon, of whom Maedhros could not bear to speak – in each corner.

Maglor turned to Elros. "You'd better put your visor down," he said, which was too sensible to dispute. "Stay near, but not immediately next to me, and don't speak until I call you. Eleviel, Léraquen, with me. Uialon, ride next to Elros. If we have to address you by name, you had better be Cristwe," he added to Elros, who nodded: this was the Sindarin version of his father-name, given by Maglor. He dropped back in the order of march obediently, sitting up straight and lowering his heels to hold his horse back when Maglor started.

The horse was not a true steed of Valinor, but she was some distant relation to that line, a strawberry roan, biddable and perfectly steady even in the chaotic environment of an unexpected battle, and Elros had used her as his main riding mount ever since Maedhros and Maglor began the twins' training in combat. He had named her Lalaith. It struck him powerfully that the horse was going back with the Fëanorian camp, and he might never see her again, any more than Maglor or Maedhros or Eleviel or Léraquen or Elrond--

(Elrond said, I'm here with you, we shall not part, and clutched Maedhros's hand, seated in the private office. Aloud, he said, "They're riding up to the camp. Eleviel's hoisted Dad's banner. Elros is dropping back in the order of march, and he's closed his helm."

"Good," said Maedhros softly, eyes distant. He could not reach Maglor across the leagues the way Elrond could Elros, but Elrond knew he was picturing it.)

Never shall we part, said Elros to Elrond, and squeezed Lalaith's sides to take his place in the line of cavalry.

The Hosts of Valinor hadn't built a palisade around their fort. Elros frowned, feeling this incredibly sloppy: any large party of Fëanorians riding out of the settled area would build a palisade at night, and this was clearly a long-term camp, between what was present and the damage from grazing and forage. Livestock were staked out apparently unguarded. A magnificent horse, a seal brown with a white blaze and a beautifully crested neck, turned her head to watch them pass.

"The horses will sound the alarm," said Léraquen, riding just ahead of them. "Many of the great powers and their adherents speak the languages of the animals, like – like my lord did, before his death. They know we're coming, now."

Léraquen sounded resigned. She had insisted on coming, and Maedhros and Maglor had agreed, in part so there should be somebody with authority to carry out the plan if Maglor fell on the journey, but she wasn't normally a part of the honor guard and she wasn't of royal blood. In fact nobody knew who she had been in Aman at all, though her eyes were bright with the light of the Trees. She had taken the name Léraquen in Beleriand, she said, when her husband died, for she had wedded not of her free will; and she did not wish to know her family, and they would not wish to know her, now. Perhaps she was resigned in case of meeting somebody she knew with the Hosts. But she had insisted on coming.

("Do you know who Léraquen's people are?" Elrond asked Maedhros.

He shook his head, but he said, "Her business is her own, and if I knew, I would not tell you. But if she discussed her past with Celegorm – and I know not if she did – she would not with me.")

Another of the magnificent steeds of Valinor galloped past them, toward the trench that must mark the line of the camp, and at least they weren't so sloppy that there wasn't a trench. That had been harder to see from far away. Still nobody seemed to mark them but the horses, and Elros felt an itch between his shoulder blades, like the feeling of an arrow trained on his back. They kept riding, deliberate and making no attempt at concealment, Eleviel holding the banner still high. For all Elros could see from the back of his helmeted head, Maglor seemed calm enough.

The blue banner had an eagle on it. Elros didn't know why he had expected anything else.

At last, far too close for his nerves, trumpets rang out, and a guard hailed them from a platform in one of the old, uncut trees near to the settlement. Elros had no idea what the salutation meant, but he saw shoulders coming down all around him, and not some small number of sighs of relief. So it must be friendly. Or, at least, potentially friendly.

(Elrond let out his own sigh of relief. "They've just been hailed," he said to Maedhros. "I don't know the salutation, but everyone looks relieved." He sang an imitation.

Maedhros's face did not change from its cool mask. "Friendly," he confirmed. "Greeting allies. Gil-galad must not be in command there."

Gil-galad was another of those subjects Maedhros and Maglor wouldn't speak of, unless they were drunk as they rarely were. When they did, they said nothing helpful about him. Occasionally there were letters, carried by individual and very brave scouts from either side. Elrond had once seen such a letter, either by Gil-galad's hand or dictation. It had said, Shall then the wolf who slaughtered Sirion name me a vulture for arriving to its corpse, too late to spare its Doom? and at that point Elrond had stopped reading.)

Maglor had ordered a halt and was speaking to the guard, although he had ridden ahead to do it and Elros was too far to hear the words. The guard was a perfectly ordinary looking elf, somewhat to Elros's disappointment, dressed in mail under a tabard, and a helm that obscured much of anything interesting. It might be a bit shinier than usual, but that could just be its newness. The Fëanorian hosts might still have working agriculture – they had to, to keep the hosts together – and they could repair metalwork, but there hadn't been any new mining or refinement since before Elros and Elrond were born. All of the armor and arms were repaired, two or three or ten times, and everything previously made of metal that could plausibly be replaced by wood or cord or bone, or anything else they could actually get more of, had been.

That was going to be part of the excuse.

It looked like they were about to start riding again – Maglor had probably been asking for directions – when there came another flurry of trumpets from further away. Everyone looked back at the camp, and – Elros blinked – saw a tall elf, in magnificent robes of purple and gold. He was wearing a crown, too, but it took Elros a moment to spot it, since it matched precisely the golden and gleaming braids of his hair. The elf was running in their direction with his robes hoisted up. Following him, or rather struggling to keep up with him, were what looked like several ceremonial guard members, and the additional trumpeters.

"Huh," said Léraquen in front of him, and Maglor was close enough again that Elros could hear him say, astonished, "Uncle Arafinwë?"

"This should be interesting," Eleviel muttered, shifting the banner's pole against her shoulder. Eleviel was usually Maedhros's herald, not Maglor's, and Noldor; though Elros remembered not how, she had been associated with Maedhros somehow in Aman, and Eleviel was her Sindarized name.

("How do you know Eleviel?" asked Elrond, distracted. "I mean, originally."

Maedhros blinked, twice. "We studied together, and were friends for – most all the years in Aman, though she never would take any government position until we came to Beleriand. Why?"

"Your uncle Arafinwë's come to greet them, and she said it would be interesting," said Elrond.

"Arafinwë's what?" said Maedhros, so Elrond send Elros's image of the running king to his mind.)

Arafinwë, who must be the King here, came to a wooden bridge across the ditch and trotted across it at a more sedate pace, dropping his skirts. They had been riding up to the camp at a walk still all this time, so that when he stopped on the other side they were in shouting range, and rapidly closing. "Prince Kanafinwë!" he called, and the twins were united a moment by thinking Who? just as Maglor flinched, a full body movement Elros saw easily from behind despite his armor.

(Father name? Elrond suggested. Maglor comes from Makalaurë, and I think he said it was his mother name, once. It would match Maedhros's father name.

Maedhros didn't use his father name, either, but a significant portion of the host would use it for him anyway, especially when he wasn't there, or they were drinking, or both. Nelyafinwë meant Third Finwë. To the Fëanorian Noldor and those others who had picked up the habit from them, it meant Maedhros should be High King, or at least that he was the only king they would ever fully recognize. It must be, Elros agreed.)

Eleviel cleared her throat. "Hail to High King Arafinwë Finwion, and hail to the Hosts of Valinor!" she called. "Lord Maglor of the House of Fëanor salutes you, and brings greetings from Lord Maedhros! We come seeking parley!"

"Yes, yes – parley?" said Arafinwë, evidently taken aback, before he waved it away, coming finally into range to speak normally. Maglor closed the last few feet, turning his horse to address King Arafinwë directly, which brought his face into Elros's line of sight. "Prince Kanafinwë, where is your brother? This isn't—" He stopped, turning from side to side as he looked over the party: twenty-seven, counting Elros and Léraquen and Maglor, and everybody (Elrond included) finished the sentence in their minds together: all that's left?

(In Amon Ereb, Maedhros had acceded to Elrond's invitation to watch through his mind. He said as to himself, "He must have news of Sirion, or he would say brothers."

At the name, both twins flinched, and most unusually, Maedhros took no heed.)

"My brother Lord Maedhros sits in command with the remainder of our forces," said Maglor evenly. "This – expedition – is only a party sent to negotiate, although my heart sings to be greeted so warmly, Uncle."

"Negotiate?" said King Arafinwë, golden eyebrows flying up. "Do you wish to discuss terms of entry to the host?"

(Elros and Elrond together felt some small flare of hope despite their careful preparations for the plans. Deeply in their twined minds, Maedhros felt it and sighed. Could they still – if they would all be welcomed – was it possible? wondered the twins.

Of course not, thought Maedhros; and his years were long, and he almost kept the thought concealed.)

"Not exactly," said Maglor.

A second figure was striding up from the fort. If King Arafinwë had been impressively golden, this one was the superlative: golden in his hair, in his skin, in the uncanny gleam of his eyes and somehow in his presence itself. Even his mail was a bit golden in sheen, although it couldn't really be, for gold mail would be useless. There was something familiar about him, though Elros's mind rebelled in the attempt to identify it, as though he had watched this figure come down the worn steps and hollowed halls of Amon Ereb every day; as though he was known, dear, beloved; as though he was Elrond, and Elrond was thinking the same, but in reverse so that the figure reminded him of Elros, and their minds were utterly tangled when this figure stopped and said, cool and flat, "Greetings to the Lords of the House of Fëanor."

King Arafinwë looked weary. Maglor looked resigned. "Lord Eönwë," said Maglor, and bowed in the saddle.

(Oh, said Elrond, fascinated and repulsed at once. It's because he's a maia, and we've never met another one.)

Eönwë's gaze rolled over the party of riders like thunder rolling over hills. "Come you to surrender?" he said.

"Surely we are united in the fight against Morgoth," said King Arafinwë.

"On the contrary, Lord Eönwë," said Maglor, ignoring King Arafinwë completely. "We have come to bargain. Shall you let us into the camp?"

"Better to entreat if mercy you desire," said Eönwë. "For the House of Fëanor possesses nothing we should want, and mercy would be more likely granted, should you plead."

Maglor's shoulders straightened. Elros and Elrond had seen their fathers fight, of course, and they had seen Maedhros receive the leaders of Men, dwarves, and very occasionally elves, formal and when necessary even terrifying in his lordliness. On such evenings Maglor was his brother's support and did not speak for any group. Now, they saw through Elros as Power shone in his face, and some resolution more terrifying than any bloodlust of orcs, and a subtle blanket of menace over it all.

"We ask no mercy from the rulers of Valinor, who unleashed upon us all the mercy of Morgoth when they let him unchained. And on the contrary, Lord Eönwë," said Maglor. "We have Lady Elwing's sons."

With that it was done, and Elros was horrified and relieved all at once (and Elrond was not sure he wanted to examine his own mind to know if he was more horrified or relieved). They could not take back the words. King Arafinwë exclaimed in horror, and Eönwë's gaze came crashing back again, so that it was all Elros could do to close his mind to Eönwë, and stay still and silent on his horse. He felt a sudden conviction that Eönwë knew, knew who he was and that he sought to defraud them, but the twins pushed it back. They had discussed the finer points of ósanwe extensively before leaving, and Maedhros had spoken even of his imprisonment and torment by Morgoth; so they were certain Eönwë couldn't do that.

"Nephew," said King Arafinwë, too late, "You don't have to do this."

"To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well – but the thing was not begun well, either," said Eönwë flatly. "You have the better of me, Lord of the House of Fëanor. We do desire Lady Elwing's sons, and we desire them unharmed. I shall entreat if you shall not. Will you signal the rest of your party, and bring them forth unharmed, and thereby comport yourselves as Eldar, not as servants of Morgoth?"

"No harm has come to them, and no harm shall come to them if we cannot reach an agreement," said Maglor. Amazingly, King Arafinwë still seemed to believe this. At least, his shoulders sagged with what seemed as relief. "But I cannot do as you ask, for our people are sorely in need of what we cannot get elsewhere. I dare not trust that you who ask for our surrender would give what we need freely if we had, as Lord Eönwë said, nothing you wanted."

A third party was approaching the edge of the camp, headed by another crowned elf. This one was silver-haired, and quite young, trailed by a single herald and in robes better described as 'reasonably nice' than 'very fine.' As he drew into view there was a flash of real familiarity, not the ghostly echo of Elrond that Elros felt looking at Eönwë. The details were drowned in mist, and the context nonexistent, but they had met this elf before.

(Gil-galad, said the twins together, to each other as much as Maedhros.)

"Lord Eönwë, King Arafinwë, I see we have guests!" Gil-galad called, leaping the trench where he came to it and leaving his herald to divert alone to the bridge. His face, when he looked up and down the line of Fëanorians, showed nothing at all. "You arrive early," he said, apparently to Maglor. "We haven't besieged Angband; we presently have no Silmaril."

Maglor winced. (Many leagues away, Maedhros at length let out a sigh.) Léraquen, close in front of Elros, put a gauntlet-covered hand over her face. Bizarrely, she seemed to be trying not to laugh.

"Nothing so illustrious, King Gil-galad," Maglor said. "We come seeking horses to refresh our dwindling herds, and such spare armor and arms as may be, for ours fall to pieces with age. We hold the eastern front, still, and the war will go better for all if we may continue."

"And when the war is over you shall use them against us, undoubtedly," said Gil-galad. "What was your intention if we refused? You can't ride over this army the way you did Sirion. Were you planning to hang about in the back country, ambushing our patrols to rob and murder them?"

"Gil-galad," said King Arafinwë, politely horrified.

"They propose," said Eönwë, no trace of emotion betrayed, "That in exchange they shall return Lady Elwing's sons."

What Gil-galad would have said to that, they did not find out, for Maglor interrupted. "A small correction," he said. "We propose to return one son. The other must remain with us for the time being."

After that, the meeting became considerably less civil, but somewhat to Elros's surprise, they were allowed into the camp. They formed a precise column, six by four, with Maglor, Léraquen and Eleviel out ahead, riding in armor into the camp. Nobody suggested disarming them, and Elros's position in one of the center rows was some comfort, but realistically they were far too few to escape if the camp set on them in any force. Elros felt the prickle of danger return, and wondered – deeply concealed, so that Elrond would not see, and feel sorry for not volunteering – if it should have been his twin, whose Sight was better.

It was afternoon on a clear day, and most of the camp was busy, carrying out familiar tasks with materials of an unfamiliar fineness and plentiful supplies. Still, people left off their laundry and cooking and the like to come out of their tents, or come closer to the wide pathway down the center of the camp, and stare at them passing by. All of them were elves. There were more elves, more people generally, than Elros and Elrond had ever seen – though they had seen the assembled Fëanorian host, and it was not so small, even now.

Finally, they were drawn up in a square cleared space, which faced the largest and most elaborate tents. King Arafinwë proposed that they should offer hospitality before discussing business, now with a tentative air; but Gil-galad, somewhat to Elros's surprise, agreed: "Tempers are often softened by sharing a meal," he said in a small, dry way.

("Practical," Maedhros muttered, and looked at Elrond, stiff with tension from watching. "Relax your fingers, and get up from that chair for a moment."

One instant, Maedhros's mind was a field blanketed by terror, unable to think or see for watching to find out if something would go wrong, too far away for any meaningful aid. The next, he put the feeling away. The field was suddenly only a blanket itself, folded into corners and packed up. Elrond and Elros had felt him do it before, but neither had quite determined how.)

The meal did help, although it presented some awkwardness for Elros, who was supposed to be hiding his face. Léraquen, who was tall, sat next to him and gestured over Ronthil and Orvion to go across and down, and together the three of them obscured him quite well from view without anything too suspicious. Nevertheless Elros sometimes craned to catch glimpses of Maglor, seated with both elf kings and Lord Eönwë, face still cast with that great menace that made Elros, almost, imagine he could remember something about Sirion. He brushed Maglor's mind, once or twice, not coming close enough to distract or speak. Each time was the same: he found that Maglor was miserable.

(Hours had passed. In Amon Ereb, Maedhros and Elrond could no longer sit rigidly in wait, but Elrond had kept up the link as he went about routine work in the infirmary, and Maedhros arranged the fort. Seeing Maglor's misery at a second remove, Maedhros remarked, "Tell him he should finally make use of those villainous theater speeches he memorized in Tirion," and bent to squint at a faded line of handwriting in a note.)

Elros, of course, did not approach Maglor while he was acting as a common Fëanorian soldier at the feast. The Fëanorians had been earlier left alone to set up their camp within the greater one, and Léraquen ushered Elros along and out of sight just as the drinking was really starting. "You can hear most of the singing from here, and I'll stay with you," she said, for Maglor had just agreed to perform, "But we don't want anyone to get a good look at you. Don't sigh, you're doing a brave thing but you have to commit to it."

"I know," said Elros, staring into the darkness and determinedly not crying at the thought, again, of never more hearing Maglor sing, never more seeing Elrond or Maedhros at all.

(We shall not part, said Elrond.)

Half as a distraction, Elros said, "And you don't want anyone to get a look at you, either?"

Léraquen gave him a heavy and displeased look, Treelight shining strangely through her thick, dark lashes when she squinted. "And I don't want anyone to recognize me, either. Some reunions don't please anyone. Now, my lord," she said, which she was inconsistent about with the twins, "Shall I get you anything or would you prefer to try to sleep?"

"I don't like the lack of a palisade or wall," Elros said. Even here, he could see clear through the tents out of the camp, and the absence of a physical barrier made him uneasy. "But I'll try to sleep. Wake me when my – when Lord Maglor returns?"

He was supposed to practice calling them both that, or just the names, to reduce the chance of a mistake. He did not know when he would be able to call them his fathers again aloud – if indeed that chance would come.

"I will, my lord," said Léraquen.

But in fact it was the sound of her voice and Maglor's together that woke him:

"—think Uncle Arafinwë really believes any of it," Malgor was saying softly. "I don't suppose he thinks they're lying, but he would really prefer this all turn out to be some terrible mistake. I'm going to have to push on that. The better I can convince them, the safer everyone will be."

Everyone, of course, meant Elros, who must be placed in a way that incurred as little suspicion as possible. But to an eavesdropper Maglor might plausibly have meant the supplies.

"Well, my prince, if you'd like to seat me with you and Eleviel tomorrow I would be happy to lament our failures at Doriath and Sirion," said Léraquen. "I'm certain I can adequately horrify them."

"Don't push me, Léraquen." Maglor sounded tired, and the slightest bit hoarse from the singing. Léraquen had really been Celegorm's liegeman and captain, everybody knew. She followed his brothers for hope of freeing him in death from the Oath, and because she had to do something.

Elros and Elrond had heard stories about Doriath, and about Léraquen and Celegorm both there. One of the less disturbing stories was that Léraquen had flung herself on Celegorm's hacked up corpse, weeping, and had to be dragged away and sedated with Song to get her to leave; which at least meant that her other acts that night had not included... what had happened... to the other set of twins. The set of twins who had been, would have been, the twins' uncles.

It was said that Maedhros had punished those responsible, but the twins didn't know how, or who it had been, and they did not want to.

Elros had just woken enough to touch Elrond's mind. (Still safe, he said to Elrond, who was sitting up, too tense to sleep.) Half-awake, he said, "Lord Maedhros says you should practice your theater villain speeches," and sat up.

"Cristwe," said Léraquen, who had the grace now and then to look very slightly ashamed, and was doing it now. "How much of that did you hear?"

She hadn't said anything shocking, but then Elros (and Elrond) doubted Léraquen knew the twins had heard the stories about her. They weren't the sort of thing people would deliberately tell them. It was only that they had lived in close quarters with the Fëanorian host for years, and people talked when they were tired or drunk or distracted, and sometimes forgot who was present.

"I just woke up," Elros said, avoiding a potentially dangerous argument, and turned to look at Maglor. Behind him, out beyond the edge of the Fëanorian tents – but probably within the hearing of an elf – he saw a blur of silver that could have been Gil-galad; or he might have been paranoid. It might have been nothing. It could have been a mere banner in the wind or a grey animal moving through the camp. And there were other elves with silver hair.

Elros was not actually a witness to the negotiations over the next three days. Léraquen and Maglor said, and Maedhros agreed, that any benefit from letting Maedhros watch through the twins was more than balanced by the risk of somebody recognizing Elros early, for – Elros felt slow for realizing so late – the plan relied on deceiving the Hosts of Aman into believing the twins were elsewhere. If Elros was being held by a detachment waiting outside the camp, that unknown location would be lost if the Fëanorians were simply seized and killed, or turned out with no bargain. If the Amanyar knew Elros was there, amidst them, an attempt would almost certainly be made to rescue him. While that would not serve the overall plan badly, it was likely that some or all of their party would be killed (perhaps including Elros).

Instead, Elros hung in the midst of the honor guard and kept his head down while he went along with their occupations: cards and dice and the ever-present mending of gear and clothing; food cooked by their hosts; a hunting party on the second day that took them out of the camp, away from at least one kind of danger, and let them return Aman's hospitality with fresh meat. Not all of Aman hated them, plainly, and Elros saw some other members of the guard slip off to talk to Amanyar elves, or join games or work. On the other hand, there was a certain amount of jeering, several incidents of objects thrown from the edge of the camp, and one frightening moment when swords were half-drawn between Iscelen and one of the elves of the camp. Gil-galad and Maglor reached them practically at the same time, both shouting one combatant's name.

The frightening thing wasn't really the attempted fight. It was looking past those two and seeing the gathering and hostile crowd beyond, many with their own hands on sword or spear or, in the case of the support staff, tent pole. But the crowd was Gil-galad's to handle, and he chided them away.

So Elros didn't dare leave the Fëanorian camp. He would have years to get to know the Amanyar elves later, always assuming he wanted to, when it wouldn't raise questions, he told himself, and reapplied his attention to fixing a break in his reins. He wasn't going to ride Lalaith back, but somebody would use this tack again anyway.

(In Amon Ereb, Elrond drifted through the days, so heedless of the environment that twice he was prevented by a witness from falling down the stairs. After the second such incident, Maedhros dryly suggested Elrond remain with him, or else on the ground floor, and in any case stay far away from open fires.

Elrond and Elros both knew Elrond's state was making Maedhros worry about the viability of the plan, and consider relaying orders to Maglor to abandon it. But it might not be an option now. Announcing they would return neither twin after all would probably result in violence.

"We could send you back, too," said Maedhros when Elrond supplied this argument, face in his hand.

"No," said Elrond. "I think it's just the worry, and that I'm watching through Elros's eyes so constantly to see what happens. He's not walking into campfires."

Maedhros let matters stand.)

Finally, on the third morning, Maglor left private deliberations trailed by King Arafinwë, who had looked increasingly tragic on each subsequent day and was continuing the trend; and King Gil-galad, who was grim and unhappy; and Lord Eönwë, who looked like nothing at all.

The Fëanorians gathered at the edge of their camp. Maglor glanced across them, counting, and when he had finished, said, "We have reached agreement. We shall return with thirty horses, all steeds of Valinor, five stallions and twenty-five mares, and those metalworking supplies which can be loaded upon them." Tension went out of the honor guard subtly. While the supplies mattered (Elrond was calculating the best use of the horses in breeding already), the relief, Elros thought, was for the wider plan.

"Now," said Lord Eönwë, "You must send someone for the peredhel. We require that you release one twin before the rest of you shall go out of the camp."

King Arafinwë's shoulders slumped. "Nephew," he said, and put his hand on Maglor's arm, making Elros start. Hardly anybody touched Maglor or Maedhros, particularly without asking leave, except for each other and the twins, and Eleviel, who often helped Maedhros dress when she brought him morning reports. But Eleviel had been his friend in Aman.

It was very hard to picture Maedhros, and Maglor – and Eleviel and Léraquen and Morisil and all the rest of the Noldor with Treelit eyes – coming from the same place as these shining, like-new elves.

"Will you not release them both, and seek friendship with us again?" Arafinwë asked. "Not to bargain, but because it is not right that elves should hold each other captive?"

Maglor sighed. "No," he said, simply and turned back to his followers, so that it became awkward for Arafinwë to keep his hand on his arm. Maglor looked them up and down, and he raised a hand. "Elros," he said.

Elros swallowed. He had been sitting on a log by the ashes of last night's campfire, in part so that he would be harder to see. Now he rose, and before he could tap on Iscelen's back, space parted before him.

He lifted his chin so that his face was visible. The first step forward was impossible, like stepping through a bog or packed snow. He was leaving the camp, leaving the Fëanorians, and he might never come back. But the deal was made and he could not stay. Then the next step came more easily, and with the next he was walking normally.

Arafinwë was agape, and Eönwë frowning hard, and this time it was Gil-galad who was inscrutable. Beyond them came whispers and murmuring from the audience, but Elros didn't dare look at them or he would freeze. Maglor, back turned to them all and facing his people, was only sad.

Elros couldn't just – walk away, or worse, insult him. Anyway, he was in armor and that had to be explained, and given the fuss made over supplies, probably returned. He angled himself to approach Maglor instead. He couldn't make the full prostration, that was only for Maedhros, and it wasn't something the twins generally did anyway even if they'd been inducted into the honor guard, but--

Elros reached Maglor at last, and knelt, and Maglor let Elros take his hand.

"My lord," said Elros. He wasn't the Singer Elrond already was, but he knew how to control and project his voice. "I ask release from my vows of service."

Sharp murmuring came. That might not have been the best wording, but – it was true he'd made them, and true that if he was really leaving the Fëanorian service he would have to ask. He hadn't, because he wasn't leaving. And the Hosts of Aman might believe a vow would make him fight for people who had held him hostage. They might believe the Fëanorians would trust a vow, enough to give him a sword.

"Elros Eärendillion," said Maglor, voice dark and sad, which was the wrong name, if he had to use just one. But it would have to be the right one for now, and maybe forever. "I laud you for your service and release you. You have fulfilled your obligations to me, and to the House of Fëanor. Rise," he said, and they had one last embrace, the formal one of fealty. Maglor kissed Elros's forehead.

Then he let go. Elros put his hand on his sword and was alarmed to see Gil-galad touch his own, as though afraid Elros would use it.That had been careless of Elros. "I should return this," he said to make things clear, "And the mail."

Maglor shook his head. "Keep them," he said, and though he might be the best master of Song in Beleriand, his voice broke on the end.

Maglor turned away, toward the camp, and Elros had to look past him to the two Kings of the Noldor, and Lord Eönwë, Herald of Manwë.

It was just as Maedhros had warned them. Elros had to be grateful to them and fit in, no matter what happened now, and he might have just undermined days of performance. He smiled sheepishly, knowing it made him look younger, and that the elves would be disoriented in part because an elf his age would still be a young child. Gil-galad must be decades older – half a century? – but looked even younger than the twins. "Hello," he said, and looked down at his feet, then up again. "I – couldn't talk to you earlier, I wasn't allowed. Um... Is there something I should do...?"

Arafinwë spoke first. "I suppose you heard earlier, but I am Arafinwë Finwion, King of the Noldor in Aman. Your father's great-grandfather was my older brother, which makes me your several times great-uncle. And this is Gil-galad, King of the Noldor in Beleriand, who is, er—"

Despite himself, Elros's attention sharpened (and Elrond grew interested and not only grieved). Gil-galad was officially Fingon's son, but everybody knew it wasn't true – Fingon and Maedhros had been faithful without ever completing their vows, before Fingon died – and nobody knew what was. Even Maedhros and Maglor professed to have no idea, though Maedhros said Fingon had in fact had some hand in Gil-galad's raising.

"A cousin," said Gil-galad, smoothly and uninformatively. "We've met before, but I'm not sure you remember. I've been told peredhil don't necessarily have elf-like memories as children. But we can discuss this later. You aren't hurt, are you?" When Elros shook his head, fighting back indignation, Gil-galad said, "Hungry? Thirsty? You have all of your things?"

"Everything that matters," said Elros bitterly, but at that moment Eleviel called, "Elros!" and all of them turned.

She was holding his pack. Embarrassed, Elros turned to take it from her, which was followed by a profoundly awkward moment before she bowed to the kings. (Lord Eönwë had left.) "Your highnesses, excuse me."

"Alviel," said Arafinwë, which confused the twins for a moment until they realized it was Quenya, and must be her un-Sindarized name. "Remember what I said."

"I appreciate it, Prince – King Arafinwë," said Eleviel, sounding nearly as though she meant it. "But I am sworn to Prince Nelyafinwë unto Death and Doom." She paused, and glanced back at the Fëanorian camp, rapidly packing up. "I would do anything he asked," she said with a curious and flat tone, looking back at Arafinwë. "Any one of us would." Then her face lightened. "Elros - good luck," she said, and turned to go.

(Back in Amon Ereb, Maedhros wrapped both his arms around Elrond as both twins gave in to tears. Under and around his own grief, Maedhros thought, I need to tell her to stop calling me that when I'm not there.)

Elrond couldn't watch the journey back, only – only! – Elros in the camp of the Amanyar. Their unease over Maedhros's warning turned out to be mostly unfounded. People were welcoming to Elros, or they ignored him. Mostly, it was the former, and Arafinwë had come with the dead High King Fingolfin's wife Anairë, who was Eärendil's great-grandmother and therefore the twins' great-great-grandmother, and his sister Findis, and various other assorted relations who were desperately interested in Elros.

This was – uncomfortable, for Elros and for the watching Elrond. Everybody was too sympathetic over his captivity and too prepared to be outraged on their behalf, and it was difficult to know how to handle it when Elros couldn't argue. They settled on saying as little as possible, and directing the conversation elsewhere when they could, hoping this would be taken as a sign of Elros's recent and difficult experiences. The only direct statement he made was to Gil-galad, who asked, point blank, if Elrond was still alive.

"Yes," said Elros. They had considered this scenario when planning with Maedhros and Maglor and agreed it would be best to avoid prevaricating on the point. Elros prepared now for Gil-galad to ask him something more difficult, like where Elrond was being held, or what he thought about the chances of rescue.

Gil-galad had broached the subject in between sword bouts. When Elros had insisted he wanted to and was trained to fight – and old enough – Gil-galad had been the one to slip around the Finwëans' (the twins thought rudely) hysterics, and ask Elros to come and demonstrate his abilities, which were considerable. Both Elros and Gil-galad were armored and helmeted, and so the twins couldn't easily analyze Gil-galad's face when he was silent for a time instead.

"The Fëanorians taught you to fight, of course," said Gil-galad.

"It wasn't safe to do anything else," said Elros; they had prepared for this question, too. "I mean, there are orcs everywhere, and we were on the move frequently. And once I was trained, of course I was fighting with them." Better to avoid confirming the existence of a permanent fort. The Amanyar certainly had the resources to besiege Amon Ereb if they thought it was worth the effort.

"Indeed, it's not safe to kidnap people," said Gil-galad. "I assume he's very far away, but you would know if your twin died, or was seriously harmed?"

"I would know," said Elros firmly. "Elrond's fine."

(Be careful! said Elrond. It really would have been nice to be able to see Gil-galad's face.)

Instead of pressing, though, Gil-galad said, "You're very good, you know." He did not append 'for your age,' or anything of the kind.

Elros knew. "I'm better than Elrond," he said, which was also undeniably true, "But he's better at strategy, and—" Elros cut off the rest of the sentence at Elrond's warning: --Father says a commander doesn't always fight with a weapon. Swordplay could be excused, but it was probably unwise to discuss Maedhros's war game exercises, or his lectures on effective command. "And healing," said Elros after a too-noticeable pause. "We're about the same at archery."

"Healing is a useful trade," said Gil-galad, instead of remarking on the oddity of an elf who was a warrior and a healer both. He assumed a ready stance with his sword and gestured for Elros to face him. "Is that why they kept him?"

"There aren't a lot of healers left with the Fëanorian host," said Elros, as the twins decide this was an acceptable admission. Then he lunged with his sword and thereby ended the conversation.

After the sparring session Gil-galad said he would be happy to accept Elros into his service, and Elrond had to get up from where he had sat in Amon Ereb's courtyard, watching. The trumpets were sounding to announce Maglor's return, two weeks after their departure from the Hosts of Aman. Elrond ran inside and up the stairs lightly. He tossed off his plain overrobe to exchange it for one of the two really nice ones he owned. This one was russet silk with heavy gold embroidery, and had been cut down from something voluminous and layered belonging to Maglor, the embroidery mended and elaborated by Eleviel for the date arbitrarily assigned as the twins' begetting day last year. Eleviel liked fancy sewing enough to do it in her limited free time. Elrond fastened the catches at his shoulder and hip, checked his hair wasn't too wild, and slipped on his circlet before descending, still in work boots, into the hall where the returning party would be welcomed.

Maedhros was already there. He wouldn't have had to change, since he was always dressed formally if not going out for battle or heavy work. He was frowning intently, eyes unfocused, and probably speaking to Maglor.

"Father," said Elrond courteously, taking his chair at Maedhros's right side. "What news?" (Elros turned to stare into the campfire to excuse his distraction as he watched tautly through Elrond.)

Maedhros's eyes had just cleared. "They've made it back," he said. "We've lost Iscelen, and Ronthil has a broken arm and an arrow wound – already treated and healing well," he added when Elrond started to rise. "It was four days ago. The other healers will check on it after we greet them."

A death and what might be a serious injury from the twins' plan. Elrond bit his lip, and tried not to think about Iscelen teaching the twins to ride as children – or of Iscelen's two living children, left behind.

Maedhros saw it, and put a hand on his shoulder. Gently, he said, "One death is... expected, sending a party this size alone across so much enemy territory, to treat with a hostile party. Truthfully, I expected more. I approved the plan because it was a good one, and will help us avoid others."

Elrond nodded. He was finding it hard to speak.

"Welcome dinner tonight, funeral tomorrow," said Maedhros, and bent to kiss Elrond's hair above the circlet. Then the trumpets were sounding again, and they both had to straighten to face the returning soldiers. Maedhros assembled an expression solemn enough for the death, but still pleased enough to be appreciative of the survivors. Elrond tried to copy him, and far off Elros went off to find somewhere private enough to cry for Iscelen, who nobody near him would think worth mourning. The Fëanorian host got very drunk that night, toasting the returning guard; toasting Prince Maglor's negotiations; toasting Elros and Elrond both; and, of course, toasting Iscelen.

And the war went on. The next day, Elrond woke before dawn to complete his morning round of chores in the infirmary and arrive at Maedhros's office for the first meeting. Maedhros was just unlocking the office door. "I see you have notes," he said.

"Elros has been going over the structure of the Hosts of Aman's command with me," said Elrond. He handed the wax tablets over to Maedhros as they sat down. Maedhros was skimming them when Eleviel arrived, slightly out of breath, and went down on her face on the office floor.

"Rise," said Maedhros, setting the tablets aside again.

"I went to your rooms, first, but you'd already left," said Eleviel, apparently as explanation, as she started to get up, stiffly.

"I've been dressing myself for the past month. You weren't hurt?" Maedhros was up and around the desk almost before Elrond could follow the movement, helping Eleviel the last way to her feet and more or less handing her into the second chair. "You really shouldn't do that when you're injured."

According to the nostalgic musings of his oldest retainers, Maedhros was not the origin of the adaptation of the Amanyar formal court prostration by his retinue. The most devoted of them had started doing it more or less as a protest when Maedhros abdicated the High Kingship to Fingolfin, and he had tried to get them to stop for the next fifty years before giving up. True or not, the origin didn't matter anymore. At least half the elves in the host had joined Maedhros's service after that, let alone the Men, and everybody followed the same elaborate and arcane code of manners. All Maedhros's people had a finely-tuned sense of his dignity, and even Maedhros was usually forced to respect that consensus. True, that there were too few people and too little wealth in Amon Ereb and its surrounding land for Maedhros to be entirely spared from the work at harvest or avoid any of his own mending that could be done one-handed, and Eleviel had been his only body servant, ever since her role of herald had expanded to include arranging his appointments and giving him morning reports, but elaborate bows didn't cost anything.

Unless you were hurt. "Bruises and a wrenched knee only," said Eleviel, who was clearly studying Maedhros to determine if he had actually remained well in her absence. She relaxed a moment later. "Well, my prince, Elros was delivered, and we have thoroughly horrified Prince Arafinwë, who has been crowned High King in Aman, and Lord Eönwë. I think we only fulfilled Gil-galad's low expectations. Arafinwë was originally pleased to see us. He's probably changed his mind. Oh, and Cemendur was there with them. Either they rewarded him for his defection with a very swift return to life, or he recovered from that wound I gave him at Sirion after all. I assume Prince Maglor told you the details of our agreement."

"Yes, and I saw some of it through the twins," said Maedhros, "But I'd like your impressions, too. What did you think of the camp?"

They put together several charts of the structure of command in the Hosts of Aman, and estimated lists of resources, and Maedhros talked Elrond through his opinions about Aman's military options and what he expected of the personalities involved separately as well as discussing it with the council. It all made Elrond (and Elros with him) slightly uneasy.

But the point was to anticipate what was happening in the wider war, and that became easier almost at once. They knew whether Aman was fighting near or far away now, and could brace for Morgoth's troop movements when they were likely to come near. It became more viable to act offensively again, knowing how to time attacks against or with Aman's. Furthermore, when refugees known to the Amanyar came through Amon Ereb or nearby, as the last protected fort on the route to the Blue Mountains, they could keep a watch out and make sure of their safe arrival. Twice in the next two years, the Fëanorians rode out to meet large groups who had turned aside from joining the Amanyar, exactly, but did not love Morgoth and wished shelter from him.

And time passed on, and the war continued. The Amanyar seemed intent on obliterating Morgoth's army bit by bit, but they did not establish new cities nor fortify the mountain passes and water routes. This made it a slow task for them, up against Morgoth's ability to replenish his forces and recruit from humans, who were generally happy to be defended by the Amanyar but frustrated by the lack of lasting promises. Elros organized some of these refugee humans who were interested in fighting, made agreements to join them to the human allies of Gil-galad, and thereby created a third separate command under the Amanyar. This human command promptly elected Elros their king. He was very surprised by this, but Elrond wasn't, and neither was Gil-galad. (Elrond told Maedhros, Maglor and the rest of the high table about it over dinner the same night, to general hilarity.) By now the twins were certainly old enough. Years had passed, and they still appeared as young men as did adult elves, but no longer as youths. (Gil-galad now occasionally sighed and complained that Elros looked older than him. As Elros had often reported, Gil-galad had a terrible time getting Arafinwë or Eönwë to take him seriously, though he had been fighting this war several times as long.)

The Fëanorians expanded their cleared farmland where they dared, and built guard towers to defend the new space, but the council never made up its mind to expand to a second major fort even as the situation stretched on for a decade, and then two, and more years beyond. The trouble was that they didn't really have any more soldiers, but instead always less, with the constant attrition of defense. Reclaiming corrupted land from Morgoth's taint to farm usefully was its own difficult endeavor which did not allow the Men to rapidly grow in number or those few elves with their spouses living and present to comfortably bear children. Further, expanding enough would almost certainly bring them into direct conflict with the Amanyar, who were unlikely to take news of a rising Fëanorian kingdom well.

"We'll see when the war is over," said Maedhros in council for the tenth or fifteenth time. "There aren't enough of us to hold against Morgoth without the line of allied kingdoms, so we need to stay small enough for our holdings to escape notice, instead. The population isn't much more than a military garrison and its support now, anyway." Everyone present knew the civilian population was half that of the soldiers.

(After the war, maybe I'll bring the Men to join you, said Elros, who was watching the discussion. All the Amanyar talk about is going back to Aman, they're not planning to stay. I'm not sure about Gil-galad's people.

But he said it from a council fire shared with the chieftains of the Houses of the Elf-friends who had named him king, and with Gil-galad, who had his arm around Elros's shoulders, and Elrond knew it was not a serious plan. He felt some pang and hid it without dissecting to decide if it was jealousy or grief or hurt.

Elrond and Elros had now been parted over twenty years, and they had grown separate despite their bond, and Elros had other loyalties and friendships; and still he told Elrond everything, and Elrond told Maedhros.)

And the years still passed, and the war went on – until it didn't. It was through Elros that they knew the end of the war was upon them, for good or not, for Elros cried out when the winged dragons came from Angband. It was deep in the night time, and Elrond gave his own cry, hurtling up to an alarm happening in a different camp entirely, and fell out of bed.

Footsteps came in the corridor, and the door was thrown open and filled with Maedhros, sword in hand, with Maglor just behind. "Elrond?" he called, eyes roaming for any attacker. Elrond had not cried out with nightmares in many years now.

"Here," Elrond croaked, unable to honestly say I'm fine. He heard Elros calling to his herald and officers, running to his horse. "It's Elros."

The lamp was kindled, shining light abruptly on the room so that Elrond felt very exposed and young, curled on the floor in a shift. Maedhros stood to one side, sheathing his sword, while Maglor went to his knees before Elrond, face stricken: "How is he?" he said, touching Elrond slowly.

Willingly, Elrond tipped over into Maglor's arms. "Not dead yet," he said, unable to hold back the yet. Elros's field of vision was half-flames. "Dragons," said Elrond, connecting the half-formed thoughts in his twin's head at last to a historical description. "Morgoth's sent forth his dragons. The Hosts are at Angband."

The laugh Maedhros gave to this was harsh and frightening. Elrond flinched before it, and realized it was not, as he had first thought, a sound he had never heard from Maedhros before. The flames in Elros's eyes and that sound together drew some long-gone memory up: flames and the taste of ash harsh in his throat, and Maedhros laughing like some twisted, unhoused spirit, covered in blood, his hair come loose from its ties and tangled in his mail – and Elrond and Elros drawing back against the arms that carried them, which were at least less frightening than that.

"More than a century from the Dagor Bragollach, decades to ask advice from Beleriand, and they still weren't prepared for dragons," said Maedhros at the end of that laugh, and Elrond heard the bed creak as he sat down.

Elrond pushed the memory aside. It might only be imagination. Still, he kept his face pressed into the soft, aged linen of Maglor's shirt and didn't move. There was no point in moving. If Elrond had had a plan, they still would have been weeks of travel away from any ability to help.

"They're regrouping," he said, after a moment. "I can't tell how bad the losses were, Elros can't see. It – it looks like a group of Arafinwë's mounted archers are riding against the dragons..."

Elrond kept narrating in bits and pieces. Somebody helped him dress, retrieved food, and sat down to prod him to eat it. He had no attention but for Elros. Vaguely, Elrond was aware of Maedhros's right arm around his shoulders, guiding him down to the office; of others gathering there to hear his witness of the battle against Angband; of quiet speculation when he was silent and watching. He passed no thought or judgment over any of it.

Elros had not directly addressed Elrond – had not had time – although he knew Elrond witnessed. Near to noon in Amon Ereb, while ashes blotted out the sky over Angband, a white light blazed through the smoke and Elros cried directly to Elrond: I see our father! I see Eärendil!

Elrond leaned forward, as though it could somehow help him see, and did not pass the remark on. "The eagles of Manwë are gathering against the dragons," he said when instead he had something else to say. "And the other birds, as well – they're driving them back--!"

And so it continued throughout the day. Elrond had a little more attention to spare for the midday meal, for it came during a lull in the battle. But by the fall of darkness he was consumed again, seated in one of the smaller halls downstairs. Others drifted in and out of the room, went to fulfill duties and came back, but Maedhros and Maglor stayed constantly by him. At last exhaustion took him, and Elrond slept for a few hours in the darkest part of the night. By dawn, the power of Morgoth's hosts was breaking, and Thorondor of the Eagles flew to consult with Eönwë, and the hosts of the Valar were chasing Morgoth into Angband.

Maedhros's hand was tight upon Elrond's right shoulder, and Maglor's hand clasped Elrond's on the left. "He's fleeing below," said Elrond, and later, "He's begging for peace... They've cut off his feet!" and "Eönwë brought a chain for him... They've taken his crown..."

And at last, when the morning sun rose high again, Elrond lay with his head in Maglor's lap, Maedhros leaning on his brother's shoulder. Elrond said, half-entranced, "They have the Silmarils!"

Maglor's breath caught. Very close beside Elrond, and now gripping his hand, Maedhros sat up.

What might have happened after that, the twins could never say. What did happen was that the power of the Valar destroyed Beleriand.

It was not, at first, clear what was happening. Earthquakes struck where there had never been earthquake before, and land was swallowed and jolted apart, and chasms opened filled with lava and boiling seawater. The rivers all rose until they flooded their banks and found new ones, and then they flooded those as well. It rained for days, unnatural storms carried by impossible cloud formations which washed out paths, buildings, animals and people.

Amon Ereb was, as suited a fort, on high ground. After some days of the flooding Maedhros and Maglor became seriously concerned about whether it would be high enough, and started evacuation plans. But most of the surrounding farmland was much lower, and some of the villages as well. By the time Elrond had news of what was happening from Elros, half the residents of the surrounding land were packed into Amon Ereb, sheltering from the floods. A large portion of those missing were not safe elsewhere but drowned.

Elrond, said Elros, and in his voice was a pure and ground-down misery. I need to tell you something – two things.

It was no longer the case that anything one twin knew, the other knew as well unless great care was taken to hide it. They had to talk to each other, or to be watching when something happened or was learned, and Elrond had been very busy the last few weeks, preparing for refugees, treating injuries incurred in the ongoing disaster, and trying, alongside Maedhros and Maglor and all of the officers and village chiefs, to figure out how they were going to feed everyone this winter with all of the stores already lost. Nobody wanted to say that increasingly it was a question of feeding everyone for the autumn, too, with so many of the crops drowned.

First, said Elrond, Lord Eönwë conveyed to me the word of Manwë, which is that peredhil are to be given a Choice between the fate of Elves and of Men. It seems that the choice to accept the Gift of Men shall be made by letting go of one's body and willing oneself beyond the world to Eru Ilúvatar, as Men go, rather than accepting the call of Mandos.

Well, said Elrond, who was cold and wet and had spent weeks worrying continuously, I'm glad they're leaving it up to us. I don't see what's so appealing about dying and joining Eru Ilúvatar, if what He spends his time doing is dreaming up Morgoth as a Thought and binding our fathers to a vow made in passion and stupidity, no matter how many people they murder over it.

Elros was silent

Elros? said Elrond, frightened. --Never shall we part, remember?

Elros did not respond to that, but said, his weariness and sadness both mighty, The second thing is that the Valar are the ones drowning Beleriand, and they're doing it on purpose.

WHAT? said Elrond, and dropped his wax tablets in the mud. He swore, perhaps more viciously than this accident called for, and stooped to pick them up, but received only a sympathetic look from Morisil. Everybody was in a foul temper these days.

Lord Eönwë has called on the elves of Beleriand to depart to Aman in entirety. It seems he was always intended to do so at the end of the war. They say the Sea will purify the land of Morgoth.

And they call our fathers murderers when they at least gave warning first, snarled Elrond.

Elrond had always thought he had a limited capacity for hate, and had at times excused himself for his love of Maedhros and Maglor in this way, until the love grew to be the way things were and he stopped feeling a need for excuses. When they had grown old enough to really understand, it was Elros who had pushed through the anguish to challenge Maedhros to combat over it, shaking more for despair than fear, though he had wept when Maedhros refused to defend himself, and pulled his blow so that it healed to only a small scar.

Elrond now discovered in himself a previously unknown and vast ability to hate. Elros was staring into his mind in awe. Elros had been fighting with the Valar and their people for nearly thirty years.

Elrond slammed the gates of his mind shut. "I need to report to Father," he said to Morisil, who had seen his eyes grow misty and knew he had been speaking to Elros. With difficulty he waited for Morisil's acknowledgement, turned on his heel, and had to master himself harshly before he dared touch his horse.

Though Elrond galloped along the high trail to Amon Ereb, he could not be there immediately, and in time long-formed habits of thinking in crisis called to his thoughts as a wheel would fall into a rut. He opened his mind to Elros again. It was the first time he could remember needing to do it, because he had never closed his mind to Elros before. How much of Beleriand, and how quickly? Do you know how high the waters will rise?

Elrond-- said Elros, entreating for something.

Elrond did not want to hear it. Answer the question or tell me you can't. If Amon Ereb is going to drown we can't stay here, and I need details to make an evacuation plan.

Elros was silent, and Elrond slid from his horse in the yard approaching the open gates. He handed the horse off to Dolveril, who worked in the stable, and – barely – controlled himself so that he did not stalk through the fort like a battlefield. There was rarely any utility in panicking your own people.

As he knocked on the door of Maedhros's office, Elros's presence returned. Lord Eönwë was not interested in giving me details, but Thorondor showed me what the eagles have seen from above, he said, and gave Elrond an imagined map.

Thank you, said Elrond tersely, opening the door at Maedhros's word. Maedhros was currently speaking with Nimveril and Orvion, but at the brush of Elrond's mind he dismissed them. Orvion, who wasn't family to Maedhros, prostrated himself, and they both went out. Doing it again before leaving was unusually formal. Either Maedhros was also in a bad mood, or he was worried and reassuring himself, but Elrond took heed of this in some distant corner of his mind as the door shut behind them.

"I've discovered why the Amanyar didn't try to hold conquered territory," he said, and forced himself into control as he sank into a chair. Maedhros raised an eyebrow. "This flood is their doing, it's going to get worse, and apparently it was the plan all along."

Maedhros and Maglor had long been in rebellion against the Valar, and had been personally damned, as Elrond understood it, by Mandos – but Elrond still had to argue to persuade Maedhros to believe it, and finally to prod Elros for the memory in which Lord Eönwë confirmed it to share. Finally Maedhros buried his face in his single hand, and did not weep. His hair was loose today. Eleviel and Maglor were both too busy to spend time helping with it, and only the most traditional of the Noldor complained that Maedhros sometimes wore his hair loose when the reason was obvious. It pooled around his hand, veiling his face and spilling across the desk. Where Elrond touched his mind, he felt the long-fought, faded shadows there grow thick and black with despair.

"Show me the map again," said Maedhros, and inhaled slowly. "Well. Perhaps the waters will not swallow us here, but we must not count on it."

"What will we do?" said Elrond, hoping that this question would drag Maedhros from his despair as it had in the past.

"What we must," said Maedhros bleakly. There was no light in his eyes that Elrond could see, for shadows blotted out the Treelight. "We'll send the civilians into the Blue Mountains above the floodwaters, and ride west to beg the Valar for mercy."

The door opened, then, and Maglor came in in a hurry, tears in his eyes. To Elrond's horror, Maglor dropped to his knees at his feet and seized his hand.

"It isn't true," he said, almost begging. "Tell me it isn't true."

Elrond bit his lip, and began, again, to repeat what Elros had said.

It was with weariness and despair that the Fëanorians set out from Amon Ereb some weeks after. The party that would try to make it to the Blue Mountains included all of the civilians and all of the humans, except some handful of each too closely attached to those going to the Valar. These civilians, in any case, would be needed to help with the war host's camp tasks. With the human warriors to guard the civilians were some number of Sindar and Avari followers of Maedhros: nearly all of those who had joined after Sirion, and were not Kinslayers.

Maedhros and Maglor had tried to send Elrond with them as their leader. The weeks of planning had been filled with argument – logical and otherwise – and weeping, and finally Maedhros had flatly ordered Elrond to go. Elrond had flatly said he would forswear himself and follow them anyway, and Maedhros had given up. Later, Morisil had congratulated him: "I think you may be the first in all the years to successfully outlast Prince Nelyafinwë on the basis of stubbornness," he had said, and Elrond had tried to laugh.

The Blue Mountains party set out first. They took most of the remaining food stores, all of the sheep and cattle, the horses the main war host wouldn't need, and, carefully bound in waterproof canvas and Sung against damage, Amon Ereb's library. The hope was that they would reach high enough ground to wait out the flood safely and see where the water lay, and then carry with them enough supplies to make it through and re-establish settlement somewhere. No one was sure how high this hope might reasonably be.

The next day, the war host left for the camp of the Amanyar outside Angband. With them were all of the Noldor – for those Noldor still among the Fëanorians who were civilians were all kin to Noldorin soldiers – and three quarters of the other elves, for most of these were Kinslayers too, at Doriath and Sirion; and a handful of humans married to the aforementioned elves or adopted by them, and the children of these marriages; and including, of course, the officers of the war host, Eleviel and Morisil and Léraquen and Hirluin and all the rest, following Maedhros alongside Maglor – and Elrond.

Elrond was not entirely sure what Maedhros actually intended to do. He wasn't sure Maedhros knew: his mind circled between black despair and bleak humor, and only occasionally and with Elrond or Maglor's insistence did he stir himself to something like hope. He was too grim and too resigned and too determined to really plan to beg for mercy, Elrond was certain, except that perhaps to Maedhros, who had been decades captive on Thangorodrim, begging any Vala for mercy would produce such grim determination. But having sent away the humans and those of the elf soldiers who could really be called innocent had seriously reduced their fighting forces, which had totalled just under two thousand before the division of the host. With luck and determination and a very good plan, perhaps two thousand warriors might have challenged the ten thousand-strong army of the Hosts of Aman, Elrond thought, if you didn't account for the eagles or the direct support from the Valar or want anything except to seize the Silmarils, although it wasn't like that idea had gone well even with total military superiority. But that wasn't going to do anything for Beleriand, and they certainly did not have the two thousand now.

Perhaps it was only that if the Valar had consigned all the innocents Maedhros was still responsible for to death by drowning, he no longer saw any point in clinging to what was left of his honor.

Perhaps if Maedhros said that was so, Elrond would agree with him.

Elrond didn't know what he himself would do, any more than what Maedhros and Maglor would, and it frightened him. There was too much work for him to focus on the fear: navigating the bizarre and twisted connections between high ground and the need to find new places to ford or construct temporary bridges; putting together enough food for the host each night and protecting their camps; occasional attacks by remnants of Morgoth's army and allies, or rarely, encounters with peoples wary but not hostile; and an endless barrage of strange and disturbing sights, from washed up armies of orc carcasses to half-drowned forests to the twisted wreckage earthquakes had made of once-familiar landscape and ruins. But underneath the difficult job of helping manage the host from minute to minute, there was a constant drumbeat of fear in Elrond's breast.

Inevitably, horribly, they arrived.

This time, they did not ride straight up to the banners the way Elros and Maglor had. Every night passed in this nightmare landscape, Maglor and Elrond had Sung disguise and protection over their camps as the strongest Singers among the host. This time they camped a scant league away from the edge of the Amanyar, in such cover as new and jagged rock formations thrown up by earthquakes and buffeted by a rising inland sea could provide. They made sure to camp higher than they thought the water could reasonably reach overnight, or indeed in the next few days; twice on their journey, alarms had been sounded to move the camp to higher ground in a hurry in the middle of the night. Elrond was now frighteningly uncertain that a path back to Amon Ereb over land still existed.

I'm glad you're nearby, said Elros, when Elrond had finished the Song with Maglor and was making his pass over the camp, checking everything was in order before he went to make last rounds on a handful of injuries. Elrond had felt Elros watching through his eyes more and more often on the journey.

He refrained from saying something else biting. The twins had spoken little over the past weeks: Elrond was too busy and too angry. But he could feel Elros's equal anguish, and his anguish that only some of the elves could understand it: half the Amanyar, who had never seen Beleriand but as a twisted and corrupted land of Morgoth and readily assumed anyone left living there was equally corrupted, acted as though the decision was perfectly comprehensible. Worse, Arafinwë and Findis, both of whom Elros had previously begun to like and regard as kin, were among them, though Anairë seemed disquieted.

Gil-galad was furious, and had nearly drawn a sword on Eönwë. Elros and Elrond both took comfort in that.

I'm glad you're near, too, said Elrond.

I hope Maedhros isn't planning to attack us, though, said Elros. The words tried and miserably failed to be a joke. Elros had stopped calling Maedhros Father even in their ósanwe years ago.

I don't think Father knows what he's planning, Elrond admitted. His most recent impression of Maedhros's mind grown heavy with shadow, and the look of his eyes with no Treelight visible, reflected across the twins' minds. Elros recoiled: he still loved Maedhros, however the time had changed the love. I don't know if you saw that he sent the civilians, and everyone who wasn't a Kinslayer and would agree to go, to go to the Blue Mountains when we left Amon Ereb.

A pointed question hovered in Elros's mind, without quite forming words. I refused to go, said Elrond, annoyed. We haven't had any more Kinslayings since you left. Wait, Dad's calling me.

Elrond found Maglor and Maedhros in the command tent with Eleviel. "I'm not asking you to carry this," Maedhros was saying to her, carefully. In his hand was a sealed letter on one of the few sheets of good, unscraped parchment left.

"Of course not, my prince, because I'm volunteering," said Eleviel. She had been injured in one of the recent earthquakes by a nasty fall that could easily have been worse: she had only narrowly avoided falling into a crevice. Her arm was in a sling, and her face was bruised. "I carried your letters of state to the Hosts of Aman when Elros went; and to Gil-galad and Círdan on Balar; and to Sirion. This is no different."

Maedhros sighed, and turned to look at Elrond. "I want you to go with her, and find Elros."

"No," said Elrond, easily, as he had gotten used to saying it to Maedhros recently. "And if you're threatening the Amanyar, I don't see why you would prefer to corrupt my soul by sending me to the murderers of Beleriand and then killing me, instead of corrupting my soul by bringing me with you while you attack them."

There was a horrifed silence in the command tent, and an awed silence from Elros in his mind. Elrond realized that while this was the verbalization of half the fears circulating in his mind – and most probably Maedhros and Maglor's as well – he had perhaps gone a step too far by saying it out loud.

Maedhros looked as though he didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and Maglor was frozen, but Eleviel actually laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "He's right, you know, my prince. They've killed more innocents than all of us combined in the last season. Although I hope that if we are attacking the Amanyar, you have a good plan for it. I'll be off, then, and I'll even take your feelings about the ceremonies into consideration," she said, and bowed from the hip, sling tucked protectively against her stomach, instead of prostrating.

It's not really a threat, is it? said Elros in resignation: he was going to be included in whatever meeting Gil-galad and Arafinwë and Eönwë had about the letter.

Elrond asked, and Maedhros shook his head. "It's a request, and a plea," he said. "When they refuse it, we'll decide what to do next. Has Elros plans for his people? They can't be commanded to return to Aman. I assume the Valar aren't actually going to tell the Secondborn to rejoin Eru Ilúvatar by jumping into the growing sea."

"He says Eönwë conveyed that Manwë is going to give them an island as a reward for fighting with Aman, which I presume is intended to remain above the water," said Elrond. "Although I'm not sure how they're going to get enough boats for everyone, especially if they have to do it before the sea swallows us all." Maedhros and Maglor both winced at the mention of boats.

"So they'll still be there," said Maglor bleakly, and he and Maedhros looked at each other.

Damn it. Elrond must not have really believed they would try attacking again, despite all his brave words, for he was appalled. "I don't know why you expect this time to go any better," said Elrond, voice shaking, and left the tent without a dismissal.

Maybe I can convince them to give the Silmarils up, said Elros, who was not shocked. Elrond sent him a wordless inquiry, and Elros sighed into his mind. I've been living somewhere we talk about the reality a lot longer.

Oh? said Elrond acidly. And do they discuss the Long Peace, and who kept the open half of the border? Do they discuss the eastern front of this war? And what do they say of the Valar's recent actions?

Elros didn't argue, but he didn't agree, either.

Eleviel remained in the Amanyar camp for three days, though it was only a short ride away. Elrond and Elros's connection was useful again because Elrond could reassure Maedhros that she was fine. Elros had hosted her as a guest, since nobody else was willing, and the Men didn't regard Fëanorian atrocities as particularly noteworthy. She hadn't come back because the leadership was still arguing about how to respond.

More precisely, everyone else is arguing with Eönwë, said Elros. I want our fathers free of the Oath, Gil-galad wants the Oath to stop making trouble, and Arafinwë doesn't see the point of fighting over something so stupid. Why do the Valar even want the fucking things, anyway?

Elrond had never before bothered asking this question, as he had never before realized the Valar did. It seemed unwise to broach the subject around Maedhros these days, but Maglor was managing long stretches of near-normalcy, so instead, Elrond asked him.

Maglor, currently fixing his sword belt, sighed. "'And Yavanna did plead of Fëanor proud/that Light of the Silmarils might be unbound...' Not the best rhyme, nor meter, but it wasn't my work. They asked for them after Morgoth extinguished the Two Trees – it's Treelight in them if you've never heard – and I've never been sure if they still think they might bring the Trees back, or it's only wounded pride that Father refused. I don't see the point of fighting over them, either. If it weren't for the damned Oath—"

Maglor's teeth shut with a click, and he bent to his mending.

Ask him what the name of the song is, said Elros grimly. I didn't know that. I'll bring it up in the next meeting in front of Gil-galad. I'll wager he doesn't know, either.

Is it tragic that our settlement was massacred over something nobody seriously thinks was worth killing over, or only pathetic? Elrond asked bitterly, and went to check on the wounded. The constant wet was getting to everyone and everything, and the slash Filitar had received from an orc was threatening to rot.

Eleviel returned with a letter late on the third morning, and Elrond paced in the command tent while Maedhros received it. Elrond knew, but had not yet said, that the news was not good, for Elros had withdrawn from his mind early that morning, and refused to answer his touch.

"Well," said Maedhros at the end, and exhaled. He handed the letter to Maglor, hovering at his elbow, who scanned the latter and snorted.

They both looked at Elrond, who opened his mouth, but Maedhros raised a hand. "Out," he said, to both Eleviel and Elrond. "—We won't do anything without warning you," he said to Elrond, "But Maglor and I need to discuss this privately."

Eleviel prostrated herself this time, so Elrond spent their exit scolding her. "—and let me look at your arm," he said at the end.

"I remember when I was bandaging your split knees," said Eleviel, though she allowed him to draw her off to a dryer spot of rock and unfasten the sling.

"That was a long time ago," said Elrond with dignity.

Eleviel snorted. "Forty years, what an Age," she said, and then fell silent. Elrond wondered, sometimes – when he let himself – what it was like for the elves who had fought at Sirion, for whom the battle was practically as yesterday, and yet saw him very day and acted as his kin. He had been too young to really resist it for long, but...

"What were you thinking?" he said abruptly, though his hands stayed gentle on the recently-dislocated elbow. "When you started to care for me, hardly a year later? Don't just tell me Maedhros ordered all of you to treat us as his kin, I know that, but that isn't enough to explain it. Were you trying to make up for it? --Is there any pain in this spot?"

"What a situation to ask about this," said Eleviel, and at the look on his face, "—I know it wasn't on purpose. I don't know, Elrond," she said, and sounded suddenly and unusually exhausted. "You go somewhere else in your head in battle, somewhere you can't think about whether you're about to die, or you will die, you know that. Those of us who became Kinslayers learned not to think about... other things, too. It's not that I don't understand what we did to you and Elros. I do. But it's like something that happened in a separate world, outside normal life, Sirion – even more than Doriath and Alqualonde. Of course we loved you when we came back to normal life. You were elf children where there hadn't been any in – so long, and we are still elves. And then we got to know you, and you were you, and we loved you more. I've never been able to reconcile it, only try not to think about it too much. You aren't – just considering this now, are you?"

"Of course not," said Elrond, and her weariness had infected him. He wondered what the point of asking had been, and what he had thought she could possibly say.

Maybe it was because he might be about to make the same choice. He didn't know what he would do, if Maedhros came out of the tent and called the officers in to draw up a plan of attack.

He had better shut Elros out of his mind now, just in case.

"I didn't think asking Léraquen about it would get me anywhere," said Elrond. "Answer me about your arm now, please."

"No, that part feels fine – ouch!" said Eleviel as he gently probed. "Damn, are you going to have to reset it?"

"I don't think so, but don't go down on the floor like that until it's out of the sling and working again. At the very least, go down carefully," said Elrond. The honor guard, especially, had a habit of literally falling on their faces. "You know Father hates it, anyway. What were you before? In Aman, I mean. They didn't have guards, right? And Father told me you were friends, originally."

Eleviel looked nearly embarrassed. "Not the way they have them here, and I wasn't one, anyway. I wasn't in the palace service at all. Prince Nelyafinwë and I met as fellow apprentices in calligraphy and manuscript illumination. I was a librarian."

"A librarian?" said Elrond.

"In the Royal Free Library of Tirion," said Eleviel. "I designed the cataloguing system, and he helped me. They're probably still waiting for me to come back and code all of the books written in the meantime. It's only been five centuries or so, and the head of the library told me unequivocally that running off after Prince Nelyafinwë to get myself killed didn't excuse me from my responsibilities."

Despite himself, Elrond started laughing. He went about the rest of his medical rounds with a lighter heart.

Two hours hence, the trumpet sounded to summon the officers to council.

Maedhros and Maglor had clearly made up their minds, and Maglor looked miserable. There was no map or diagram of the camp of the Amanyar laid out. Selfishly, Elrond hoped they weren't about to ask him to draw one. Maedhros had the letter in his hand, and rose immediately when everyone had gathered:

"Lord Eönwë has replied to our request," he said. "He has requested that Maglor and I turn ourselves over for judgment, with the Silmarils to be discussed in Aman."

They were really going to attack the Hosts of Aman, thought Elrond dizzily, stomach twisting, and he held the gates of his mind shut. The odds were worse than ten-to-one. What in the world would the plan be? Maedhros wouldn't throw them all away on some idea it was better to die fighting than drowned, would he?

Maedhros had paused, and now took a slow breath. Maglor was staring at him expressionlessly. Maedhros said, "My brother and I will go before Eönwë alone," and immediately protests rang out.

Maedhros raised a hand, and when it didn't help, for the first time in Elrond's memory, he shouted in a council meeting: "ENOUGH!" His voice crashed across the officers like a wave, full of unformed Power, and they fell mutinously silent.

Maedhros glared them all down from one end of the room to the other. "There is no remaining group or person the Valar consider themselves to be at war with in Beleriand – except us. I cannot promise you that all of this will stop if we surrender – or even tell you I think it likely – but I can think of no other means by which we might influence them in the matter. Before we go," he continued over the rising protests until they stopped, "I shall release you from your oaths, and request – as it shall not be mine to order – that instead you swear service to Elrond."

Heads turned towards him unanimously, and for the first time in many years, Elrond felt a nervous youth in front of Maedhros's council.

To his surprise, Léraquen spoke first. "My prince," she said, "None of us would hesitate to die with you – or to surrender with you. But if it is your wish, and if he accepts – then we shall serve Elrond, who is no less worthy a prince."

"So he is," said Eleviel, who still looked horrified and who never agreed with Léraquen at council, and if any was inclined to object after that, they did not say so.

Elrond, in wonder and horror, opened his mind to Elros again. There was no reason not to, anymore. Elros said to him, half in hysteria, So it seems you're also to be a king!

After that things moved dizzyingly fast. Maedhros had to make the same announcement to the camp at large, which predictably was no more pleased that he and Maglor intended to surrender. But the officers now were unified, and the camp at large acquiesced. Maedhros gave a speech Elrond was certain he did not believe, emphasizing that Arafinwë had greeted Maglor with joy when they came with Elros, and half of Eönwë's council of rulers consisted of Arafinwë and Elros; and Gil-galad had argued for giving up the Silmarils so there might be peace; so there was good reason to hope for mercy. Elrond was not sure anybody else believed it either, with the floodwaters plainly in view, but they would cling to it when they needed comfort anyway.

At the end of the speech, Maedhros formally released all those in his service from their oaths. He had sent someone for the formal jewelry from his luggage, and addressed them in those remaining symbols of the House of Fëanor, circlet of silver, rings of office and a particular sword, made in Aman, rather too flashily for combat. He now summoned Elrond, and when Elrond knelt before him, he removed the circlet first.

"I have previously named as my heir Elrond Ceuramo Nelyafinwion Makalaurion Eärendillion," said Maedhros in a clear and carrying voice. "I now abdicate my remaining offices to him; Lord of the House of Fëanor and your prince, I name him." Maedhros set his circlet on Elrond's head, and took his hand to slide on the rings, one a practical sealing ring – which, Elrond thought wildly, he would have to replace, actually, because his banner would need to be differenced from Maedhros's, assuming they lived long enough for it to matter – and one a ring set with the star of the house, made by Fëanor himself and with the original iridescence in the colors.

"Rise," said Maedhros, and Elrond rose, concentrating on keeping a steady face. Finally, Maedhros drew the sword and placed it in Elrond's hands, and fastened the sword belt on him for Elrond to sheathe it again. Maedhros then turned to face the crowd formed by the war host. "Here is your prince, if you will know him!" said Maedhros, and the acclamations started from the audience as the honor guard, arrayed directly in front, fell on their faces before them both.

He still had to actually take oaths. It was now Elrond's job to dismiss the crowd, which he did, fighting constantly the feeling that he was playing dress up as Maedhros, as he had as a child at times. They went back into the command tent, followed by the councillors. Elrond was also going to have to rearrange the councillors and officers, again assuming everybody lived long enough for it to matter. What exactly had Maedhros imagined the rest of them doing, if he and Maglor were to go and surrender to Eönwë?

That was for later. Elrond shut it out of his mind and stood. The officers knew what their purpose was here, and Eleviel came first before Elrond and knelt to take his hand.

"My prince, I, Eleviel Tirwegel Celephiriel, swear unto you service, in war and in peace, in fort and in field, and to fortune, ruin, or Doom; always shall I give to you my loyalty and my fealty, serving your will obediently when you command and your purpose when you cannot; this I swear freely and willingly in the name of Eru Ilúvatar, never to be ended except that you should by your own choice release me, and following this body through the ends of this life and my spirit thereafter, into death and any life afterward Powers and Doom should grant me. May all the virtues I possess to grant you turn against me if I should break this oath," she said, and kissed on his hand the ring forged and set by Fëanor.

Elrond had to fight to keep his face steady, and a ripple of ambiguous reaction passed through the officers waiting, all the way through Maedhros and Maglor. There was a formula, but there was room in that formula for considerable variation, as elves were held by their own spirits to what they swore. Eleviel's choices were extreme. At least she had left an opening for him to release her.

He must not hesitate. She had kissed the ring, and he drew her up now, catching both her hands. "I, Elrond Ceuramo Nelyafinwion, accept and welcome you to my service; so I swear to cherish you, and to strive to meet your obedience with wisdom, your fealty with love, and your service with honor, never casting you thoughtlessly aside or holding to you without worthiness of your trust, until and unless I should release you." He was not expected to name the Name in taking Oaths of obedience, nor consequences for breaking his end, though his reciprocal vows would still take hold in his spirit.

Finally, he embraced Eleviel, and kissed her forehead, and he felt the thread that now stretched between them. Morisil was next. Elrond didn't have to take oaths from all the thousand-odd soldiers and certainly couldn't do it today, but the officers, and the honor guard, would be necessary. Elrond held out his hand as Morisil went to his knees.

Not every vow was quite so extreme as Eleviel's, but every one of them swore service beyond death, into Mandos and beyond if Mandos should indeed release them. Elrond tried not to think that this was because they all expected, in the near future, to die.

I suppose it might be easier to make a peace treaty if they're all sworn to obey someone who's not a Kinslayer, said Elros in his mind, who had been watching.

There had to be some kind of celebration for what had certainly been a coronation, though they were camped in secrecy nearby the enemy and their supplies were very short. (Fortunately, Elrond and Maglor's Song would have hidden the sound of the acclamations.) There was game even on these rocky heights, for animals were also fleeing the floodwaters, if none of them were well-fed. So they had roasted venison, and what remained of the wine. It was the last meal at which Elrond would sit with Maedhros and Maglor, though Maedhros now sat at Elrond's right instead of the other way around. In the morning they planned to leave for the Amanyar camp.

Perhaps Eönwë would be merciful. Perhaps the fact that Maedhros had released his soldiers, and then bound them to somebody the Amanyar would like better, would count for him. Perhaps they would not seek to obliterate Maedhros and Maglor to end any possible corruption the way they sought to obliterate Beleriand.

Elrond tried not to think about it, so that they at least had this time to remember; and since the wine was going first to him, he managed to get just drunk enough to mostly succeed.

"We'll talk in the morning?" he said later, when their best attempt at a feast had broken up and he was going to bed in the prince's tent, next to Maedhros and Maglor's bedrolls. (This, at least, wasn't new.)

"We'll talk in the morning," said Maedhros, and Maglor, who had been silent through much of this, nodded. As Elrond drifted off, he thought he heard Maglor say, "That was more extreme than the oath Eleviel gave you."

"Eleviel swore to me in a very different time," said Maedhros.

Dawn broke coldly. Elros was deeply with Elrond the moment he woke, so that he would be able to anticipate Maedhros and Maglor's arrival and watch what happened with Eönwë (as he had refused to let his people be used as guards for the Silmarils, he had to do this himself); and because Elrond desperately needed his presence. Maedhros was still asleep a few feet away, but Elrond felt already the loneliness of their going – and of all the years that lay ahead, and of the time closer at hand when he would have to hear about the judgement, and live with it.

For a moment he was tempted to forbid them from going. The guard wasn't likely to seriously act against Maedhros for him, but if Elrond told them to do something they wanted to do anyway, like prevent Maedhros from handing himself and Maglor over to the Valar's mercy, they probably would.

It was a stupid thought, and Elros did him the courtesy of not pointing this out as Elrond rose and dressed. He put the rings on, but everything else remained packed away. This was no place for ceremonial clothing. He almost left his hair loose, but it was probable that what everybody ignored in a half-Sindarin child would offend some of the Noldor in their prince, and it wasn't like Elrond had the excuse of a missing hand. He sat down on a travel chest and started braiding his hair instead.

"Let me do that," said Maglor, softly, from the edge of the partition that cut off the sleeping quarters. He was already dressed. Elrond hadn't realized he was awake. Elrond nodded, unable to find words, and slowly Maglor came around behind him, smoothed out the start of the braid, and began more neatly parting his hair.

Elrond closed his eyes. "I'll miss you both," he said.

"I know. We will miss you in turn."

It had been a long time since Elrond had needed help to arrange his hair, and he didn't wear especially formal styles, so the familiar feeling of Maglor's fingers in it were familiar mostly from childhood. Things hadn't been simple then, in the immediate aftermath of Sirion, but they had been complicated in an entirely different way from now.

"I hope..." Elrond didn't know what there was to hope for. "I hope Eönwë is merciful," he said, finally.

"So shall we all," said Maglor. The style felt like two gathering braids starting at the temples, but then Maglor pulled all of the hair together at the nape of Elrond's neck, braided it together for a few fingers' span, and split it into three braids there, all without stopping. Maglor had been doing Maedhros's hair for a very long time, whenever he had time. "Whatever happens to us," said Maglor, after a long pause, "Know that we will be thinking of you – and we're sorry. For... everything."

Elrond closed his eyes. He heard the sounds of Maedhros stirring and rising, and he spoke to them both then. "I would rather you think of me with love than regret," he whispered. His voice did not seem to want to work normally. "Because you cannot give me a different past – give me that, at least, and remember me well."

"If that is what you wish," said Maglor, heavily. Elrond tried to find more words, but failed, so they were silent until Maglor had finished his hair. "Maedhros would speak with you before we go," said Maglor. He kissed the top of Elrond's head, and went out from the tent.

Elrond opened his eyes, and looked up at Maedhros. "I could help with your hair," he said softly. Maedhros had put on plain clothing, and his sword, which would of course be necessary to cross any undefended space even in order to surrender in these times. But his hair was loose. In Elros's experience, the Noldorin Amanyar were still much stricter about that than most of the Noldor of Beleriand.

Maedhros shook his head. "There's no time," he said, came over, and caught Elrond in his arms.

Elrond hugged Maedhros tightly, pressing his face into his neck for the last time, and still had to stand on his toes to do it. "I wish – I hope that someday we can be together again, however long it takes," he said. He had read the Doom of the Noldor, and Mandos had said little pity but he had also said that long should they long for their bodies – not always.

"Perhaps," said Maedhros, with no belief in it. "After we go – the decision must be yours, but if you'll hear my advice," he said, and paused for Elrond's nod. "I would bring them in, announce yourself as the commander, and surrender for the Fëanorian hosts. Aim to surrender to Elros or Gil-galad, or if you have to, Arafinwë, but give everyone some time after today, first. A few days if the supplies hold out. If you come in with us, I think Eönwë is more likely to treat everyone the same way, and I doubt it would benefit the rest of you. I don't know what story you'll want to tell them about how you ended up in command, Elros will probably be more helpful for that, but..."

Elrond nodded. "I've never committed an act of war against the Hosts of Aman, so they can't treat me the way they would you, or, say, Eleviel or Morisil if they were left in charge."

"That's not why," said Maedhros quickly. "Elrond, you know that I meant it when I declared you my son, and later when I declared you heir, after Elros was gone."

"I know," said Elrond, meaning it. "The politics still have to matter."

Maedhros smiled thinly, looking him in the eye. "That's why I handed command over to you – not because I love you, although I do. I know you'll take care of them."

Elrond fixed this moment in his mind. "Thank you," he said, and meant it. "I always wondered – did you really leave it up to the tokens, when Elros and I drew to decide who would leave?"

Maedhros laughed, and it was the real one, the beautiful one. "Would you believe me if I told you I did, whether it was true or not?" he said lightly, and without clarifying, "One more thing."

"Yes?" said Elrond, squeezing Maedhros's hand in his, and wishing he didn't have to let go.

"When you live through this," said Maedhros, with a real and fervent determination that was almost like hope, and stopped.

"If," Elrond muttered, but Maedhros caught his gaze and held it. Elrond drew a deep breath, and repeated, trying to mean the words, "When I live through this."

"When you've lived through this," said Maedhros, "And you get married some day, and you have children."

Elrond genuinely could not imagine feeling secure enough for elf children, but if Maedhros wanted to hope, now of all days, Elrond wouldn't argue. "When I get married and have children," he repeated.

"No family feuds." Maedhros smiled fully, then, so that his face lit up and you could glimpse the Prince of Tirion, Nelyafinwë, the one whose mother name Maitimo had never been made into a joke because it was too clearly correct. Elrond could see the Treelight again. "And give your children normal names."

Helplessly, tears in his eyes, Elrond laughed. Maedhros laughed, too, and squeezed Elrond's hand before he let it go and turned to leave.

Maedhros and Maglor weren't taking horses, as they wouldn't be able to return them to the war host. They were still very close to the Amanyar camp. The walk should be less than an hour if there was no trouble. Elros had found an excuse to hover in ready earshot of Eönwë's command tent, so that he would know immediately when Eönwë was summoned or Maedhros and Maglor brought. He was determined not to let Eönwë do anything horrifying if he could prevent it, despite his changed loyalties.

There's been enough suffering over the damned Oath, said Elros. As far as I can tell, the Valar don't understand that Incarnates can't just know all of the consequences when we do something like that. They're not equipped to judge us, and none of the Fëanorian atrocities were against the Valar, anyway.

As far as I can tell, your arguments already failed once, said Elrond tersely. He could see now that Elros was struggling to adapt to Elrond's new position as much as Elrond had once struggled to adapt to Elros's. Ever since Elros had begun to feel at home with the Amanyar and their human allies, he had begun to wait, in the depths of his heart, for Elrond to join him. He hadn't imagined that happening when Elrond surrendered as a Fëanorian prince.

And that's going to be a shit show, too, although Maedhros is probably right that you were the best alternative, said Elros, who only had half his mind on his conversation about food stores with one of the camp cooks.

Elrond would care about all of that later, when he knew what was going to happen to his fathers. Gil-galad will probably be better than you, he said, trying to plan anyway for the distraction of it. If I surrender to you no one will take it seriously, and you could give him a warning.

It's not as if they know you just received oaths of service past death from Maedhros's entire honor guard, Elros said. They won't think we've worked things out in advance. Their primary concern will be whether the Fëanorian soldiers actually listen to you. Nobody here knows I came as a spy.

Elros now felt real guilt, even revulsion, over this, especially as some of the people he'd spied on were now his subjects. Elrond barely avoided saying that in that case Elros might have stopped telling Elrond everything at some point. The thought hovered anyway, not quite formed into words.

They were both tense. It had been an hour and a half, and Maedhros and Maglor should have arrived by now. There would have been an alarm if the guards had simply shot them approaching the wall, but if they had, say, fallen into a crevice instead...

If they're not here in a half hour one of us is going to have to send someone to look, Elros was saying, trying to decide what to tell his men to avoid problems should the Amanyar notice a Fëanorian patrol sent by Elrond, and then the alarm was sounded. Elros whipped around towards Eönwë's tent to the sound of sword clashing on sword and somebody's scream of pain, and yet neither of them understood until an instant later, when a distant shout came of "The Silmarils!"

Elros was immediately aware that all of his forces were across the entire camp, though he had no idea what he would have done with them available: could he order them on Maedhros and Maglor, knowing many of them would be killed, just to ensure he took them into detention himself and not Eönwë?

What Elros actually screamed with ósanwe was simply, ELROND!

At the same time, as comprehension came, Elrond bolted up. Everyone knew he was watching through Elros's eyes, and at his panic they reacted as well. Elros saw a figure tall enough to be Maedhros, helmed so that his hair was not visible, darting through a work tent. He did not see Maglor.

The edge of the camp, they just had to get to the edge of the camp. The Amanyar still didn't build palisades, trusting in Power to keep enemies out – but they didn't Sing to keep prisoners in.

Elrond did not consciously make a decision to act. He had been drilled so thoroughly in mustering the camp in response to sudden attacks, and in making a quick decision about where to go and who to send. In all his experience of life with them, the Fëanorian host had never fought other elves. "Sound the alarm," said Elrond to Eleviel, already starting toward the horses, "Honor guard and cavalry units, assemble at the gate," and he broke into a run.

Elrond, said Elros, horrified, turning in place with his hand on his sword and trying to figure out where Maedhros and Maglor had gone. Then Elros gave up and broke for the edge of the camp. Nobody here knew he and Elrond had been in continuous ósanwe contact for all the years. There was no comprehensible warning he could give, or else he was simply unwilling, and everybody armed in the vicinity had joined the frantic search, well away from the camp's edge. Elrond!

Elrond ignored Elros, except to keep a vague awareness of events around him, and notice Elros had not actually shut him out. Everything else was pure drilled reflex and work. He got to his charger, already saddled hastily by Hendaras, accepted mail in a hurry and his helmet and mounted, then took his lance. The honor guard was already forming up, and Léraquen's cavalry. Maglor's was still getting used to a different commander and slower, but Hirluin's light cavalry was up and ready.

Elrond pulled his horse around, judged the first two units complete enough and time most important, and said, "They need time to get clear of the camp, that's all!" He couldn't ignore the implications when he had to give instructions, but nor could he turn back now. "The guards are after them but there's no large muster. If we can get the pursuit to break by showing up in force, we will." A cavalry charge would often make unprepared infantry turn and run, and that was all that was needed here. "If not—"

This was his order. Elrond had no Oath to blame, nor Maedhros or Maglor in command.

"Maintain the attack for just long enough for Lord Maedhros and Lord Maglor to get to us, and then focus on escape. We don't want to lead them back to the camp. Break in different directions and re-establish contact by ósanwe. Infantry units, muster for defense. Honor guard, Léraquen, after me!" he said, and set out at a canter.

They couldn't gallop the horses over ground like this, but they were so close. Elros was sunken in despair and horror, but he was still letting Elrond watch through his eyes. The commotion in the camp was turning to confusion, but nobody had passed the line of the camp in Elros's sight, at the closest edge. If Maedhros and Maglor had doubled back in a different direction – well, the attack would certainly divert everyone from stopping them, then, Elrond thought grimly, and focused on his horse. A single league would have been no time at all over flat ground or an established road, but they soon had to drop the horses to a trot to make their way safely, and divert around another newly-opened chasm.

The added minutes stabbed at Elrond with fear that they would not be in time. In the Amanyar camp a cry was sent up, and Elros whirled to see Maedhros and Maglor fighting their way out of another tent, blood on Maglor's sword visible in the morning sun. Like common burglars, thought Elros in disgust. Elrond noted only the distance to the edge for them, and the Amanyar riders running for horses. The banners of the camp had appeared on the horizon, visible to Elrond from two distances at once, and then--

Maedhros got clear and leapt the ditch bordering the camp. Maglor was just behind him. There were riders racing parallel to it, soon to catch them. Elrond thought in some calm, distant corner of his mind that they were out of formation and would be easily scattered by the Fëanorian honor guard in just about thirty seconds, and then--

And then Lord Eönwë was calling them off.

Echoed through Elros, Elrond heard. "Do not pursue!" and didn't listen to the rest, seeing only that the command was obeyed. He pulled up his horse, calling to Eleviel to signal the halt. Elros had turned to watch Maedhros and Maglor go so that Elrond could see, and Elrond took note of the direction. "They're clear!" he called, projecting his voice, using Power to make sure it went only to his own forces.

"Léraquen, Hirluin, back to the camp. Honor guard, with me to catch up with my fathers," he said, wheeled around, and started picking out a course that would intersect them, but first remove the cavalry further from the Amanyar. There was no reason to risk a battle simply because both forces were agitated.

Elros watched in terse silence as this order was followed and Elrond started out at the head of the honor guard. He said, The rest of Eönwë's order?

What was it? said Elrond, whose mind was caught between the high of anticipated battle and the logistics of the pursuit.

Distantly he remembered Eleviel saying that the Kinslayers learned to put aside things other than the fear of death. Apparently so had he.

He ordered no pursuit so that no others would become Kinslayers, said Elros, and slammed the gate between their minds shut.

The honor guard was forced to halt when the earth shook again. They had to reassure the horses, and make their way around the obstructions the earthquake had created. When they rounded the edge of a newly gaping chasm they found, at last, a clear way before them. Elrond stopped them and searched for Maedhros by Song. Eleviel was starting to give him concerned looks, which he ignored. There would be time for sorting it out later. Hysterically, Elrond remembered saying just that morning that he had never committed an act of war against the Hosts of Aman.

No wonder Maedhros had advised Elrond wait a few days before coming in to surrender.

They started off again after Elrond found the trajectory for Maedhros. The ground was clear and flat here, so they could pick up some speed, although they still were wary of breaks in the ground. Some time later, figures came into view on the horizon far in advance, at the edge of another newly-formed crevice.

Maedhros had lost or removed the helm that concealed his hair, so that he was readily obvious from a distance. Aa second figure who must be Maglor was a short way away. A shift of angle, or Maedhros's hand, and there was brilliant light on the horizon – Treelight. One or both of the Silmarils illuminated the broken landscape, hallowing the land outside Angband as the Valar destroyed it in some grotesque parody of legendary Treelit Valinor.

Elrond discovered he hated the Silmarils, and was not very surprised.

So do I, said Elros, sadly, for he had opened his mind again.

Maedhros and Maglor hadn't seen them, and didn't seem to be looking for pursuit. As Elrond watched with half an eye, the other half tracking his horse's strides over the dead grass, Maedhros turned his back on Maglor and walked a few strides away, Silmaril still in hand, looking out over the newly-opened crevice.

A prickle of unease crept up Elrond's neck. He slowed his horse as the ground grew broken and treacherous again, but kept going with a sudden conviction of urgency.

They were still too far away to call out, and Elrond had not reached for Maedhros's mind; and so he was too far away to do anything all but witness when Maedhros looked down, into the crevice, and deliberately, precisely, stepped out into air.

Eleviel beside him screamed, and Elros in his mind cried out. Elrond spurred his horse dangerously forward for four or five reckless strides over broken rocks before he reined her in, lest the entire honor guard take it as an order. As carefully as necessary, numb with horror, they reached the crevice's edge and looked down into magma far below, and no sign at all of Maedhros; and far too broad a gap for an elf to leap across.

When Elrond looked back, Maglor had vanished, too.

Perhaps the figures had been illusion to draw off pursuit. Perhaps Maedhros had climbed down into the crevice. Perhaps they were really somewhere else – perhaps this day was a horrific dream--

Elrond slipped off his horse and drew up Power. But Song meant to find Maglor did not succeed in penetrating veils of protection drawn up to oppose it, though he tried. Song did not find Maedhros in existence in Beleriand.

"Elrond," said Léraquen, and he blinked. He was drenched in sweat, the braids Maglor had woven that morning plastered against his neck, and the sun was low in the sky, setting. "My prince. Please look at me."

Léraquen was kneeling before him and gripping both his hands.

"I told you to go back to the camp," said Elrond. His voice was as hoarse as though he had Sung for an entire battle.

"I did. My cavalry are there. I came back out after the rest of you. My prince, you've been seeking them for hours."

"Dad – Maglor is hiding from me," said Elrond. "Maedhros is gone."

"Then we know he does not linger as an unhoused spirit, my prince," said Léraquen.

Nobody was going to directly tell him to give up and go back to camp. It wasn't their place anymore. They had all sworn to obey him.

Practically the first thing Elrond had done with those oaths, which Maedhros had arranged, presumably, to keep them out of the theft he and Maglor would already have planned, was order another Kinslaying. Only luck and Eönwë's damned mercy had kept it from taking place.

Elrond was in command. He couldn't weep, or fall down in the dry, dead grass next to this crevice and never move from it.

Maedhros was dead.

He got up, stiffly, and looked for his horse, who had thankfully been tended in the meantime. Moving with only a little more grace, Elrond mounted.

The honor guard was small enough, and not moving, so he could address them verbally even with his hoarse voice. He counted them, making sure everyone was present, before calling, "Back to the camp!"

Desolate, they began. When they got there, Elrond would have to begin planning, again, to bring them in to surrender, even after Maedhros and Maglor's theft.

I don't think anyone else spotted you, said Elros in exhaustion. It looks like the sentries on that side were killed by Maedhros and Maglor. You should still probably give them a few days to calm down.

Elrond had resolutely ordered an attack on a camp that include Elros. He had barely even thought about it at the time, despite Elros watching through their connection.

...This is useless, but I'm sorry, he said, staring at the dusty ground ahead of his horse.

So am I, said Elros. I don't know. The first time I screamed for you, I was thinking 'do something!' I didn't realize what something would have to be until you'd started doing it.

At least we didn't actually kill anyone, said Elrond. I suppose Lord Eönwë knows.

All the more reason you should surrender to Gil-galad, Elros said.

Because, of course, Elros knew of it, too.

You'll need to help me approach the camp in the right place to find Gil-galad first when we come, said Elrond, and withdrew from the depths of Elros's mind. Somehow, he had to break the news to the rest of the camp.