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Maglor looked around himself, mouth pulled into a tight line. The last of the soldiers around him had fallen. He knew there was a chance some of them were not soldiers by profession, only folk who had armed themselves in self-defense, but he would not linger on that awareness until after the battle was done. Pity was something he had trained himself not to entertain.
Once his gaze was done sweeping over the freshly dead, it turned to the path these people had been defending. It led away from the camps, and that intrigued him. There would be no Silmaril there, Elwing kept it close to her always and she had been seen going towards the sea, but something else of importance had to be this way.
He ignored the Oath’s nagging pull, heading for the narrow strip of dirt. Maedhros had said he would find Elwing, and Maglor would trust him with that. The Ambarussa could handle their side of the battle. Curiosity had always been a flaw of Maglor’s and he could not ignore the fury with which he had been pushed away from this place.
“My lord?” his own subordinates asked as he stepped towards the path.
“I want to see what it is they were hiding.”
His steps made as little sound as the armor would allow him. At first he went slow, wary of unseen enemies hiding between the trees, but no one tried to stop him nor did any arrow fly past him.
Maglor didn’t have the hunting skill needed to guess if people had come this way recently. After a few minutes of walking, he had to wonder if he had been mistaken. He couldn’t go miles just to check if this led anywhere, nevermind that if someone was running from him they could have easily gone off path.
The crying stopped him. A sob that had almost been drowned out by the sound of a nearby stream. Unlucky for whoever had made the noise, Maglor had too keen ears to miss it. It had come from somewhere to his left, and what a coincidence that in that direction was a rocky outcrop perfect to hide behind.
He gripped his sword tight, ready to defend himself from whoever was there. But as he sprinted around the rocks, he found he hadn’t had any reason to worry. The ones hiding were two small children, dark-haired and red-faced from tears, huddling close and staring at him with large, terrified eyes.
Maglor’s weapon nearly fell from his fingers. Not children, he had never hurt children before and he would not start now, and the sight of them clawed at his heart through the wall of ruthless indifference he had prepared for the battle. Some lines he had to refuse to cross. Especially after Doriath, the two boys Maedhros had spent days searching and never found.
Elwing and Eärendil had children, did they not? Twins. Maglor felt they should be younger than these boys, but the children of Men grew fast and so did Half-Men. Still, they were very young, and how stupidly reckless, to send two boys running off alone into the woods, when Orcs and all sorts of beasts could find them.
Then again, the death of the children’s uncles was on Maglor and his brothers. It was just as possible that someone had ordered them to hide in this place, to be retrieved once the battle was over.
“Are you the sons of Elwing of Doriath and Eärendil of Gondolin?” Maglor asked.
He received no verbal response, but the children tightened their grip on the brother’s clothes, cowering.
Maglor took a deep breath. He slid his sword back into the sheath, the blood that would dry inside of it a problem for a later moment. “I will not hurt you.”
In truth, he didn’t know what he would do beyond that he didn’t want to leave them here. It was not a safe place for two children to be. And if Elwing knew her sons had been found she might be pushed to give up the Silmaril. Not that Maglor had any intention of holding these boys at sword point as hostages, but he knew Elwing thought them monsters already.
He held his hand out to them. “Come with me. I promise you will be safe.”
Clearly, he was not being convincing. If anything, they were trying to press themselves further into the rock and away from him. To think there had been a time when calming down a crying child had been second nature to Maglor, but it had been so long since all his family had grown up.
The fact blood had splattered on his armor likely did not help. Sighing, he slipped off his left vambrace and glove, hoping that would make him seem less intimidating. “I know you are scared, but you don’t need to be. I will take you to find your mother.”
At that, one boy blinked, expression more open, but the other looked as scared as before. Not a perfect set, were they? Ambarussa had been identical in personality just as much as appearance at this age, what reassured one inevitably worked on the other. These twins didn’t seem to work the same. Maglor could even spot a few small differences in their features.
No time to work out their individual traits, however. He had already been away from battle for far too long.
“Come,” he repeated. He came closer, leaning down with his hand still offered. “I promise you have nothing to fear.”
Given how still the boys had been so far, Maglor was taken by surprise when one of them reached out, fast as a snake. Not to take his hand, but to bite it.
Maglor shouted, drawing back. He had been bitten by his fair share of children in life but he had forgotten how much it hurt. Or perhaps this one’s teeth were unusually sharp. Who knew how Maia heritage could manifest.
The shout attracted the attention of his soldiers, that had been lagging behind. “My lord, what–“
“No need to worry,” Maglor said. “And lower that sword!”
Too late. The sight of more armed people rushing towards them terrified the children even more. One of them could no longer keep himself from crying, and his twin almost immediately joined him. Maglor had really hoped they would calm down enough to follow him on their own, but that didn’t look like it would happen any time soon.
***
“Elros. Please.”
Elros crossed his arms, glaring at Maglor with fierceness. “No.”
“You need to brush your hair every once in a while,” Maglor said, a statement he must have repeated a thousand times already.
“No.”
It was not wholly right of Maglor to be brushing the boys’ hair. Their parents should teach them, not a distant relative who had taken them from their former life. But they were still too young to do it properly, and Elros in particular would never pick up a brush if he could. Maedhros pulled too hard, so the task fell to Maglor.
“I can see the knots,” Maglor said. “You do know if they get too bad we won’t be able to untangle them, and we’ll have to cut your hair.”
Elros kicked his feet, legs dangling because the chair he sat on was too big for him. “Then I will cut it off.”
Of course. Why had Maglor expected a different reply. It was the same thing Celegorm used to say before he reached the age to be vain, and after him Caranthir had been the same, screeching in protest whenever someone dared touch his hair. Good thing Maglor could recognize empty words for what they were.
Placing the brush down on the table, Maglor went to rummage through a drawer. “Well, let me go get the scissors then. I fear otherwise it will only be a matter of days before some poor bird mistakes your head for its nest.”
“No, wait!”
Turning back to Elros, Maglor raised an eyebrow.
Elros squirmed in his seat. “Just a little. And don’t pull.”
“I will do my best,” Maglor said, hand to his chest.
This wasn’t a win yet. Elros was a stubborn child, who couldn’t be easily distracted from whatever was the source of his temper. Elrond also had a stubborn streak, but he was more likely to pretend he had mysteriously lost his hearing when someone was talking to him than to anger. Maglor didn’t have it in himself to blame them for occasional misbehaviors. He could handle acting out far better than the terrified skittishness the boys used to display, or at least what remained of his conscience did.
Knowing how fast Elros could change his mind still, Maglor stood behind him, taking the length of his hair in hand. He began working on the smaller knots, careful of how he tugged. Yesterday he had allowed Elros not to brush his hair, not wanting to deal with the argument, and now it was a right mess. Whatever did this child do to tangle it this way?
Elros’s hair were dark brown, the shade not too different from Caranthir’s or Curufin’s. Nostalgia bloomed in Maglor’s chest. This house they had occupied, abandoned by the former owners, was a far cry from Fëanor’s house in Tirion. Yet brushing a child’s hair by the kitchen table was so deeply familiar.
Lost in his memories, Maglor slipped and pulled too hard. He didn’t have time to realize his mistake before Elros’s head whipped and his teeth clamped down on Maglor’s fingers.
“Elros!”
Elros glowered. “I told you not to pull hard.”
“I am sorry about that, but you could have told me politely.”
Elros looked at the way Maglor was clutching his hand, then lowered his eyes, glaring down at his knees.
Damn those little fangs of his, he had managed to break skin. A bead of blood swelled on the knuckle of Maglor’s fourth finger.
Sighing, Maglor sat at the table by Elros. “I did not hurt you on purpose, Elros. Violence is not the proper way to react to that.”
“It’s not?” Elros asked.
Being called a hypocrite by a child stung in such a peculiar way. “No, it’s not how you handle accidents. You should first tell the other person, politely, what it is they did to offend you. If they continue or do it on purpose, then you can move to biting.”
Elros didn’t say anything, just kicked his heels against the chair legs.
Maglor placed the brush down on the table. “If you want me to continue, let me know.”
The tantrums being normal for a child did not make them not frustrating. Raising two children was a commitment Maglor and Maedhros had not needed, not when almost all their followers had left them and most of Beleriand wanted them dead. Not that anyone had forced them to take Elros and Elrond with them. They might have been better off with Gil-Galad or Galadriel.
Maglor was not going to pretend that losing Ambarussa had not played a role in it. With the hindsight a year had given him, he recognized the pain of losing his youngest brothers had made him turn to the other pair of twins suddenly in his care, and he reckoned the same was true for Maedhros. It had possibly been a stronger factor than any political consideration.
But what was done was done. He had brought Elros and Elrond with them, he was to take care of them now. They were very fine children in their own way, just… difficult, sometimes. Why shouldn’t they be? They had been ripped from their former life during a bloody battle, after all.
The stairs creaked, Elrond making his way to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Maglor said, offering him a smile.
“’Morning,” Elrond replied, voice still thick with sleep. “Where’s Maedhros?”
“He went out hunting. Would you like some breakfast?”
Elrond nodded, sitting in front of his twin.
It was quiet for a while, Elrond eating and Elros still sitting in angry silence. As Elrond finished his breakfast, Maglor decided he might as well make an attempt with him.
“I should brush your hair, Elrond,” he said.
Elrond looked at him, then the brush, then shrugged. “Alright.”
Elros got off his chair with a huff, and ran up the stairs.
***
Maglor was not skilled at hand to hand combat. He did not overly enjoy swordfighting either, but it had been necessary to learn and so he had, and become quite proficient at it too. A dagger could also be an acceptable weapon, in a pinch. However, throwing punches never stopped reminding him of being in a drunken bar fight.
But someone had to teach the boys how to protect themselves in any situation, so here Maglor was. Trading controlled blows with a child of ten.
Elrond huffed, face red and scrunched in concentration. It was somewhat cute. Maybe Elrond could make it a strategy, to have such a disarmingly adorable expression that it distracted the enemy. It might earn him more wins than his fists were.
“Do you want to try again?” Maglor asked.
With a solemn nod, Elrond got in position again. He rushed Maglor with the intensity and determination only a child his age could possess. The instructions were for him to aim for Maglor’s stomach, since there was no way he could reach much higher.
Maglor intercepted the fists. Even with his lackluster wrestling skills, it was not hard to deal with a child who had only ever traded blows with his twin. He grabbed Elrond’s wrists, holding him back.
“We’ve been working on technique, Elrond– Ow!”
A foot collided with Maglor’s shin, hard. Maglor drew back, hopping on one foot. It gave Elrond space to tackle him with his entire body weight. Which wasn’t a lot of weight, but enough to make one slip if he was already off balance due to a bruising shin.
“Elrond!” Maglor gasped, falling. “Oh, you’ve done it now!”
Elrond laughed. “I win!”
“Not a chance.”
Maglor reached out for him, giving up whatever form he was supposed to teach in favor of a messy wrestle. Elrond shouted, smiling wide, pushing him back. Now Maglor may not be good at combat, but a mock fight with a mischievous child? That used to be one of his areas of expertise.
He almost got Elrond into a chokehold, but Elrond bit down on his arm, hard enough for Maglor to feel it through his sleeve. Maglor tried wrenching back. Elrond kept his teeth clamped down, following the motion. A hiss of pain escaped Maglor.
“Do you need aid, brother?”
Maglor looked up. Maedhros had approached them, Elros held upside down against his chest. Elros was weakly kicking Maedhros’s shoulders, but his grin suggested he was having too much fun being carried like a sack of flour to get out of that grip.
“I am clearly winning here,” Maglor said.
“Bite his hand off!” Elros cheered.
As a reply, Elrond made a passable growl around his mouthful of fabric.
Maedhros hummed, a glint in his eyes. “It does look like we are about to match.”
“Where’s your hand?” Maglor asked, as he set to the task of forcefully opening Elrond’s jaws.
Maedhros’s right wrist was bare, his forearm pinning Elros’s thighs against his chest. Yet Maglor was sure Maedhros had been wearing his prosthetic today. “I took it off after someone attempted to steal it and use it as a blunt force weapon.”
“Turn the enemy’s strength against him,” Elros said.
Maglor tried to push a thumb in Elrond’s mouth, much how he would with a horse. Unfortunately, large animals were often more manageable than children. “I would say we have both suffered losses today, brother.”
“We can still gain the upper hand,” Maedhros said.
Finally Elrond decided he had had enough of the taste of linen. “You can’t!”
Maedhros hummed thoughtfully, readjusting Elros’s weight. “Such strong arms these young warriors have. Maybe they could be put to use by washing laundry at the river.”
Whining, Elros craned his neck to look at Maedhros’s face. “Atto, not the laundry!”
Maedhros’s face went so slack for a moment Maglor feared he would drop Elros on his head. Not that Maglor was faring much better. Were he not already on the ground he might have gotten dizzy.
“What did you just call me?” Maedhros asked.
Elros hesitated. His face was red, although that may be from being kept in that position for a while now. “Atto…?”
“Why?”
“You are taking care of us?”
Bending over, Maedhros let Elros go, settling him down on his feet. Elros swayed, off balance. “Do you remember your father, Eärendil?” Maedhros asked, steadying him with a hand on Elros’s shoulder.
“Yes, of course.”
“And that we have taken you from him and your mother?”
Elrond, who had sat up while Maglor was busy recovering his bearings, piped up with a, “Finders keepers.”
“That is not how it works,” Maedhros said, brows pinching together.
“Do you not want us to call you that?” Elros asked. His voice was small in an uncharacteristic way.
“That’s not the issue here.”
“We have taken you away from your family,” Maglor said. He made himself stand, absently shook dirt from his clothes. “We… We care for you two, of course, but do you understand why you surprised us?”
The boys had been opening up over time, now acting as comfortable with Maedhros and Maglor as if they were not kinslayers responsible for the death of many of their family members. Still, it was not all forgotten. There were days, albeit rarer, when the twins turned angry and silent. Not two weeks ago Elrond had not spoken to them for an entire day for reasons that had been clear to no one but him.
And certainly it was not right. Maglor had made it a point to be kind, but being kind to two children did not change who he was. He had to disguise himself if it was ever necessary to have dealings with other Elves, which he did because Maedhros had no hopes of hiding his identity. The callouses on his hands were more sword than harp nowadays. White gems haunted his dreams, the one he would have ripped from the boys’ mother’s still warm fingers if he had had the chance.
Elrond had that look in his eyes that said he understood much more than a boy his age should. “If you took us from our family, isn’t it fair you give us another one?”
Maglor turned to meet Maedhros’s gaze, searching for support. If anything, he found an even more open demand for help.
“That’s right,” Elros said. “We are not giving you a choice.”
What was that even supposed to mean?
***
There were nights Maglor stayed up, walking around whatever building they were occupying like a ghost. So did Maedhros, but they rarely did so together. Maglor preferred solitude when his moods turned like this, and Maedhros’s bad moods were complex and at times dangerous things.
Sometimes it was dreams that Maglor wanted to avoid. Other nights it was memories who chased him, and being on his own in a sleeping house made it hard to run from them. Fragments of Oath stuck between his molars, filling him with restless energy. The bitter mixture of anger-despair-resignation becoming too overwhelming, demanding he fulfill a promise that he had forgotten how to live without.
Tonight, it was paranoia. Orcs had been patrolling this area, too many for comfort. They had been planning to move, but before they could the twins had decided to act as the reckless, half-grown boys they were, grabbed their swords and snuck away. Maedhros had rushed to chase them as soon as he and Maglor had realized.
They were well, now. Some bruises and scrapes, and Elrond had a deep gash in one leg that was likely going to scar. Had Maedhros arrived minutes later than he had, it might have gone much worse. The scolding the twins had received for endangering themselves had barely been necessary, the two of them already pale from having found the enemies much more numerous than anticipated.
Maglor walked to each window, for the fourth time. Nothing there, again. No sounds from outside beyond the call of nocturnal birds. Upstairs, Maedhros was awake, sitting and rigid in the room he shared with Maglor. The boys were as safe as they could be.
Still Maglor’s restless fingers twitched, missing a weapon. He would not entertain his anxiety to the point of picking up his sword. Everyone was safe. They had not lost the twins nor would they anytime soon. In a couple weeks there would be no sign of what had happened beyond a couple paling scars.
Upstairs, again. The twins’ door was slightly open. They slept their deep Mannish sleep, oblivious to the world for a few more hours still. Elros was twitching in his dreams. Elrond laid motionless, and even if Maglor had had years to get used to it his heart skipped a beat seeing that utter stillness.
When Maglor had gotten there, chasing after Maedhros, the Orcs were mostly dead or sent running. Maglor’s sword had only been needed for one. Maedhros’s face had been pulled into a snarl, raging at what had threatened his sons. Elrond had slumped against a tree, a dark stain on his left leg, with Elros gripping his sword by him in a shaking hold.
By Men’s standards, they were adults. Their Elvish blood had slowed their growth down, their bodies plainly not done growing yet. Nonetheless, at nineteen they were both horrifyingly young and horrifyingly tall. Maglor had not pondered mortality much once the novelty of the Secondborn had worn off, but now he wondered how could Men deal with the speed of their lifespans.
Elros turned his head, sharp. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was picking up speed. A nightmare. The twins had both suffered from them as small children – Maglor’s chest tightened when he thought of his own blames for those – but they had eventually outgrown them. Today’s stress might have brought them back.
Maglor stepped into the room when he saw Elros kick. “Elros,” he called.
That would not be enough to wake him in the best of circumstances. Elros’s nightmare must be bleeding over to Elrond, because now he too was frowning in his sleep.
“Elros,” Maglor repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed. He caressed Elros’s forehead, pushing stray hair away. “Wake up, Elros. It’s just a dream.”
Elros’s lips moved without a sound.
Maglor tried shaking his shoulder instead, leaning towards him. “Wake up.”
Elros startled awake, a small shout escaping him. In his half-asleep surprise he sat up, nearly headbutting Maglor, instinctively struggling. He managed to both slap Maglor in the ribs and bite a spot on Maglor’s shoulders.
“Elros!” Elrond gasped, waking up too.
Elros drew back, breathing hard. “I… What?”
“You had a nightmare,” Maglor explained. His fingers rose to touch the place where Elros had bitten him. Those little fangs had never gotten less sharp. Even through his robes, Maglor’s skin ached from them.
Blinking, Elros seemed to recover his awareness. “A nightmare. Yes.”
Without speaking, Maglor scooted further on the bed and opened his arms. Elros didn’t think about it for long. A good scare was enough to make most adolescents forget their ambitions of being adults already, and Elros buried his face in Maglor’s chest. Besides them, Elrond shifted position and wrapped his arms around Maglor’s waist.
From the hallway came a light creak that told Maglor Maedhros was running his own patrol of the house. Good, Maglor would feel safer with a second look at those windows. For his part, he rubbed comforting circles on Elros’s back.
“We acted stupid today, atya,” Elrond said.
“You did,” Maglor agreed. “But it all ended well.”
Elros nodded against his chest. “We’ll do better next time.”
There would be no next time, if Maglor had his way. But there was a war ongoing, and these boys were too important to too many people to not get involved sooner or later. A comforting hug and a redheaded wraith patrolling the house would not keep them safe much longer.
But it’d do for now. It’d do.
***
There were stone walls around Maglor and a stone ceiling above him. They were beautiful, finely decorated, definitely not some half crumbled shack in an abandoned village. Maglor didn’t remember when he had last been in such fine a room. Even if he could name the occasion, the passage of time was a confusing thing.
He shouldn’t be here. The memories of how he had come to be in Imladris were clear, yet they made less sense than they had while he lived in them. Why had he allowed himself to be taken here? Why had he not left already? Why had Elrond not thrown him out, let alone cried to see him again?
Maglor paced the room, fingers pressing into his palms. There was probably a way to run without anyone noticing him, there always was. Much of the valley was woodlands, once he got away from the buildings he could climb out unseen. He had heard rumors that Elrond knew everything that happened in Imladris, but that had to be exaggeration, brilliant as he may be he was only an Elf.
The windows were big, letting in a generous amount of sunlight. They overlooked a garden, which could make for a good escape route. However, his room was high. Jumping off would break at least one of his legs, climbing down would increase the risk of someone seeing him.
A knock on the door made him jump, hip bumping into the nearby desk.
“Atya? Are you awake?”
Maglor’s breath hitched. Elrond was still calling him that. But that couldn’t be right, Maglor was a murderer and a criminal and his thumb had to dig into his hand for him to feel it through the scar tissue–
“Atya?” The door pushed open. “How do you feel?”
The sight of a proper Lord with his fine robes and delicate jewelry nearly had Maglor’s knees buckle. Right, Elrond, that was him now. This was the Third Age. There was no gangly young Elf, all knees and elbows, there were no crying children hidden in the woods. Time, time, lose track of it once and it never behaves again.
Elrond was walking towards him. Maglor watched his feet move, his eyes refusing to go any higher. “Why are you panting?”
Was he? Maybe.
“I should not be here,” Maglor stammered.
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m.” His hands rubbed together. “The Silmaril was clear, I am… It’s a beautiful city you have here, I can’t stay in it.”
Least he did something again. Picked up his sword, massacred the good folk who lived here. Not that he had any reason to do so, but how was Maglor Kinslayer to be trusted not to ruin everything around him?
“You are my guest so long as you wish, atya.”
Maglor shook his head, fast. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“I took you and Elros away, you shouldn’t… You’re too good to come from me.”
Two hands, the skin smooth and the nails clean, took hold of Maglor’s. He flinched. Elrond was warm, that much he felt.
“I can call you Maglor for now, if it makes you more at ease,” Elrond said. “Can you explain why you don’t think you can be here?”
What was there to explain? Was it not self evident? Maglor turned this way and that, searching for a way out. The edges of his vision were growing unfocused. If he could get away then Elrond would be safe, and Maglor could breathe.
Elrond was pulling at his hands. If he was to drag Maglor out and leave him in the wilderness, Maglor would understand. It would be justified. Unlike keeping him–
Something hard clamped around his forearm. Maglor’s head whipped, and he found himself staring at Elrond, whose teeth were pressing in Maglor’s flesh.
“Elrond?” Maglor asked, his dizziness resolving him suddenly, snapping him back into his body.
Elrond hummed. Sharp incisors were digging into Maglor’s skin. Not hard enough to injure, but he could feel the edge of pain.
“Let me go,” Maglor said, pulling his arm back.
Elrond did not let go. This was quite the absurd sight. Someone no one would doubt was an old and wise Lord, calmly biting someone unprovoked.
“Elrond, what are you doing? Let go!”
At last, Elrond let him go. “Are you feeling better?”
“Feeling bet– Is biting part of your healing process?”
Elrond allowed Maglor to lower his arms, but he did not let go of his hands. “Sudden shocks sometimes are.”
There was nothing Maglor could do but blink at that. It had been shocking for sure, but he didn’t see how that could help–
He did feel more present now. More grounded inside his body. At some point, he had started having these moments where he was… less lucid. Moments he was aware of only after they had passed. And he could not deny that some haze had left him.
“Although they should be administered with care,” Elrond said. “Why do we not sit?”
Maglor allowed himself to be taken to the bed, sitting on it. Elrond sat by him. Still he held Maglor’s hand.
“Breathe deep, now.”
Maglor did as instructed. Inhale, exhale. His head cleared as he did, lingering panic bleeding out. The weight of his body became heavier, leaving him exhausted in a way he should not be this early in the morning.
“You are not well, a– Maglor.” There was a sigh as Elrond said his name. “I insist you stay until you are better.”
“And when will that be?”
“That is for the healer to judge.”
Maglor exhaled slowly. “And will your people be happy to know I am staying here?”
“I open Imladris to anyone in need of my help,” Elrond said, firm. “Everyone is welcome. My people know that.”
Closing his eyes, Maglor nodded. There was still restlessness in his legs, but it was easier to ignore now. Elrond’s touch was kind. Maglor had not experienced many kind touches in many, many years.
“And I have missed you,” Elrond added.
Maglor swallowed. He had missed Elrond too. And Elros, too. But it was different to miss someone who had died the mortal death and someone who was alive and well.
Elrond squeezed his hands. “And I will always see you as a father, regardless of what you wish to be called.”
“You are a strange, strange child,” Maglor said, voice tight.
“That may be.”
And with that, Elrond raised Maglor’s hands up and scraped his teeth against knuckles.
Maglor opened his eyes, frowning. “I did not need a shock now.”
“You did not,” Elrond agreed. “But I was reminded that Elros would have wanted me to do this.”
“He would have?” Maglor asked, fighting through the lump in his throat.
“Hm. A little harder, perhaps, but we will have time for that later.”
Maglor laughed then, an abrupt and wet thing. “You are far too old for this.”
“If you wanted a child who behaved better, you should have picked another one.”
“Elrond!” Maglor protested, but laughter shook him again. “You should not joke about such things.”
“I will joke about my own kidnapping as much as I please, thank you.”
Maglor found himself leaning forward, forehead dropping on Elrond’s shoulder. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. What a terrible child. Kind and wise and full of sharp teeth, and entirely too good for his circumstances. And Maglor was just selfish enough to enjoy his son’s company a while longer.