Text from a fic, part 1: “Maglor clings dearly to his relics: jewels, tapestries, instruments; stories and songs. Maedhros. There’s little left of him to offer the twins, aside from his jealously guarded reliquary: the key to a blessed mausoleum across the sea—Valinor, the land of the Elves, to which they belong, but only in half.
“Do you think we’ll ever go there, Ros?” Elrond asks one evening. Ros is the one part of his name that sets him apart from his twin. A small, almost trivial detail—a handful of letters where he’s allowed to discover and reinvent himself.
Will they ever go? That’s the crux of the matter. Their father had tried, as had his father before him. Of all the ambitious paths fate weaves for them, none seems more fitting for their line than the trade of the castaway, by both shores eternally forsaken.
“I don’t want to go,” Elros—Ros—replies. “It’s too easy that way.” Grow up, find a woman, have children. Cut the ballast, set sail, and never look back.”
Part.2: They’re growing up fast. They’ve entered that delicate phase that every half-elf goes through where it’s unclear whether they’ve only just stopped losing baby teeth or if it’s time to put a sword in their hands and send them on their way. There was a time, though, when it wasn’t clear—at least, not to them—how much life would be granted to mere bargaining chips. Then, a new and familiar star began to shine above their heads; the brothers hadn’t killed them, and their father had never came to check.
Life—real life—began that day.
For the first time since Sirion, they could place a possessive before many things: my piece of cake, your boots; our bedroom, our home.
Their anchors, keeping their destinies grounded on firm, wasted land: the menacing shadow with fiery hair and piercing eyes that prowls the fortress, holding the orcs at bay by his mere presence; the skills of a revered bard, lent and bent toward the instruction of young, unclaimed minds.
The star shining in the West: dazzling and distant.
WIP? Wip!
These days, finding a spark of inspiration through the stiff and cold legal writing to which my thesis confines me feels like a big accomplishment – and I’m glad whenever I manage to write more than 3 sentences.
#elros #elrond #maedhros #maglor #silmarillion
