#Or it's because he lost Elros' cloak of course

[celebrimbor-apologist]

Listen, Elrond having very styled and ✨proper✨ hair in season one and until the waterfall only to start getting fluffy curls after means that either, he was so MAD he stopped giving a fuck about a haircare routine that was destroying it, or he was so MAD he went to Camnir "I need a haircare routine. Now." And Camnir was like "Whatever keeps you off the waterfall dear" and THAT'S how we got the curls.

[storkofyore]

Despite their tumultuous beginning, Elrond and Elros both knew that Maglor and Maedhros were not ones to be easily made angry. Annoyed? Sure. Irritated? Of course. But truly angry? It was a rare sight, even the twins knew.

But what Maglor knew was that ever since he had returned, Maedhros had been more ill tempered than was usual. His gentle, charming smile and kind, twinkling eyes were no longer what met the younger Feanorian when he gazed upon his elder brother’s face. What greeted him instead was a stoic,neutral expression, firm and austere in nature, with stern, cold eyes. Maglor trembled beneath them more than once, and shuddered at even the thought of them, only because of what he once knew. But despite his thinning patience and fraying psyche, Maedhros had never snapped at the twins beyond a mere chide or quick terror inducing glare when they were getting out of hand.

He had not once truly lost his temper with them.

Until that one night.

Maglor and the twins had been playing by the fire, and the twins had been getting rather rowdy as Maedhros made an attempt to ignore them and focus on his work. Anything to keep him from losing it. But then one of the twins accidentally knocked something fragile to the floor, and it shattered. Maglor made a quick move to clear the pieces so that the twins would not injure themselves, pinching their cheeks with a smile and a kindhearted “it’s alright, don’t fret yourselves over it. Neither of you are hurt and that is what is important. Do try to be careful next time.” And they were. But their voices grew louder. Elrond accidentally stepped on Elros’ foot, who in typical sibling fashion, pushed him with an angry comment. The moment they heard a loud bang from behind, and a booming voice, all of their blood ran cold as even Maglor turned in surprise.

“That is enough! From all of you!” Maedhros scolded, still working hand clutching a dagger in his fist that had been plunged into the table. Maglor gasped, before glaring back at his brother.

“That is mahogany!” He exclaimed.

“Would you rather it be you?! Or one of those.. those.. those vermin that you brought here?!” Maglor’s very heart trembled at his brother’s words, and the venom with which they were said, but he stood his ground and moved to shield the twins from his brother’s rage.

“Maedhros, you don’t mean that.” The darkness that shrouded Maedhros’ gaze said otherwise. Silently, the twins shuffled off and out of the room.

***

Terror. Unbridled terror. Maglor was asleep, of course he was asleep. Why wouldn’t he be asleep when he needed to be awake.

Maedhros shoved the thoughts into the back of his mind. He would deal with them later. He could feel his heart ramming against his ribcage in his ears as he frantically searched the keep for Elrond and Elros, turning over pillows and blankets, throwing open doors, checking in cabinets and below furniture. His heart dropped when he failed to find them. It was happening again. He frantically threw his cloak over his shoulders and grabbed his lantern. Against his better judgement, he grabbed his sword. The twins would be terrified of him if he found them, but if they were in danger he needed to be prepared. Without a glance back, he stepped out into the frigid night.

Frantically, in a panic and urgency he had not felt in millennia, he made his way through the thick of the winter, pushing branches, brambles and thickets out of his path as he called their names into the dark. He glanced in every direction, frantically, but there was no sign of the twins. Defeat cloaked around him like a blanket of stone, and he sank to the floor of the forest, his head in his hands as his breath seemed to be stolen in panic, the tears freezing instantly on his reddened cheeks. He had failed, again. He could hear the voices taunting him.

Somewhere, through the night, he heard a rustle. Looking up in a final attempt for hope, he stood to his feet and grabbed the lantern, following the sound with swift steps, tripping over a tree root in his haste.

The moment his eyes caught fearful eyes behind dark locks, powdered with snow, he felt his heart would stop beating. Slipping on the frozen earth, coated with a thin layer of ice, he threw down the lantern and his sword as he collapsed in front of the twins. They froze, and glanced back at him unblinkingly, as he stared with eyes overflowing with tears, hand gently resting against their cheeks. Before any of them had time to think, he was firmly pulling them to his chest in a tight hug, before throwing his cloak over them.

By the time they returned to the keep, Maglor greeted them at the door in a panic, scooping the twins into his arms like a mother hen as Maedhros refused to meet his gaze, standing afar off to the distance, wiping his cheek on his sleeve. Without a word, he pushed past Maglor and disappeared into the hall.

***

It was late, Elrond and Elros were getting tired, and they were still shivering from the cold. Silently, they sat at a table, yawning from time to time as Maedhros silently stood over a pot, stirring it and observing it with unbreakable focus. Without a word, he grabbed two bowls, scooping a hefty serving of soup into both before setting them in front of the twins.

“Eat. It will help to warm you.” He said, coolly. There was no anger in his voice, only heavy guilt and remorse that he hid rather poorly. The twins glanced at him, before watching as he walked off to another room for a moment. With a shrug, they ate. They knew it was an apology, and a way to make things right, as simple as it was. Elrond smiled faintly.

It was a hearty soup.

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober Day 11: SEEING DOUBLE + Loneliness

Set pre-season 1, minor canon divergence/au

Elrond once shared a face with another, and though he loves his friends, it is not the same to see another face but one that is almost like his, but for the way the light hits the eyes and the smile tips up to one side.

-

Elrond, like many other elves, was prone to reflecting on his past, for he had lived for quite some time now (though he was certainly not even close in age to the oldest of elves). He had known many elves, dwarves, and men during his time, and lost many too. Today was a day where he was more reflective than usual, as today was the day Elros had died. It had taken the news quite some time to reach him, but the letter informing him had been dated. It had been many many years ago now, but every year Elrond takes the day off because there is no cure for grief, and it returns year after year. There is nothing as isolating, as lonely, as losing the person you are meant to have with you forever.

Upon waking, his limbs feel heavy as lead, and he closes his eyes again, not wanting to face the day yet. Every day he has to contend with living in a world without Elros, but today he is, at the very least, allowed to be fully affected by the grief that he keeps locked in his heart. It circulates in his blood and forces him down into the mattress, fingers curled into the cloak that remains one of the last objects he has that belonged to Elros. The cloak was a gift from when Elros first left to Númenor, and Elrond had done his best to take care of it.

As he lays in bed, listening to the hustle and bustle of early morning Lindon outside his door, he hopes that, if the rumours are false and they both, or even one of them, still walk upon Arda's soil, that Maedhros and Maglor are doing fine this day. Perhaps they do not know the exact date of Elros's passing, and he is silly to keep them in his thoughts, but it makes him feel slightly better to think of them and believe that they are thinking of him and Elros. Maedhros’s death is a widespread rumour, but Maglor’s is less so, it is more commonly said that he wanders the world without purpose. Elrond likes to hope that one day he will wander to Lindon, or Eregion while Elrond is visiting, and they can be reunited again. It is a pleasant thought.

There is a knock on the door, sharp and quick- it is Galadriel, then. His voice comes out in a throaty mumble the first time he tries it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Come in!” Elros’s voice calls from his lips, and Elrond loses any will he had gained to see Galadriel, because as much as he loves her, he does not have the energy to put into words the immense pain he feels constricting his heart.

She slips into his room quietly, not speaking until she has sat on the edge of his bed and placed a hand in his hair, stroking it back. “I know you do not wish for company,” Galadriel begins in a soft voice, looking towards his door as she speaks, “But I do not wish to see one of my last remaining friends fade, and neither does Ereinion.”

Grip tightening on the cloak, Elrond looks up at her and forces a small smile onto his face. He sits up, shuffling so that he is sat next to Galadriel, and sets his head on her shoulder. “I will not fade, not after all this time. The pain is present, yes, but the wound does not weep as it once did.” It is easier to speak in a formal manner, because Valar knows that Elros wouldn’t be caught dead speaking like that to anyone closer to him than an acquaintance. Elrond had always been more interested in etiquette and court than Elros, though it was Elros who became a king, so maybe that changed over time.

There is another knock, and Elrond wonders when he acquired so many people who care about him. He had only Elros for so long with their parents being more concerned about the Silmarils, not to speak ill of them of course, and though they both had Maedhros and Maglor for a time, eventually Elrond was left alone, without anyone. Yet now, he had not only Galadriel, but whoever is awaiting his welcome outside of his door. “Enter!” He calls, lifting his head from Galadriel's shoulder and sitting up, for he could not place the knock and does not want to be seen as… as upset as he truly is.

He freezes as the elf lets himself in, blinking rapidly for a moment as he fights back tears. His closest living connection to the house of Fëanor, the house that he considers himself a part of, though he lacks a true blood relation. “Celebrimbor,” Elrond whispers, and if he could, he would leave his bed and capture his cousin in a very long hug. He wishes, suddenly, that he had been able to get dressed that morning, or at the very least brush his hair and teeth. Galadriel has seen him at his worst- including when he first lost Elros and his grief was still fresh, Celebrimbor has not.

“Elrond, I apologise if I am not wanted but-” Though any other day Elrond would have rather died than interrupt Celebrimbor, truly the greatest of elven smiths for he did not create the silmarils, which is a bonus in Elrond’s book, today he is more Elros than Elrond, and so he speaks out of turn. His voice is still weak, but it is stronger than it has been all morning, and there is a small, but genuine, smile on his face as he speaks, because Elros would have poked fun at the fact that Elrond is finally getting over his astonishment of Celebrimbor, and because Celebrimbor is here.

“You are wanted, I am so glad you have come.” Elrond interjects, standing up on shaking legs. His body does not wish to cooperate with him on this day, but he manages to take a few staggering steps forward, and collapses into Celebrimbor’s arms when they open to him. A sob works its way out of his throat, and though he hates to ruin the robes Celebrimbor is wearing, he cannot bring himself to pull away as the tears begin pouring from his eyes. A hand wraps around the back of his head, the other around his back, and Elrond feels more like himself than he has all day. He cries until he has run out of tears, and continues to stand there for a few more moments still, taking in the comfort offered because today is a day where he can do so without feeling guilty.

Galadriel offers him water, and he notices that she must have left and returned with a water jug and glasses at some point. He accepts, taking his place next to her once again, and sipping slowly. Celebrimbor sits on Elrond’s other side, and Elrond snorts to himself, pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

“What are you laughing at?” Galadriel asks, a smile in her voice as she turns towards him. Elrond laughs a bit harder, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head.

“Elros would simply not believe his own eyes if he saw me now, sitting between Lady Galadriel, princess of the Ñoldor, most esteemed warrior, fair beyond compare, and Celebrimbor, cousin of ours, and greatest of the elven smiths.” Elrond explains, voice wavering somewhere between laughter and tears. “Even more, he would not believe that I would not be so starstruck as to be rendered unable to speak.”

Galadriel laughs and Celebrimbor rubs a hand down Elrond's back and shakes his head, fond exasperation clear in the gesture. Elrond smiles, eyes wet and puffy, heart still heavy with grief but lighter now, and speaks again, “Thank you for being here when he cannot.”

“We would not miss it for anything,” Galadriel replies, kissing his temple and wiping some of the tears off of his face with a kind smile.

“For anything,” Celebrimbor repeats softly, leaning closer to Elrond, who does not feel very lonely at all anymore.