Chapter Text
F.A. 539
In all of the bedtime stories that Elwing told them, one memory of hers in particular had caught Elrond’s imagination: a large, glittering tome in Menegroth’s library, bedecked with jewels and silver leaves on the leather-bound cover, and its ivory pages illuminated in many colours of ink along the borders. Silver and blue flowers, green and golden trees, and crystal-white stars, all of it could be found in that tome. Elwing, as a little girl herself, had often run her small hands over the dazzling cover, and traced the patterns of knots and swirls along the decorated manuscripts.
Amon Ereb did not have any pretty books like that, or many books at all. There were hardly any works that detailed the ancient days. Much written knowledge had been lost during the sack of Himring, and no one had tried to replace those words afterward. No one desired to linger over the painful past, tracing the path of Fëanorian folly across the years. And Elrond, even at his tender age of seven, knew better than to ask.
Yet the image of a glittering tome remained in his mind, one of the fairest memories he still kept of his mother. As did his lingering curiosity of times long gone.
As it turned out, those two interests came to a head when the twins’ tutor, a stern Noldo named Tegilboron, set them an assignment. “You each will write a full page in Quenya about any event in history that we have spoken of, to be submitted in three days. I will be looking for your use of grammar and the neatness of your letters.”
Elrond’s eyes widened. “Any event at all?” he asked. “As far back as we like?”
Tegilboron nodded. “As far back as you like.”
“Can it be longer than a page?”
“Of course. That is the minimum.”
Elrond could feel Elros groaning beside him, though his twin made no sound. Quenya grammar was not Elros’ strong suit. Nor was it Elrond’s, but he found it absolutely fascinating to learn! One day, Elros would appreciate the beauty of this language that did not have nearly as many sound mutations as Sindarin did.
“But,” Tegilboron added, raising a finger, “you cannot go to the lords for grammatical help this time. I want to see how much you have learned about the language. Is that clear?”
Elrond offered a sheepish smile. “Yes, sir.” For the past several weeks, he and Elros would go to Maedhros and Maglor for assistance in their assignments. Maglor was easy to get help from; all it took were the twins’ sweet smiles, and he enfolded them in his arms like sugar into dough. Maedhros, on the other hand, was just as stern as Tegilboron, if not more so. Yet, that did not mean his heart was closed off to them, and Elrond had long since learned that a few precise nudges in the right spots could soften even the rockiest of breads.
After their lesson ended, Elros huffed and puffed on the way back to their bedchamber. “An entire paragraph! I’ll be lucky to find an event that takes up five sentences!”
“Don’t be silly,” Elrond chided. “Remember when we did that assignment about the foundation of Nargothrond? It took an entire page and a half!”
“Only because we did it together, and it was in Sindarin. And Adar told us all those extra details about Finrod working with the Petty-dwarves, and how he would eat meals and play sports with them during leisure hours.”
Elrond admitted that was true. It was also true that they had tried to increase the size of their letters to take up more space, which Tegilboron saw through straightaway. But this time, Elrond would write neatly! All the stems would be straight this time, and the vowels all dotted!
But what event should he write about?
The answer came to him in a daydream: a beautiful tome embossed with silver leaves and trees that slowly turned gold as rays of the sun fell upon it. The Two Trees! That was a lovely story, wasn’t it?
He checked his notes from past tutoring sessions, only to find, to his disappointment, a handful of bullet points:
Telperion and Laurelin, one silver and the other gold, grown atop Ezellohar
Seeds were sown by Yavanna, roots were nurtured by Nienna’s tears
Murdered by Ungoliant; she set her teeth upon the roots and sucked the sap
The Trees wilted, left in Darkness
He could have sworn there was more than that! Elrond thus went to the library after lunch to look for an account of the Two Trees … only to find less than his own notes on the subject. That was not very helpful for even a half-page paragraph.
Elrond chewed his lip in thought, then carefully rolled up the parchment, set it back on the shelf, and hurried out of the library toward Maglor’s study. Tegilboron said that they could not ask for grammatical help, but he said nothing about asking for a first-hand account!
At the door, Elrond heard a soft strain of harp music. The notes were halting, as though Maglor was not sure of his choice of melody. Elrond waited for a moment. A year ago, he would not have had the courage to approach Maglor’s door, much less Maedhros’. Even now, his stomach did an odd flop and his heart felt a little tight, but it was not as bad as before.
He gently knocked on the door. The music immediately fell silent. “Who is it?” Maglor asked.
“It’s me,” Elrond said. “May I come in?”
“Elrond? Yes, please come in!”
Elrond opened the door and stepped inside. Maglor had already gotten up from his harp; he smiled widely and held out his arms, and knelt as Elrond went to him. “What can I do for you, dear one?” Maglor asked, soft and smooth as honey.
“Tegilboron gave us an assignment,” Elrond said. “We’re supposed to write about a past event.” He held up his empty parchment leaf. “It’s going to be a full page.”
“Ah, and you want my help?” Maglor offered a sneaky smile. “Sadly, I cannot help you this time! Tegilboron gave my brother and I our orders to not correct your writings. But,” he added, wrapping an arm around Elrond’s shoulders, “the task is intriguing. Have you decided on what to write about?”
Elrond pretended to pout. “I have, but since you won’t help me, I won’t tell you!”
“Oh, come now!” Maglor cried, and he tickled Elrond’s sides until Elrond was flushed and giggling. The old fears in his chest fell away like mist in the morning.
Once he had calmed, Elrond said, “I wasn’t going to ask for grammar help this time.”
Maglor arched a slender brow. “Oh? What then, dear one?”
Elrond steeled himself. He had never asked this before, never ventured into that realm of the past from a Fëanorian’s point of view – except for Tegilboron, of course, but that was different. He was their tutor; Elrond and Elros were supposed to badger him with questions.
“Could you tell me about the Two Trees?” Elrond asked in a rush. “I tried looking in the library, but there was nothing, and my notes are small, and I need enough for a page without making my writing all big again –”
“Slowly, slowly,” Maglor chuckled, though an odd light appeared in his grey-blue eyes. “The Two Trees are so far back. Are you sure you would not like to write about something from Beleriand? From your ancestral home, perhaps?”
He was speaking of Doriath, not Sirion. Elrond shook his head. “I want the Trees,” he said. “Please, Ada? Can you tell me all about how they were made, and how they worked, and everything else?”
“I can describe their beginning,” Maglor offered. “Though I would think you already know it well enough.”
“Yes, but you always explain things with so many big words that it takes up full pages!” Elrond said as he eagerly set his parchment upon the table. He looked up and beamed at Maglor, quill poised against the page, ready to take notes.
Maglor huffed out a breath, shook his head in an amused sort of manner, and said, “I will tell you how my grandfather told us, back when we were as young as you.”
He thus began from the beginning, with the Valar gathering on Ezellohar and planting the seeds. He spoke of the hill and the holy ones, naming all of those who had stood there; he described the spread of Yavanna’s hands over the soil, and the sparkle of Nienna’s tears as she watered the earth. Then sprouted the seeds into saplings, growing taller and taller, one silver and the other gold, dazzling light spilling from their leaves and branches. One bore flowers and the other fruit; one waxed while the other waned in a cycle, marking the hours, and when their lights intermingled, the whole of Valinor was alight with glittering beauty.
When the Elves first arrived in Aman, they gathered around the Trees and celebrated, linking hands and dancing in a circle around the massive trunks. It was hard not to grow distracted while Elrond transcribed; the vision Maglor placed in his mind was so clear that Elrond could see the shimmering bark of the Trees’ trunks, all the knots and swirls, and the rustling of their leaves. He could fully imagine the ripe, round fruit of Laurelin, hanging like an orb of rose-gold from the branches, sparkling like diamond and full of fresh sweetness when bitten into.
“Elrond?” Maglor said. His voice drifted in as though from a distance. “Are you still with me?”
Elrond blinked, coming out of his daydream. He glanced down at his parchment and saw, to his delight, notes in Sindarin taking up more than half a page! “Oh, thank you so much, Ada!” he exclaimed. “Look! This is perfect! Well – almost perfect,” he amended. “I still need a bit more. Just a little bit!”
“What more can I tell you, dear one?” Maglor asked with a touch of amusement.
Elrond hummed. “You told me of their birth and livelihood. What about how they died?”
“You mean the Darkening?” Maglor hesitated, eyes drifting away as though to gaze into the past. “I have not spoken of it in so long.”
“No one talks about it at all,” Elrond pointed out. “It’s not even in the library!”
“It used to be. There were quite a few records of the event in Himring.”
“Yes, but those aren’t here anymore.”
When Maglor hesitated, Elrond shifted closer with his most hopeful look. “Please tell me, Ada? Pretty please?”
Maglor smiled gently and hugged Elrond close for a moment. “I would tell you if the memory of what came after did not haunt me so,” he murmured. “I am sorry, Elrond, but I cannot speak of it now.”
Elrond sighed, heart sinking. Perhaps that was why there were so few notes about those days. Nobody who had been there wanted to think about it, and of the pain and heartache that came after, both in Losgar and on the Ice. Elrond only knew the main points from his lessons, but it was enough to guess at how bad it had all been.
“That is alright,” he said aloud. “I won’t mention it again.”
“You are not forbidden from asking,” Maglor assured him. “In the future, I shall have the strength to tell you. But not now.”
After that, there was no other reason to linger in Maglor’s study. Elrond kissed his cheek, accepted Maglor’s kiss on his brow, then departed. This was not a failed mission, he assured himself. After all, there was still Maedhros to hassle!
“What a surprise to see you again, Elrond,” Maedhros said blandly. “When I thought I granted you an audience just an hour ago.”
“You did?” Elrond frowned, thought it over, then huffed. “That was Elros, Adar, not me! Don’t tease!”
Maedhros rasped a chuckle. It was still a bit strange to see him smile; the pale scars twisting around his face pulled in odd directions, but it wasn’t so scary now as it used to be, with the fire casting the scars into sharp relief, and the frightening look in Maedhros’ eyes …
Elrond shook himself free of those memories. “What did Elros come here for?”
“He asked for my account on the Mereth Aderthad,” Maedhros replied. “It took up a page and a half.”
“Oh – that’s wonderful! You see –” Elrond hurried around the desk to Maedhros’ side and held up his parchment. “I was asking Ada about the Two Trees, but he wouldn’t tell me about what came after, so …”
He drifted off and glanced uncertainly at Maedhros. The elder watched him, waiting for the go-ahead to speak. But would he answer if Elrond asked about the Darkening?
“Could you tell me about the Sun and Moon?” Elrond asked instead. “Tegilboron said that the fruit and flower of the Trees were used. And they were given to Arien and Tilion in the sky.”
Maedhros arched a brow. “Do you not have notes on that matter?”
“I do, but … I already came here,” Elrond said, with a slight twist of embarrassment. “Don’t you want to be part of my assignment, Adar?”
Maedhros’ scarred lips twitched upward, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “Of course, child. Where should I start?”
Elrond beamed. He took up Maedhros’ quill with raggedy feathers. “Can you start where the Valar took the fruit and flower?”
By the end of it, Elrond’s parchment was completely full of notes, with a little extra on the back. He kissed Maedhros’ cheek, feeling the smooth scar tissue mingling with ridges and ripples in the rough skin, and left the study with a skip in his step. Now he could focus on translating his notes into Quenya, and afterward, he would have to ask Tegilboron for his shiny calligraphy inks!
“My eyes are burning and my head is sludge,” Elros announced, setting his quill down with a puff of breath.
Elrond leaned over to catch a peek of his brother’s work. Elros’ Tengwar were very neat, though his stems varied in length. And Elrond could already see a few mistakes in his grammar already! But he decided to leave that for Tegilboron to correct.
Elros looked at Elrond’s work. “What is all that on the edge?” he asked. “Is that yellow ink?”
“It is!” Elrond proudly held up his parchment and pointed to the right margin. “That is Laurelin. On the left will be Telperion!”
“Where did you get yellow ink?” Elros asked, eyeing the small wooden box of ink wells. They all came in different shapes, and there was only a small choice of colours, but it was more than enough for Elrond.
“Tegilboron let me borrow them,” Elrond explained, returning to his careful painting of Laurelin. Her roots fell along the edge of the page in simple knots, and her branches spread along the top of the page, creating a border. “Remember, he told us before that he used to be a calligrapher? He brought his inks from Valinor, and they last a long time, so we can still use them today. I didn’t tell him that I’d be drawing on my assignment, though. I want it to be a surprise!”
“But why are you drawing on it at all?” Elros pressed.
Elrond dotted fruits along Laurelin’s branches. “Do you remember that story Nana told us about the big book in Menegroth? I wanted to do something like that and make my paper fancy.” He finished with the fruits and capped the yellow ink vial. “Now I shall paint Telperion! Do you think Tegilboron will give me extra points for my paintings?”
Elros snorted. But he eyed the vials for a while afterward as they finished their assignments. It was only after Elrond completed his painting of Telperion that Elros took up one of the vials and began to paint along his parchment’s margins.
“What are you painting?” Elrond asked eagerly.
“Wine bottles,” Elros replied. “Because everyone drank a lot during the Mereth Aderthad. That’s what Adar said.”
To Elros’ credit, the bottles turned out to form a very pretty border around his parchment. They were all full of bright red wine, and separated at times by bunches of flowers, green leaves, and yellow bells. When Elrond set their pages side by side with the edges touching, he imagined them to be part of a beautiful tome full of all the histories and knowledge of the Eldar. That would require so much parchment and ink!
But wouldn’t it be lovely? A big book full of everything, just like the one Elwing told them about!
On the third day, Elrond and Elros brought the painted assignments to their tutor’s desk. Tegilboron stared at the parchment for a moment; Elrond noted the vial of dark blue ink near his hand, which he used to mark up their papers with corrections and feedback. His heart sank with anticipation of blue lines splitting and circling his Tengwar, turning his painted work into just another list of mistakes.
But it was good to learn from one’s mistakes. He just hoped he hadn’t made too many.
Eventually, Tegilboron looked up at Elrond and Elros where they sat across from him at the desk. His angular face bore a look of pained resignation.
“Boys,” he said, “how can I mark these when you have illuminated them so well?”
“Illuminated?” Elros repeated.
“That is what we call these paintings,” Tegilboron explained. “In Valinor, we made copies of Rúmil’s Sarati manuscripts and illuminated them.”
“Really?” Elrond gasped. “What did you paint?”
“Mostly patterns, designs with trees and flowers, and plenty of stars.” Tegilboron paused. “Animals, too. Birds for Manwë and stags for Oromë. Sea beasts for Ulmo.”
“I didn’t know you could paint, sir,” Elros said.
Tegilboron smiled slightly. “I have not done so for years. My skill lies more in calligraphy, but I illuminated many cover pages for my superiors.”
“Can we see?” Elrond asked excitedly.
The reminiscent gleam faded from Tegilboron’s grey eyes. “I do not have any examples to share. I left my work in Valinor. And what I made here, in Beleriand, was lost at Himring.”
“But you can still make more, can’t you?” Elrond said hopefully. “We can help you! I’d love to see your paintings – I mean, your illuminated pages.”
Tegilboron shook his head with a sad smile. “My days of illumination have long since passed. Who here has need of such a thing when the north occupies our attention?”
Elrond had to admit to the truth of that, but he stubbornly wanted to hold on and keep pushing. The vision of that beautiful tome, embossed in silver and gems, kept deep in Menegroth to fill its caves with light, bearing the touch of Elwing’s hand –
“I can make some!” Elrond blurted.
Both Elros and Tegilboron looked at him in surprise. Elrond blushed but pressed on, “I can write more pages and paint them! And then we can put the pages together and make a book! A big one! And it’ll be about all the histories, so if anybody goes to the library needing something, they can look at the book!”
“Ah, so you wish to compile a historical text?” Tegilboron mused, rubbing his chin in thought.
“Yes! And it can be all in Quenya,” Elrond added. “So I’ll get lots of practice!”
“And I,” Elros put in.
Elrond raised both brows. “I didn’t think you liked writing in Quenya.”
“It’s not so bad,” Elros muttered. “Besides, painting is fun.”
Tegilboron regarded them both. A light shone in his eyes – not the light of the Trees, Elrond guessed, but something deeper. “I would support you wholeheartedly if I was certain we had enough parchment and ink. Unfortunately, we do not have nearly as much to cover all of our history. But,” he added, just before Elrond’s excitement could dissipate, “you could start with three pages apiece and work from there. Choose the events that inspire you the most.”
That sounded very wise to Elrond’s ears. And three pages apiece! There was so much he could do with three pages! “And will you teach us how to paint them?” he asked hopefully.
Tegilboron inclined his head. His eyes shone again, and Elrond realized that it was a light of excitement. “If you wish. It has been long since I last did this, but my skills should be intact, if not a little rusty.”
“You won’t be much worse than us, sir,” Elros grinned.
Tegilboron chuckled at that. “Well, then,” he said, “let us review your assignments to start with, shall we?”
Thus began their lessons in illumination. Over the next couple of months, Tegilboron taught them, first with charcoal pencil, how to outline the border of a page, and later, how to fill in the details with coloured ink. He showed them how to arrange written words and decorate the rest of the page with images, and how to create an entire illustrated cover page. Elrond gradually lost track of how many hours he spent perfecting his manuscripts. The illuminating was not so hard once he got the hang of it, but his Quenya grammar still needed some work, which meant he oftentimes needed to recopy the scripts onto a fresh sheet of parchment after Tegilboron made corrections.
But after all this time, his manuscripts were finally coming together! He had first chosen to write about the Beginning of Arda and illuminated the border with so many stars that they flickered across his vision whenever he closed his eyes.
Then came the Awakening at Cuivienen. Writing about the first Elves and the mathematics of their procreation was a hassle, but that was made up for with the night sky border at the top of the page and on either side, and the lake boxing in the text at the bottom.
Last of all was a fresh account of the Two Trees. This time, Elrond drew up a full cover page of the Trees, using Tegilboron’s special gold and silver inks. It was his best work yet, without a doubt! He’d carefully arranged the Trees’ trunks so that they twisted around each other, their branches hanging downward like leafy curtains. Dark green leaves decorated the silver backdrop of Telperion’s canopy, and light green leaves covered Laurelin’s golden boughs. Embraced within their roots were the Silmarils, one coloured turquoise, the second inked in dark blue, and the third emblazoned in red. Elrond wasn’t sure why he picked those colours, only that they had come to him in a dream one night, and it felt fitting in any case. And to finish it all off, lining the page entirely was a pattern of green knots.
To make the cover page even more perfect, Elrond had rewritten his assignment on the Trees, taking in Tegilboron’s grammatical corrections. He worked slowly and carefully to keep the Tengwar all need and tidy, and when it was all written, he couldn’t help but gaze at his manuscript several times to admire his handiwork:
The one had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling, and the earth beneath was dappled with the shadows of his fluttering leaves.
The other bore leaves of a young green like the new-opened beech; their edges were of glittering gold. Flowers swung upon her branches in clusters of yellow flame, formed each to a glowing horn that spilled a golden rain upon the ground; and from the blossom of that tree there came forth warmth and a great light.
Telperion the one was called in Valinor, and Silpion, and Ninquelote, and many other names; but Laurelin the other was, and Malinalda, and Culurien, and many names in song beside.
Elrond also included a similar green border around the text so it could match the cover page. Oh, how beautiful they looked when laid side-by-side! Truly, this was his best work yet!
Somehow, both he and Elros managed to go entirely without showing Maedhros or Maglor the finished project. Oh, they had seen peeks here and there, for Elrond always felt warm and fuzzy after receiving praise for his hard work. But this was a big thing, a work of passion, and Elrond wanted the moment of reveal to be special. He could almost imagine the look on the Fëanorians’ faces when they saw what he and Elros had created!
That evening in the feast hall was warm from the hearth fire, and from the gathering of so many bodies. It was customary for Maedhros and Maglor’s followers to share the evening meal with their lords, whether they were soldiers, commoners, or councillors. In truth, Elrond could never tell who was who. Even after a year of living in Amon Ereb, he still found it hard to remember everyone.
In Sirion, he’d had no problem with a stranger’s face and name. Seeing someone new always fascinated him. The different features, the way they styled their hair, the make of the clothes they wore, the stories they carried with them, was all that not intriguing?
But then came the Kinslaying, and most of his memories before that time became a blur with spots of clarity here and there. It had hurt his chest so much when he tried to remember the happier times and failed. He could barely remember Eärendil now, save for a vague notion that his father had golden hair and rough-feeling fingers. Elrond was certain that his father wasn’t harsh in holding the twins – just that the skin of his hands was not smooth, likely from working on ships all the time. Yes, that must be it.
Maybe Elrond ought to write down all he knew of his family and the Havens before he forgot it all entirely. He could illuminate those pages, too … He might even find Eärendil’s likeness again. That would be nice.
“Elrond?” Maglor said. “Is something the matter, dear?”
Elrond returned to himself with a start. He quickly blinked the sting from his eyes. “I am alright. I was just thinking.”
On Elrond’s left, Elros gently nudged his arm, saying nothing.
“Best to set that aside while eating,” Maedhros said at Elrond’s right. “Come, child. Eat what you can.”
Elrond took a few bites of beef stew. While he chewed, Elros spoke. “After the meal, we want to show you our project. It’ll be the full thing this time!”
Maglor raised both brows. His eyes gleamed bright. “Indeed? Well, then, we ought to eat quickly! Is it truly finished?”
“Yes, truly!” Elros grinned.
“Except for one detail,” Elrond put in quickly. “But we will finish it once you’ve seen it. And Tegilboron will be there, too. He helped us a lot!”
“I would be surprised to find him absent,” Maedhros said with a wry smile. “But now, you must eat, or we will not leave this table.”
Elrond knew it to be an empty threat, but he still finished his food and even had second helpings of stew and buttered rye bread. Afterward, he was so stuffed that he felt ready to shut his eyes and sleep straightaway, but his eagerness to see the illuminated manuscripts gave him enough energy to tug at Maedhros’ prosthetic hand, leading him and Maglor to Tegilboron’s study. Elros hurried ahead to open the door, and they all filed inside.
As expected, Tegilboron was sitting at this desk as they came in. He looked up and stood with a slight bow. “My lords. The time has come, I see.”
“You make it sound so ominous,” Maglor said, though his face was alight with anticipation. “Come, children, show us this mysterious project!”
Elrond giggled and hurried over to Tegilboron’s desk. The tutor handed him what appeared to be a thin, leather-bound book, but was really just a loose leather cover with the pages inside, still unbound. The cover itself had been put together by Tegilboron, with a tree embossed on either side, and a star hovering over each. Elrond carefully took the book, then held it up to Maedhros and Maglor. “Here it is!” he declared.
Maglor took it and opened it to the first page. Maedhros looked over his shoulder. “My, my!” Maglor hummed as he slowly flipped through each page, tracing over the patterns with a slender finger. “It has been so long since I last saw an illuminated page! Oh, this is beautiful!”
Elrond swelled with pride as the Fëanorians assessed the manuscripts. They were the sons of a great creator and artist, after all. Surely nothing could compare to their father’s work, and so receiving their good word meant much. But at the same time, there was nothing to fear about them being cruel toward others’ efforts. It had taken Elrond some time to believe that in the early days of their living together, but now his belief was secure.
“Oh, the Sun and Moon!” Maglor exclaimed. “Who illuminated this?”
“I did,” Elros said proudly. “And I did the Mereth Aderthad, the family trees, and Finrod meeting the Edain.”
“You have a steady hand,” Maedhros commented. “And a keen eye for colour.”
“What about you, Elrond?” Maglor asked, turning to the next page. “Ah, this must be yours, surely!”
He leaned down to show the parchment in question. It was the cover page of the Two Trees; the ink gleamed metallic in the lamplight.
“Yes, that one is mine!” Elrond said excitedly. “And – and I wrote about the Ainur and the Beginning, and Lake Cuivenen!”
“Tegilboron taught us how to illuminate,” Elros added. “And he made the book cover for us.”
“I suspected as much,” Maglor said, smiling at the tutor. “I recognized his embossing. You all have been hard at work these past months! Now I feel a little left out.”
“You have been working on your own projects,” Maedhros said wryly. He lightly touched the image of the Trees. “Will you bind these into a proper book?” he asked the twins.
“I would like to,” Elrond admitted. “But I don’t think there are enough pages.”
“So we were thinking of keeping it loose until we can add more,” Elros said.
“But for now, it is finished,” Elrond continued. “Do you like it?”
“Of course!” Maglor exclaimed. “How can I not? You both worked so hard on it, and it is so beautiful.”
Elrond flushed with delight.
“You mentioned a final detail still to add,” Maedhros commented.
“Oh, yes! I had a thought that Elros and I would sign it,” Elrond explained. “Now that you’ve seen the book and deem it good, we can add our signatures as the finishing touch!”
“Oh, dear one, you do not need our permission for that,” Maglor said with a laugh. “Your work is your own! I think it is good to know who the artisan is. Did you know, the Dwarves carve their initials into their creations?”
“You can even add the date,” Tegilboron offered. “Then, if the book is still around many years from now, others will know how long it has lasted.”
Many years! What about many hundreds of years, or thousands? Could Elrond and Elros’ book really go on for so long?
With that thought in mind, Maglor ushered the twins to their room to be washed and tucked into bed. He hummed a lullaby as he brushed their hair, and when they finally clambered under the blankets, he pressed a gentle kiss to their brows. He smelled faintly of the resin used to polish his harp’s strings.
When Elrond first met him, Maglor had smelled like steel and sweat and blood. That had been a year ago; now things were better. A little better, Elros would say. They at least had a home (cold stone instead of warm sand), two fathers (they drove Eärendil and Elwing away), and freedom to move around (but they must stay within the walls for now and not go into the armoury).
But Elrond, knowing that there was nothing else, was content with this being the best he could ask for.
After Maglor left the room, Elrond took one last look at the illuminated book on their bedside table, smiled, and settled deeper under the blankets to sleep.