Genres: Friendship, Supernatural

Rating: G

Notes: A sort of gapfiller to my universe, and companion piece to my story Brother Mine. In my universe, Elros and Elrond are twins, and Elros is the older. This piece takes place when they are ten years old. They are taken from the Havens of Sirion at the age of five by Maedhros and Maglor, and brought to live in Himring; and a year later Erestor follows, to watch over them. (By the way, “Eros” in this triple drabbles equals Erestor.)

Summary: Morgoth’s hands are long and cruel. Elrond and Elros learn it the hard way, through an innocent gesture.

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“Eros! Teach us! Teach us!”

Two children burst into the garden, where Maglor had said the ellon could be found.

Erestor looked up from contemplating the sturdy rose bush before him. “Elros, Elrond, what did I say about yelling?”

“Sorry, Eros,” Elros offered hastily, his expression a little less excited. “But we wanted—“

“—Hoped,” Elrond piped in, correcting his elder twin sternly—

“—Hoped, that you would teach us,” Elros resumed without missing a beat, while thrusting a colourful kite made of some unused parchment in their caretaker’s direction. Erestor frowned at it, then looked at the similar one in Elrond’s hands.

He shook his head. The children deflated visibly. “Maglor didn’t want to teach us too,” Elros complained. “And he told us to stay inside, even. But it’s summer!”

But Elrond’s look was pensive, and after a moment he said, uncertainly, “He mentioned something about bad weather. But what does it have to do with kiting?”

Erestor shook his head yet again. “Everything to do with it, children,” he said firmly. He took each of the children’s hands in his own and guided them to a less-sheltered part of the yard, farther away from the fortress.

A chill blast of wind blew from the north, making them shiver. It seemed that it had been blowing that way for some time, seeing how the sturdy, stunted trees decorating the cold region had lost most of their leaves – which were strewn southward.

“The North is active again, children,” he murmured sadly, bitterly.

Elros gaped uncomprehendingly, but Elrond gasped. “Morgoth,” he whispered in awe and fear.

Erestor flinched. “Do not say his name, Elrond, and you too, Elros. He dwells so near to us, and his fingers are reaching out again…”

Their kites forgotten, the children pressed close to him.