Gift Horse.

Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

PG
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien. No copyright infringement or harm intended; no profit made from this story.
Summary: The peredhil twins learn to ride.

"Can you ride?"

Elrond jumped and turned. Maedhros's curt tones jerked him from the cloud of historical visions conjured by the text in which he had been submerged. He had been blinded and deafened to the outside world, and he stared blankly at his mentor, the question unheard.

"Sorry?"

"I said," Maedhros repeated testily, "Can you ride?"

"I have never tried," Elrond replied, frowning a little at the unexpected inquiry.

Maedhros swore.

"Have you found him?" Maglor's quiet tenor sounded between the stacks and he smiled at Elrond as he emerged. "Ah, head in a book as always, peredhel; we thought you might be here."

Glancing at his brother, he added. "I take it the answer was no?"

"No, damnit!" Maedhros growled. "Curse it all! Did those wretched jewel-thieves teach them-?" He broke off as Maglor laid a warning hand on his arm. Too late as it was to stop the flow of words, Elrond felt a tiny spark of gratitude toward the younger brother. "Nothing," Maedhros finished, glaring at his sibling.

He turned to Elrond once more and the younger elf faced him stiffly, his muscles clenched to restrain the surge of emotion inside him. Images of his mother's terror dashed against the backs of his eyes until they stung. Jewel-thief. Jewel-thief. How could Maedhros call her that! The word reverberated in his mind, cannoning off the recollections of his last few moments with her. Elwing clutching him close, Elros pinned beside him. Her fear was a thick, paralysing embrace that ensnared him more tightly than the desperate, hopeless clasp of her arms. Her tears fell silently on his hair. Her whispered pleas rang in his ears – and cut off as a door slammed open below stairs. Jewel-thief. Footsteps on the stairs. "They are coming. They are coming. They are coming." Shadows in the door. Bloodstains. Flame-hair. "They are here." Elwing at the window. White-faced. Tight-lipped. Gone.

Jewel-thief. Jewel-thief.

He clenched his jaw. He was too old for tears.

Jewel-thief. Jewel-thief.

Maglor cast him a careful glance, reading his tension, knowing his hurt, his confusion. Hair-bound back into a long braid, his hands washed clean and his warrior's garb replaced with loose, oak-coloured robes, Maglor looked far from the part of the hunter who had come to reclaim his stone. Elrond looked away; the different facets of his mentors too confusing to contemplate in their presence, where words and appearances would intervene with rational thought.

"You are going to learn," Maedhros said abruptly, snapping him once more from his introversion.

"To ride?" Elrond asked, pressing his palms into his hands to push back his feelings behind the walls of silence.

"No, to fly!" Maedhros said impatiently. "Outside, Elrond, now."

Reaching past the younger elf he flipped closed the volume Elrond had been reading, and strode off. Elrond watched until the door swung closed behind him and wordlessly reopened his book, marked his place, closed it, and replaced it on the shelf between the sacks of grain. Then he turned quite eagerly to follow Maedhros. Maglor had waited for him. He laid a kind hand on Elrond's shoulder, squeezing gently; his silent affection starkly contrasted with his brother's curt demands. Elrond managed a smile, and allowed himself to be guided along the dark passages and out into the bright light of day.

Elros was sitting on the bank as Maglor closed the shed doors behind them. Beside him, a veteran warrior sat polishing a curve-bladed dagger and listening to the young elf's animated chatter.

"...And then swoosh! Whack! I got Maedhros on the arm!" Elros said proudly, swinging his own arm as he fought an imaginary foe.

"Lucky shot, peredhel," Maedhros, a few paces ahead of his brother and Elrond, growled, overhearing as he stalked down the steps.

"I still got you!" Elros said smugly. "Elrond never has!"

"Twin's got more discipline than you," Maedhros grunted. "Luck doesn't make you a warrior."

"I still got you," Elros said, defiant now.

Standing in the shadow the overhang cast upon the front steps, the dark light of anger was a sudden spark in Maedhros's eyes.

"You did," he said. His voice was viscous with warning.

Elros fell suddenly silent. Annoyance passed like a shadow across his face, and he stared up at Maedhros, his jaw stubbornly set. Neither spoke. Maedhros's features were cast into cold hard relief, darkened by the overhang; his eyes were blacker than obsidian. Elros looked small before him, and human. The silence stretched out, even the breeze stilling in the trees. Maedhros's shadow hung over Elros.

"Can you ride?" Maedhros asked at last, his voice barely stirring the silence.

"A horse?" Elros asked, curiosity sharp in his voice.

"Teach you on a warg if you ask stupid questions," Maedhros grumbled, the black forbidding clouds of his anger vanishing in a rise of fresh annoyance. "Well?"

"I can ride," Elros asserted confidently. "If you give me a horse to try."

Maedhros snorted at the bold assumption. "Come then," he said, and strode off in the direction of the horse's paddock.

Elros cast Maedhros's back a resentful glower and then jumped off the bank to land beside Elrond. Maglor touched them both lightly on the shoulder, ushering them forward. His fingers tightened in a warning squeeze on Elros's arm. Catching sight of the gesture, Elrond glanced up. Maglor was their shield from Maedhros's temper, but Maedhros in a rage became the hunter and Maglor was ever at his side. Thus he too became a huntsman. Elrond stepped a little closer to his twin, and brushed his fingers against the back of Elros's hand.

"He's in a foul mood today. What did you do?" Elros asked, taking Elrond's hand in his own, and looking after Maedhros with a frown.

"Me?" Elrond said, and shook his head. "I didn't do anything."

"Bet you were reading again," Elros said, turning to flash Elrond a grin. "Bet you my sword that you were reading. That always annoys him."

"I think it was your sword that annoyed him," Elrond answered. "I don't want it." He paused and then shrugged. "You were right, anyway."

Elros rolled his eyes. "Lessons are one thing, brother-mine, but why spend your life sitting in the grain stacks reading books when you don't have to?"

"You read at night," Elrond countered.

"When it's dark and there's nothing else that can be done," Elros retorted defensively. "I like books well enough, but you, brother, have an obsession. Besides, it's boring. You should come and fight, or shoot, or..."

"Why?" Elrond asked calmly.

Elros, stopped mid-flow, stared at him. "Because I do," he said, incredulous. "And I want to practice with you. You're my brother."

Elrond smiled. "Sometimes I will then," he agreed, committing to nothing more than he did already, for there were lessons in sword fighting and archery as frequently as in lore. There was no doubt that, for all his sharp words, Maedhros ensured that both twins were able to defend themselves against the Shadows of Morgoth, and knew a little of their world from the ancient tales. "And sometimes," Elrond added, with a quick, mischievous smile, "I want to read."

Elros rolled his eyes. "You would."

With that fond dismissal he released his twin's hand and broke into a run as the horses' paddock came into sight. Elrond grinned to himself and pelted after him.

The grazing ground, which stood some hundred feet from the main camp, was littered with scrubby, tufty grass grown pale and short with the harsh season. The land was skewbald with bare earthy patches and pitted with marks of tethering posts. The grazing horses, some tethered, some loose, looked up idly at the elves' approach. Unperturbed, they resumed eating, their teeth tearing at the short, weedy stems with single minded dedication, only the occasionally glance from a liquid eye betraying their continued interest in their visitors.

Maedhros raised an eyebrow at the twins as they arrived beside him, flushed and grinning; their run had become a race with both the victor. He did not speak, but continued to scan the horses until Maglor caught up with them, and then whistled sharply. His own stallion, a bright chestnut both high and solid in build raised his head. With a clarion cry pitched almost to a challenge, the chestnut tossed his mane, stamping a powerful forelimb. Maedhros whistled again, a short, terse sound. With a snort and another shake of his head, the stallion trotted toward them.

"Call yours," Maedhros said, his eyes on the stallion.

"Brother," Maglor began, shaking his head, but Maedhros cut him off.

"They might as well learn the hard way," he said. His tone brooked no contest and the glance he shot Maglor warned the same.

For a moment it seemed that Maglor would dissemble, but finally he shook his head once more and, with three fingers to his lips, whistled too. Another stallion, this a rangy, long-limbed animal, broke away from the herd and into a lazy lope that carried him to his master's side. Maglor laid a hand on the long neck and captured the stallion's forelock, smoothing his hand down the animal's nose. Dark, alert eyes stared at the twins from a fine-boned head. The second stallion was also chestnut, the colour of faded copper; the coat shone as the stallion shifted and nuzzled Maglor's elbow, turning to stretch his nose out to the other horse. Maedhros's stallion snorted low in his chest, snapping peevishly, resentful of the other's close proximity. Eyes the light brown of pine watched the group warily. The stallion's stare was distrustful, and the eyes were too pale for the bright, flame-coloured coat. Maedhros ignored him and turned toward the twins.

His gaze was long and appraising, and Elrond wondered at the thoughts in his mind. Even Elros was frowning now, for Maedhros's stallion was as temperamental as his master, and Maglor's no quieter once upon his back. Elrond glanced toward his brother and Elros met his eyes uneasily. For all his earlier confidence, Elros was as aware as he that neither twin had ridden before, save when they were tied and carried like prisoners to the camp of Feanor's sons.

Finally, Maedhros glared at them both impatiently and jerked his head toward Elrond.

"Get up."

Again, Maglor stepped forward, and this time laid a hand on Maedhros's arm. "Brother, is this wise?"

Maedhros glanced toward him briefly; his voice was low as he replied. "Elrond is more the elf than his brother'll ever be. He'll learn or he will fall." Turning back to Elrond, he said curtly. "Come on, peredhel, we haven't until moonrise to debate this."

Elrond stared at Maedhros, the heartless words falling coldly into the pit of his stomach. The prospect of learning to ride had delighted him, but to pick for first attempt such a mount turned pleasure into perturbation. Even now the stallion did not cease his restless movements, shifting from foot to foot and baring his teeth at Maglor's horse. Elrond had spent many hours among the camp's horses, sometimes tending them for the warrior's, sometimes just whiling away a few precious moments in their quiet, inquisitive company. But he was wary of the brothers' feisty stallions, and the grooms had warned both him and Elros away from them. Slowly Elrond shook his head.

Very quietly, he said, "No."

Maedhros did not move, did not even react. It was as though he had not heard Elrond speak. Without defiance, Elrond held the dark, unresponsive gaze, uncowed by the steely set of Maedhros's body; he refused to be humiliated or hurt attempting even such a desired new skill. After a moment, he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He looked up into Maglor's face and the younger brother's expression was serious.

"Elrond, we are moving on in two days," he said quietly. "You cannot yet ride; we cannot leave you behind."

Elrond looked back toward the horse and nodded slowly, Maedhros's frustration beginning to make sense. But the choice of horses was still beyond his comprehension. With a sinking heart he realised that this was another of Maedhros's challenges. The stallion stamped beside him, the shock quivering through the earth. Long, yellowing teeth bared at Maglor's horse, whose ears flattened in retaliation. Elrond swallowed hard, recalling his first experience with a sword.

The day had been claustrophobic with the heat of an approaching storm. The sky overhead hung low and threatening, yet the clouds refused to break. The air was hazy and thick. Elrond had been lying on his bunk, skimming through the pages of a dog-eared copy of minstrel's lays Maglor, discovering his penchant for books, had loaned him. Maedhros had kicked open the tent flap and thrown a blade down at his side. With a jerk of his head he had indicated Elrond follow him and walked off again. After three weeks in the camp, Elrond had quickly risen to follow, wondering uneasily what had become of Elros. But his twin was nowhere in sight. Reaching down to lift the blade, he had nearly dropped it again, surprised by the sheer weight of the weapon. Gripping it more firmly, he had stood and run a cautious thumb down the edge. A thin crimson line marked the passage of the blade. Wiping his hand on his trousers, he had hastened after Maedhros.

The elder elf had waited for him in the dusty circle marked out in ragged perimeter by old tent poles and untrodden grass. His back to Elrond, he had not even looked around at the cautious speaking of his name. Elrond took another step forward and Maedhros whirled, so fast Elrond stumbled backward to avoid the quick slash of Maedhros's blade. What little practice with a wooden toy sword his eight years in Beleriand had afforded him, Elrond had never faced a real warrior. On his sole home trip during that time, Earendil had shown both the twins how to grip and swing a blunt blade. But nothing could have prepared him for Maedhros's onslaught. Terror retreated to a place deep inside him, leaving him cold with the certainty that Maedhros had brought the twins out here to be slain, that he had given them each a blade to make a mockery of self-defence and amuse himself with their deaths. He had misread the eldest of Feanor's sons harshly.

Beaten back, vain attempts to block the flying steel sending shock waves rushing up his arm, Elrond had stumbled backward until he hit the wall of the grain store. His last desperate counter was thrust viciously aside and he was pinned against the fence, the chill bite of Maedhros's blade at his throat. Elrond stared into empty black eyes. Sweat ran icily down his spine. His mouth tasted of iron and bile where he had bitten through his lip. Maedhros held him there. The silence swarmed into his ears. Beyond fear, beyond anger, he could only wait.

Suddenly Maedhros had stepped back, sheathed his sword and propped Elrond's against the fence. He raised one hand and Elrond lifted his chin, expecting, for the first time in his life, to be struck. But instead Maedhros caught the corner of his sleeve between his fingers and gently wiped at the silent tears running down Elrond's face. He had not even known he had been crying.

"There," Maedhros said gruffly, handing him back his sword. "That is why you will learn the craft of the sword. No arguments, no questions unless it is about the weapon-craft. No-one, ever, should be allowed to put you in that position."

To a bewildered eight-year old, it had been reason enough. Four years on, Elrond was beginning to doubt that conviction, for Maedhros had moved swiftly on from defence to attack in his teaching strategies; but Elrond made no protest, resolving only to use his blade as he chose once the skill was learned. Eyeing the edgy, unpredictable horses, this, he feared, would be another tutoring of similar method and purpose.

Swallowing his apprehension, Elrond stepped toward Maedhros and saw for a moment a flicker of emotion pass through the dark eyes. Amusement or pride he could not tell, and standing close to the stamping, head-tossing stallion, Elrond did not care. Glancing sideways, he saw that Elros had crossed with similar caution to Maglor, who formed a step from his hands so that Elros could mount. Elros glanced toward Elrond, and mouthed, "Good luck." Elrond nodded and, sensing the hot, impatient gaze of his mentor, turned back to Maedhros.

"Get a good grip here," Maedhros said, guiding Elrond's hands to the thick, wiry mane. "And hold on."

Grasping one of the younger elf's ankles, he threw Elrond up and onto the horse's back.

The stallion reared straight up. Instinct took over and Elrond leaned forward, winding his fingers tightly into the long strands of the animal's mane. The neck twisted before him as the stallion shook his head. Muscles bunched and uncoiled and the horse lunged forward. The first frantic burst of speed that Maedhros always demanded threw Elrond forward and back. The horse's coat was slick and he clamped his legs tightly around the wide barrel, struggling for purchase as his knees slipped and slid. The animal's spine was ridged and hard beneath the surging muscles, the violent thrust of each limb jerking him around like a straw doll. The trees blurred past, the ground rushing beneath the plunging stallion. His breath was shot from his lungs, his heart choking his throat and he clung on, the horse's mane cutting into his fingers. Fear raced nausea and dizziness through his blood and he closed his eyes as the world charged out of focus.

Terror rippled through him with each leaping stride. Fear that wasn't his. Eyes closed, he could sense the animal's panic, confusion firing the thrusting limbs. Restless excitement had fled from the horse, leaving only alarm at his weightless rider. Opening his eyes, Elrond could see the horse's ears laid flat, running, running from himself and his spirit rider. The stallion's eyes rolled back.

The tree appeared suddenly in his vision. The bark rushed forward to meet them, the grain spinning into sharp focus. The stallion shied violently, and Elrond lost his balance. The ground lunged up to meet him, smashing him in the chest and knocking him sideways. The breath driven out of his lungs, he saw the stallion's hooves fly and ducked his head. The sickening crack juddered through his shoulder.

For a moment there was nothing. Nothing but the bright sky overhead, and the reproving chatter of a blackbird frightened from the tree. Then the pain crashed over him, pulses of scarlet blurring his vision as his shoulder began to throb violently. He gasped frantically for breath, his lungs burning and the world seeming airless. The ground was gritty beneath his cheek, hard against his shocked bones, but solid, stable. He closed his eyes, which were watering at the harsh bite of pain. Air began to trickle back into his lungs and he gulped gratefully at it, breathing slowly as he willed his shaking to subside.

Beneath the cold, numbness of shock, his thoughts began to whirl. Fear and anger chased each other around his head. Silently disgusted with himself for giving in to Maedhros, though there had been little alternative, he cautiously lifted his head and was grateful that the world stood still. The ache in his shoulder was fierce, hot and angry when he sat up, but the pain was bearable. The glancing kick had bruised, but no bones slid as though fractured and the indignant ache meant at least that no damage serious enough to induce numbness had occurred. Muscles and tendons cried out as he pushed himself slowly to his feet. Better to get up now than have Maedhros order him up. That he would fall had been inevitable. That Maedhros would demand he learn from it, even more so. He could hear the elder elf's voice echoing in his ears. "That should never be able to happen." He was right, Elrond grimly concluded, rubbing at his aching shoulder and swallowing down the knot shock and hurt were weaving in his throat. He never wanted to repeat that experience again.

Elros. Where was Elros? Concern overrode his thoughts and he glanced back toward the fence in alarm. Almost a mirror to his own plight, Elros was sitting on the ground. But Maglor was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, checking Elros was unhurt. But the elder elf rose even as Elrond watched, moving to his own horse and, after a moment, Elros stood too. Maedhros stood alone, unmoved, his eyes fixed on Elrond. All in the name of learning... Grimly Elrond turned to look around for the stallion.

The horse was standing a few feet away, his eyes ringed in white. His ears flitted back and forth anxiously. He snorted and blew as Elrond stood, ears lying flat, and then cautiously lifted one after the other. Fear was written in the vermilion of his nostrils, in the lines of tension that traversed the powerful body.

"Steady there," Elrond murmured, his voice hoarse and a little unsteady. The animal threw up his head, his eyes rolling. "Easy fella, whoa," Elrond whispered to him, the horse's alarm overriding his own. "What are you afraid of? You are the one who threw me! Steady, steady, I'm not going to hurt you. Not in any shape to," he added wryly.

Talking, talking, he approached the horse, holding out both hands and gritting his teeth as fresh pain bloomed in his shoulder. For a moment the stallion recoiled, his ears flattening and Elrond, poised to evade the quick hooves, paused. The chestnut snorted again and shifted his feet, his ears slowly cocking. Hot breath gusted over Elrond's palms, the faint touch of whiskers as the stallion reached out a tentative nose. Elrond stood quite still, letting the animal gather his scent, wincing only as a rough muzzle shoved against his injured shoulder.

"Going to have bruises in the morning," he told the stallion grimly. "Your fault."

He sighed, bringing his hand slowly up to the horse's neck and allowing himself a small smile as the stallion remained still under his fingers. He stepped toward the horse's side, keeping a low monologue going as he reached up to grasp the mane once more. Standing to the left, he drew a deep breath, trying to ignore how much it shook. He couldn't rush himself through the shock, but he was no longer afraid as he led the animal to a fallen tree trunk. Resting a hand upon the stallion's back, he leaned there for a moment until his breathing slowed once more. The stallion's ears flattened, and then slowly pricked as Elrond murmured to him. Still talking, Elrond swung his leg over the horse's back once more.

The horse went rigid. The proud head flew up, ears flattening and eyes rolling back. But he didn't move.

"Steady," Elrond said softly. "If you throw me again, Firestorm, I am not going to catch you."

The stallion's ears cocked slightly and he snorted. Cautiously, Elrond sat up straight, and, when the horse did not move, reached out to run a hand down the thick, hard neck. Firestorm snorted like a dragon, his breath flaring outward, and he gave his head another shake. Though the peredhel's slight weight was like that of a phantom upon his back, the low voice that spoke to him and the gentle hands were not. Reassured, the stallion took a few steps forward. The sound of hoofbeats still pounded in Elrond's ears, the echoes thundering in time with his heartbeat. His throat felt hot and tight. But the momentary apprehension sank beneath the aura of calm he had gathered upon seeing Firestorm's terror and he felt the horse relax.

"Good boy," he murmured.

Slowly he eased his grasp on the thick mane, lowered his knees slightly and unclenched his legs. Tentatively, he touched his heels against the horse's sides and Firestorm stepped forward. Tossing his head, the stallion broke into a light trot, his ears gradually coming upright as Elrond tried to relax into the jerky motion. Elrond could feel the currents of uncertainty ebbing away from the big horse and a sense of triumph surface quietly within him as he patted the strong shoulder. He looked up, finding Maedhros still watching him, unmoved. With a shake of his own head, Elrond looked away, reluctantly turning Firestorm's course toward his waiting master.

The distance between the starting point diminished, the short grass jogging past under Firestorm's hooves. The gait was not unlike the motion of a ship, Elrond realised, rocking his hips slightly to accommodate the movement. The sun was warm against his back, the ache in his shoulder fading beneath the sunny caress. The light glinted brightly off the shining chestnut coat and Elrond ran his fingers through it, watching the light run through his hands like water.

"This is better," Elrond remarked to the stallion. "Now you have stopped scaring us both."

Firestorm snorted, a dismissive sound, as though he were denying that he had ever been afraid.

"Liar," Elrond muttered, clapping the warm neck and sliding his fingers back through the silky strands of Firestorm's mane.

Glancing up once more he could see that Elros too had remounted and Maglor now walked at his side, one hand on the neck of the rangy horse, looking toward the younger twin as though he were explaining something. For a moment, anger rippled through Elrond. Why couldn't they have just done that first, shown them what to do instead of letting them both get hurt? He wished he could hear what Maglor was saying, wished the younger of Feanor's sons was walking with him, talking things through as he did the old stories of war and love and kingships. But that would have left Elros on Maedhros's horse. Elrond laid a stray lock of Firestorm's mane on the right side of his neck and smoothed it flat. Better this way. The ache in his shoulder suggested otherwise, but he ignored it. Better him than Elros.

Maedhros caught his stallion's nose as Elrond drew alongside him. The stump of his hand came to rest on Elrond's thigh and inscrutable dark eyes looked up at him.

"Well handled, peredhel," Maedhros said quietly.

Elrond did not answer. Instead he swung his leg over Firestorm's back and slid to the ground, stifling a grimace as he jarred his shoulder. Shrugging off Maedhros's hand as the elder elf reached out for him, Elrond brushed his fingers against Firestorm's nose, and walked toward Maglor and his twin.

Maglor put his hand on his stallion's chest to stop the horse and Elros jumped down.

"Are you all right?" he asked instantly, staring at Elrond in concern. "I saw you fall, are you hurt?"

Elrond tried to shrug and winced as his shoulder burned. He shook his head. "Are you all right?" he asked instead.

Elros rubbed at the seat of his pants. "No," he said, glaring at Maglor. Then he shrugged too. "Bruised. I'm fine." He touched Elrond's arm tentatively. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?" He cast Maedhros a dark look and then eyed his brother closely.

"Elrond?" Maglor added, casting the elder twin a measuring glance.

"Banged my shoulder," Elrond said at last. "I'm fine."

"Well done for remounting," Maglor said, placing a hand on Elrond's uninjured arm and gently rubbing his thumb against the younger elf's neck. Elrond managed to smile, but the compliments meant little compared to the sensation of trust that Firestorm had gradually placed in him. "When we leave here," Maglor continued, "You'll be riding Blackmane and Silverfoot."

He named, comfortingly, two of the quieter horses who had been stolen from their own stable when the Noldor had raided the twins' home. Both horses had been bred as riding mounts and favoured by Elwing for herself. Maglor's gentle smile said he remembered this and he gave Elrond's shoulder a quick squeeze as he released him.

"You'll ride them tomorrow," Maedhros said, coming up behind them, Firestorm released. "Either of you hurt?"

Both twins shook their heads, neither looking at the other, and Maedhros nodded. "Good. Kit packed by dark tomorrow. We leave at dawn the day after; you're ready or we'll go without you."

With that he strode off without a backward glance, heading for the main camp to prepare for the departure. Maglor shook his head and smiled at the twins. "We won't," he said. "But be ready."

Elros muttered something under his breath and, when Elrond turned to him curiously, he snorted angrily. "It isn't as though we chose to be here," he said grimly. "We didn't ask to be kidnapped; they *can* leave us behind for all I care."

Elrond took his hand, trying to offer comfort. He was conscious of Maglor behind them turning his horse away and hoped the younger mentor had not heard.

"I'd look after you, Elrond," Elros offered earnestly. "We could-" he broke off quickly as Maglor turned away from his stallion, and eyed Elrond intensely, trying to persuade him silently.

Elrond shook his head. "There's no point," he said quietly. "Where would we go?"

Elros scowled and kicked at a stone. "I don't know," he said irritably. "I wish I did. I wish father would come..."

"He won't," Elrond said, gripping Elros's hand to silence the useless wishes. "He won't."

Their father knew, of that Elrond was certain. And he had not come. He had never come. Late at night, Elrond had heard his mother pacing the halls, quietly begging the Valar that Earendil would come home, fearing the coming of the sons of Feanor. But the Lady had been deaf to her wishes. Earendil had not come then. He would not come now. He didn't know why, but Elrond held to the unspoken conviction that if Earendil could, he would. It was safer somehow, to believe that he wished he could come, but was unable to, rather than to expect him to sweep in and solve everything. That was never going to happen.

Maglor came up behind them and fell into step at their side. "Get some rest, peredhil," he said gently. "There should be something to eat at the fireside by now. Try to make sure you sleep tonight, there won't be much opportunity when we are travelling again." He smiled at them both and then gently touched Elrond's arm. "Is this hurting?"

Elrond shrugged the other shoulder cautiously, reluctant to make a fuss.

"Come," Maglor said. "Let me look at it before you go."

Giving Elros's hand a last squeeze, Elrond turned to follow Maglor back to his tent. The elder elf held open the flap for him and then closed it behind them, motioning Elrond to a box to sit. He lit one of the candles set into the dirt, for twilight was creeping in and the inside of the tent was filled with a misty grey light. Elrond unfastened his shirt, and the cool air shivered across his skin as he slid out of it awkwardly. Maglor guided the shirt from his bruised shoulder and knelt beside him. He folded a cloth and dipped it into a bowl of water that rested on a crate with a number of other healing supplies he kept close at hand. Gently, he laid the cool rag on the hot area of skin. The compress eased some of the burning ache that lingered in the bruised limb and Elrond released his breath in a quiet sigh. Maglor smiled, licked his thumb and wiped a smudge of dirt off Elrond's cheek.

"Better?"

Elrond nodded. "Thank you."

Maglor shook his head, rewetting the cloth and gently bathing the area again. "That was not the best introduction to horse riding. We don't have much time, Elrond, I'm sorry. But I should have called Blackie and Silver today."

He eased the rag off Elrond's shoulder and used his sleeve to dry the area. Reaching for a pot of salve, he anointed his fingers and began to gently work the arnica ointment into the abused muscle. He looked at Elrond, his eyes serious.

"Are you frightened?" he said quietly, asking for honesty. "After today."

Elrond considered for a moment, but the shock and alarm were buried beneath the pity he had felt for Firestorm's terror and the sense of triumph he had felt overcoming that. He shook his head.

"No. I think 'Storm was more scared than I was."

Maglor's glance was sharp and he almost smiled. "He probably was, Elrond," he said quietly. "He probably was."

Wiping his fingers on the rag he prodded Elrond's ribs. "You weigh almost nothing, peredhel, he probably thought he had a ghost on his back. I'm sure Sandy did when he threw Elros. They are used to us, of course."

"Why did he choose them?" Elrond asked, twisting his shirt between his hands and staring at the crinkled fabric.

Maglor sat back on his heels. "I don't know," he sighed. "I don't know. But you'll find Blackie and Silver easier tomorrow. Have a flick through this tonight." He crossed to his trunk and extracted a handful of parchment. "These are a couple of notes an old friend of mine jotted down about horses and riding. He was a horse-master at Fingon's palace. It's about war horses, but the principle is the same."

Elrond nodded, taking the paper. "Thank you."

Maglor cuffed his jaw lightly. "Go and get something to eat, peredhel. Then rest. You look tired."

Elrond nodded again, stifling a yawn as the weariness from his exertion caught up with him. Maglor smiled at him and Elrond murmured his goodnight as he left the tent.

Elros was sat at the fire with the other warriors when Elrond approached, but catching sight of his twin he rose and followed him into their tent. Ducking under the tent flaps, he pulled them closed behind him and tossed onto Elrond's bunk a hunk of bread and dried meat, and a full canteen of water.

Elrond reached over to lace the tent flaps and then sat down on the edge of his pallet, picking up the bread and tearing a piece from it. He glanced at his twin briefly.

"Thanks."

Elros nodded, tossing his shirt into the corner. He twisted around to peer at his back and rubbed at a mark low down near the seat of his breeches.

"You all right?" the younger twin asked.

Elrond rubbed at his shoulder and grimaced. "Bruised."

"Same. Thought riding looked fun," Elros muttered, and scowled. "Trust Maedhros to make it unpleasant."

Elrond chewed thoughtfully, unable to concur. "Maybe it will be when we can stay on," he suggested.

"As soon as we can, I'll race you," Elros challenged, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Elrond grinned. "I'll win."

"Hah!" Elros exclaimed. "You will not!"

"We have to learn to stay on first," Elrond evaded, smiling.

Elros's expression darkened. "We won't unless Maedhros stops trying to kill us."

"He isn't," Elrond said more quietly. "I think he was testing us again."

"Like with the swords?" Elros asked, evidently recalling his own similar experience.

Elrond nodded, and Elros snorted in disgust. "As if the horses know what was going on! At least with that Maedhros knew he wasn't planning to cut our heads off – those stallions didn't care!"

"They weren't trying to hurt us," Elrond said. "Horses aren't like that."

Elros shrugged. "They did though, didn't they?"

Elrond rubbed his shoulder and nodded reluctantly. Putting aside his bread and meat, he leaned back on his bunk and took a sip from his water container.

"Maglor gave me some papers to look at – the theory behind riding. Did you want to look?"

Elros snorted. "Bit late for that. We've already seen what not to do, shouldn't be too hard to figure out the other way." He kicked off his boot and the tent wall shivered where it struck. Elros ignored it, yanking at his other boot. In the darkness Elrond could see the colour of humiliation flaming his cheeks.

"Maglor's just trying to help," Elrond said quietly.

"How can you defend him?" Elros snarled, turning on him, his gaze hostile and resentful.

Elrond stared at him. "I'm not," he said, a little more sharply than he had intended. "But it is done now."

"They could have killed us!" Elros said hotly. "It is no way to teach us anything – it's like throwing us into the river to see if we can swim."

"They might do that yet," Elrond said soberly, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them.

"And you're just going to let them?" Elros stared at him. "To Mandos's Halls with that, Elrond!"

He yanked at his bootlaces so hard that one snapped and he threw it across the tent in disgust.

"Of course not!" Elrond said sharply.

"You might as well," Elros sneered. "I suppose it wouldn't be a problem for you. The water spirits would probably come and rescue you. What did you do to that horse anyway, talk to it?"

"Yes," Elrond said softly.

Elros stared at him, surprise reflected in his silver-grey eyes. "How can you do that?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Elrond said honestly. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

Resentment clenched Elros's jaw and he looked away.

"'Storm was scared, Elros," Elrond said, trying to explain. "We always talk to each other when we are scared; mama used to talk to us too."

"Maglor kept saying that Sandwalker was scared," Elros said tightly.

Elrond nodded. "You can see it in their eyes, feel it in them."

Elros turned angry eyes on him. "I can't," he said, his voice flat and hard. "*I* can't."

Elrond fell silent; surprise a nervous jolt in his stomach. Elros stared at him for a moment; his expression bitter and then threw himself down on his bunk, his back to his brother.

"Elros..." Elrond began. He rose and touched his twin's shoulder. Elros ignored him, jerking his arm away and glaring at the walls of the tent. Elrond continued to watch him for a moment, unable to explain, unable to apologise, unable to change the situation. Finally, he turned away uncomfortable, for the air that crowded the inside of the tent was stiff with resentment, and slipped out through the flaps.

One of the sentries nodded to him as he stepped out into the night. The air was cool and canopy above pricked with stars. The bright star of the Silmaril shone in the darkness. Elrond chewed his lip pensively, wondering why it was that the sons of Feanor could not keep the stone, but why it didn't seem to matter to his father that his sons were held hostage instead. But it was comforting, in a way, that Earendil was watching, even if he didn't – couldn't – come.

He walked away from the tent and Elros's anger until the horses' luminous eyes peered at him out of the dark. The grass was cool under his bare feet and he whistled under his breath, not wanting to disturb the camp. Firestorm nickered at him, but would not come, snorting at the shadows in the darkness. Silver, a mothy shape beneath the trees, whickered, and Elrond crossed to her. The old mare pushed her satiny nose into his palm, lipping for oats. He scrubbed his knuckles against her lips and she rested her muzzle in his hand. Elrond sat down, leaning his back against her foreleg. The mare twisted her head around and blew on his hair gently. Obligingly she stayed still, eating the grass around her feet and dropping strands into his lap.

Elrond leaned his head against the warm bulk of her shoulder, comforted by her presence. Some trace of home lingered in her, a home that was not the blood-soaked hall of death that had been his last sighting of it. A home that grew ever more distant in his memory. This was home now. Not the rough fields and pale phantoms of the tents, the place they would leave in less than a day, but wherever they camped next, or stopped to live. It wasn't this place especially. He stroked Silver's muzzle as she nudged his shoulder. It was more than that. The sky, the stars, the bubbling river that wound like a silver ribbon through the dark ground. He could feel the energy of the earth under the ground, in the gentle brush of the wind against his face. Even the sense of calm from the horse beside him, the connection with Arda itself. The sensations that Elros could not feel. Elrond closed his eyes and absorbed the currents of energy, myriad colours forming a web in his mind. The sensations soothed his guilt, his unease at his estrangement from Elros.

He reopened his eyes and glanced back at the camp, where he could see the shapes of Maglor and Maedhros in shadow play upon the wall of their tent, the only ones with their candle still burning. Home was more than just the world, he thought, his eyes straying toward the shadowy tent beside Maglor's where Elros lay. A part of it was the people as well. Elros. Maglor. Even Maedhros. He rose to his feet and patted Silver goodnight. Even Elros angry with him was better than not having him at all.

As he opened the tent flaps, Elros rolled over to look at him. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

"Are you still angry?" Elrond asked.

"Not at you," Elros lied. "It's Maedhros's fault."

It wasn't. All Maedhros had done was to illustrate unintentionally a difference between the twins. But Elrond didn't say anything. He and Elros were all that was left of their family. It was easier to pretend that it didn't matter.

"Good," Elrond said and slipped into his twin's bunk. Elros leaned back against him and Elrond wound his arms around his twin's waist. The physical proximity made up a little for the new divide between them.

* * * *

The following day's ride proved a little easier, and by its end both twins were able to direct and halt their horses from walk and trot. Elrond discovered quickly that a thought or a slight gesture was often enough to communicate to the horse his wishes. Elros had been put on Silver, and Elrond, watching him curiously, realised his brother rode under Maglor's direction in a style far more like the one denoted by the horse-master's notes, with obvious hand and leg signals. Blackmane responded to either, after a few experiments, and when the time came to depart camp, Elrond was confident he could handle the journey.

What he had not anticipate was the grinding ache that set into his untrained muscles from a day's travelling and, though Elros collapsed with salve and a flask to sleep almost at once, Elrond wandered the overnight camp, trying to stretch the aches from his limbs.

It was late when he returned, the moon clouded and only the starlight shone upon the camp. Maedhros was keeping voluntary watch, but the elder mentor gazed into the fire with a fixation that made the sentries also on duty worthwhile.

"Get some sleep," Maedhros said as Elrond approached. The elder twin nodded and began to walk toward his tent.

"Could have got you killed."

Maedhros didn't look up from the fire as he spoke, but Elrond paused, startled by the morose note in the big elf's voice.

"Putting you on that horse." Maedhros glanced at him. "S'pose I should have put you on Blackie and Silver first." He sighed. "Should have taught you before."

"Why didn't you just tell me what to do?" Elrond asked quietly, rubbing his shoulder.

Maedhros stared into the fire and for a time it seemed that he would not speak. "You did not need me to," he said eventually. "You worked it out for yourself."

Elrond was silent, the truth undeniable, but the ache of bruised tendons in his arm pulsed resentment through him. As if he had read his thoughts, Maedhros looked up.

"Think it would have saved you a fall if I had?" he said, his lip curling.

"It might have saved Firestorm a fright, and me," Elrond said quietly.

Maedhros made a humourless sound in his throat. "Theory first, eh peredhel? You are as bad as my brother." He shook his head. "There's nothing like experience to teach you, Elrond. Nothing."

Elrond was silent once more, twisting his fingers together. There was no point in debating the value of theory versus practice with Maedhros; he cared little for the former and none for debate. After a moment, though, Maedhros spoke again, his voice strangely quiet.

"Think you'd have seen how 'Storm felt if you'd been worried about how to sit him?"

Elrond lifted his head to stare at Maedhros, but the elder elf was still staring into the fire as though he had not spoken. Until he closed his eyes, Elrond realised, he had not felt Firestorm's fear, so preoccupied as he had been with his own, with the rushing grass, the rough, pounding strides that threatened to jerk him from his perch.

"You get up at dawn tomorrow," Maedhros said at length, "And I'll put you up on Blackmane and show you how to sit. Three gaits, you'll need them if we find trouble on this route."

Elrond nodded slowly, biting back his thanks for Maedhros would only grunt and ignore it. To meet him, at dawn, would be thanks enough.

"Elros too?" he asked quietly, and Maedhros nodded.

"How's the shoulder?" Maedhros said, after another long moment of quiet.

Elrond shifted it experimentally and shrugged, wincing only slightly at the movement. "It'll be fine in the morning."

Maedhros unfolded himself and reached over, his fingers exploring the sensitive area through Elrond's thin shirt and then slid beneath to touch the hot skin. He pressed his fingertips against the collarbone for a moment and then withdrew, nodding his agreement.

"Hurts?"

Again, more cautiously, Elrond shrugged. "A little."

Maedhros reached into his hip pocket and offered Elrond a flask. The younger elf accepted a small sip, the liquor burning a warm path to his stomach. Maedhros took a drink himself and then recapped the flask, slipping it back into his pocket.

Elrond folded his arms atop his knees, as he waited for exhaustion to settle in. Maedhros was silent, transfixed and brooding. He did not speak again and after a moment, Elrond found that his gaze too fixed upon the flames from the small fire, the bright tongues dancing and interweaving a thousand patterns upon the air.

At length Maedhros rose and turned to go into his own tent. But at the entrance he paused and looked back.

"The horses, Elrond, if you can stand them after today, are yours to keep. You can choose between you which you want. You've both earned them."

He paused long enough to smile at the look of surprise and delight Elrond felt spread across his own face, and then quickly entered his tent before Elrond could find the words to thank him.

[End]