Author's Note:

Not romance. Please respect this viewpoint.

Flames not appreciated.

Constructive criticism and reviews are welcome.

Do not own Tolkien's works.

Enjoy! :)

~S~

During the Silmarillion,

After the attack on the Havens of Sirion,

Amon Ereb,

Maedhros closed the door of his bedchamber behind him. Sighing, he let his cool expression melt away to the worry he felt deep within his soul. The Oath was reawakening, tempting him and driving him to madness. He could control it at the moment, for the two Silmarils will take a while in conquering.

Unbuckling his sword from his belt, he placed it within the weapons stand. Then he pulled at the leather tie holding his red hair, allowing it to fall freely. His clothes were lightly dusted, and a little worn out but that was to be expected. He had just returned from sword practice at the practicing fields. Not many would challenge him, because he was deadly with a blade in spite of the fact that he now wielded with a left hand. But he always could find one or another to fight with him, if not his brother.

He sat heavily in his chair beside the fireplace. A fire blazed merrily, for someone had already come to his chamber to warm it before his arrival. His eyes wandered over to his desk and then he tensed.

His books had been disturbed. Most were written in Quenya and the others were written in the Common Tongue. But some were open, as if someone had been reading them. He knew if that none of his people would dare go through his things, so that only meant that either one or the two hostages that he had brought from Sirion may have done so. His rooms were at the end of the corridor. And he had not met anyone on his way here, which meant the intruder was still in the room.

Staying stock still, Maedhros closed his eyes and simply listened. His years of experience in war had definitely paid off. He was able to pick the small breathing from underneath his bed. For a moment, he stifled the pang in his heart. Was he truly so frightening that the elfling would hide and cower from him?

Elfling, indeed! For this was none other than the child of Elwing, one of the twins. He heard no other breathing or scuffles which indicated that only one elfling had the audacity to be in his rooms. Was it Elrond or Elros? Maedhros wondered as he absently leaned forward and added another log to the fire.

Why did their blades stay from the two children? Maedhros truly had no idea. He and Maglor had both been together when they came to Elwing's house. They killed elves left and right, sparing no one as the madness of the Oath came upon them, made all the stronger by the grief they had felt when the twins were slain.

They had burst into the dining room, intending to kill more innocents when they heard a whimper from underneath the tables. Yanking the tablecloth together with more roughness than Maedhros had ever used in his life, Maglor and Maedhros were about to strike blindly, only to be stopped when twin faces looked up at them.

They had halted together; their blades staying a few mere inches were the two children were cowering. Identical pairs of grey looked up at them with a mixture of fear and repulsion. It was almost unbearable to look at them directly. Maedhros glanced at Maglor, the fit of the Oath receding just enough for them to remember their slain twin brothers and as well as the twin brothers of Elwing, of whom the two Fëanorians had no knowledge of.

Whether it was done to remember the dead or the lost, or it was done to keep their own sanity alive as the Oath made their deeds more graver, Maedhros did not know but he did know that his pity for the twins were mirrored in Maglor's eyes as well.

Ironically, the twins were not impressed, if a little frightened of the imposing red-headed elf and scrambled to Maglor for safety.

"I see your charm works in all ways from singing to children,"Maedhros had said dryly to his brother when they headed back to their sanctuary. Maglor gave an apologetic smile.

In truth, Maedhros was a little hurt to see the twins shrink away from him, but it was admittedly understandable. His face was scarred, which made him look even uglier when he smiled and grinned. His right shoulder pained from where he had been hung during his captivity, though he learned to live with it. All of his scars were gruesome to look upon. He had learned to live with it, but for any child, regardless of men or elves, he was a sight quite unwelcoming.

Maedhros was brought out of his musing as he heard an impatient scuffle underneath his bed. The elfling was obviously becoming restless, but Maedhros was not about to let him go anytime soon. No, coming into his rooms was not a good idea, a gesture he would like to discourage in the future. But how? He did not want to sound to intimidating to an elfling who was already frightened of him. He was also briefly curious as to how the elfling managed to summon up enough nerve to enter his rooms but Maedhros waved the notion away. The children had not yet seen the entirety of the fortress. It was likely the child did not even know that he was in the rooms of none other than the Elf he feared.

Sighing, Maedhros got up from his seat and made his way to his bed. He reached for the covers, intending to pull them away and confront the little criminal. But for some reason, his hand stopped.

Memories came back to him from when he was young. He was past his majority of course, and the Amburassa enjoyed sneaking into his rooms. They would pester him endlessly, for Maedhros had this one talent they loved to watch. Sometimes, he would utterly refuse, as brothers are wont to do just to annoy their younger siblings. The Amburassa would then cry and run back to their mother. After that, Maedhros had to do it just to keep his mother happy and the twins happy.

The memory was so sweet that it was almost painful, but it allowed a soft smile to come to his face that almost made him look younger and less fierce. He turned away from the bed and made for his desk, intending to do what the Amburassa loved of him. Perhaps… maybe he was too hopeful but perhaps, this young elfling in his room would enjoy it too.

He pulled out a large parchment and brought out his inkwell full of burgundy ink. He rummaged through the drawers where he was sure he had seen a brush somewhere, found it and then pulled out his quill.

Smoothing the parchment over, he dipped his quill into the ink and made rough lines as he sketched the idea he had in mind. He worked diligently, almost feverishly, muttering to himself as he usually did when he worked with an inkwell, parchment and brush. Maglor used to joke that Maedhros was worse than him; at least he had a better voice than Russandol. But the joke seemed so long ago…

Taking his brush, he dipped it lightly in the ink, brushed off the excess ink and then stroked it down on the parchment. He was dimly aware of the elfling shuffling closer but still under the bed. No doubt he was getting curious, but Maedhros knew better than to turn his head; it would only push the child further away.

Maedhros pulled back and frowned. The colour was far too dark for his liking. Turning his head, he spotted a pitcher of water and goblet. He went over and took it. Filling the goblet with water, he brought it back to his desk and dipped his brush into it without giving it much thought. He could imagine his mother's cry of outrage at such an act. Goblets are meant for drinking, not cleaning ink from brushes! Then again, brushes are meant for paints and not inks.

Behind him, he heard a gasp as well, which probably meant the child shared his mother's views.

He brushed the water-wet brush over the parchment, the colours immediately becoming lighter as he wanted them to be. He darkened the lines of the cliff, added a little colour to the light rays, swirled his brush to make the cloud. Then he had more to the 'painting' (though he doubt it could be called so, given it was made from ink and not paint) till it seemed dark, beautiful, full of hope and light but still despair.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two small hands grip the edge.

Maedhros glanced down, and watched as Elros shrink away from his gaze.

"So you are the culprit,"Maedhros said, his voice rough and throaty, a consequence of his captivity. Elros looked down, not really understanding the Quenya.

Maedhros shifted to Sindarin.

"It is yours." He said quietly, gently. "You can keep it if you like. Just leave it till it is dry." With that, Maedhros straightened (for he had been standing the whole time he 'painted'). He turned to leave his rooms, intending to catch his brother to speak to him.

"Do not make it a habit of coming to my rooms. It is not polite." Maedhros added as a late afterthought. And then he left.

As for Elros, he stood on his toes to look over at the high desk at what Maedhros had been doing.

All in light shades of red, pink and burgundy was a picture of a cliff with the clouds overhead. Standing at the edge of the cliff was a woman, with dark hair blowing about her. Her face was set, determined, making her look untameable, defiant and strong. And in her hands, she cradled a jewel, steams of burgundy coming from it as if the jewel glowed.

Elros blinked back his tears as he stared at the image of his mother. It was how Maedhros remembered her, the only one to be defiant against the firstborn of Fëanor.

So the next day, when Elros quietly hugged Maedhros and walked away, Maglor looked at his brother with a baffled expression.

"I have my ways, brother."Maedhros replied, keeping his face expressionless.

Maglor's lips twitched but he did not reply.

~S~

Author's Note:

Update 2015: Rechecked and revised for mistakes in a long mission to do so for all my stories in order to make them better enjoyable. :)

Older Notes: I found it surprising that Maedhros was fashioned as the 'evil' one and Maglor as the 'saintly' one in various fics here in ffn. However, I do not think any of the sons of Fëanor were 'saintly' or 'pacifist', considering the fact that all of them took an active part in battle.

I do believe that both Maedhros and Maglor would have a softer side for the twins Elrond and Elros because they had lost their brothers the Amburassa at the Havens of Sirion. Also, Maedhros had repented the cruelty of Celegorm's servants who had left the twins brothers of Elwing (Elured and Elurin) to starve in the woods. The twins Elrond and Elros may have been something of a 'second chance' for the two to do something worthwhile.

I do, however, believe that Maedhros had a difficult time adjusting with the twins who found it much easier to talk to Maglor than to Maedhros because of the latter's scars and unusual appearance due to his hair.

Reviews are very much welcome. :)