And love grew between them, as little might be thought

[tar_minyatur]

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Elros Tar-Minyatur ruled the Númenóreans for four hundred years and ten. For to the Númenóreans long life had been granted, and they remained unwearied for thrice the span of mortal Men in Middle-earth; but to Eärendil's son the longest life of any Man was given 

Have an idea for things you want to do with Elros? Hit me!

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[tar_minyatur]

His brother is married. Or well. Will be married. His brother has a giiiiiiiiiiiirlfriend~

Elros needs to track him down to utilize his brother privileges RIGHT NOW

/adds salt to the wound

[loveathousandyearsgone]

He has this growing feeling of dread that just won't go away. He tries reading- some of the books in the libraries are fascinating - he tries walking, exploring their new, albeit temporary, home.

Nothing helps.

Usually this feeling goes hand in hand with his children. Sometimes Glorfindel, if life has become particularly quiet. It used to go unsaid with his brother, but since the rift hand brought him here...a connection he'd closed seems to be trying to reopen, but he can't quite let himself hope. Not yet. He needs proof.

ow?

[tar_minyatur]

Elros could never tell you how the twin bond works. But he goes to the library as surely as if he knew for certain that Elrond was there. He doesn't, of course. He's not reason to know his brother is here.

But Elrond had always loved libraries.

Perhaps he goes there because it makes him feel closer to his brother.

A shadow, a glimpse, a hissed breath.

And Elros flings himself forwards with a glad cry.

"Elrond!"

gigglesob

[loveathousandyearsgone]

It doesn't matter, in the end. Just that it does.

Elrond startles at the cry and half stands, turning, arms automatically raised to catch a ghost.

"Elros?!" He knows this face far, far too well for it to be anyone else. So he pulls his brother in tighter with a strangled breath. 'How?' is the silent question sent along their bond, for he can't help but open it now.

[littleromantic]

She is a very small lady, but there is no mistaking her nobility. Anna approaches Elros and gives him a tiny curtsy, her golden head bowing. Then she straightens and speaks in a voice that is at odds with her apparent youth:

"Your Majesty, I request your aid."

oh no cute little lady

[tar_minyatur]

Elros looks at the little lady - and lady she certainly seems to be - and bows to her gallantly.

"My lady has but to ask - I cannot promise anything, but I can certainly try!"

she's tiny o.o

[littleromantic]

"I seek a chivalrous knight. Do you know of any?" she is entirely - almost deathly - serious, "I have lost my way and I cannot travel during the hours of day."

Let's just say she has a certain condition that prevents it.

lol and he's feeling too tall

[tar_minyatur]

Elros kneels, to bring him closer to her height.

"That is a bad situation indeed! I would trust any of my men, little lady, or I could go with you instead, if you like? Where are you going?"

[seawanderer]

Maedhros is dead.

The Silmarils he and Maglor had finally succeeded in stealing have been lost.

And Maglor still breathes.

He wanders aimlessly for some time before he's found unconscious by fishermen. Found, and brought to the new kingdom called Numenor, ruled by one Elros Tar-Minyatur, who is well known to welcome all Light races, but with special care for elves and men.

He stays unconscious or senseless throughout the journey, much to the worry of his bearers but it's obvious to them he yet lives. They call for a stretcher and healers once they dock, and he's whisked off to be worked on while the king is informed of the strange elf the fisherfolk had found.

His hands also concern them. One is badly burnt- to the bone- and the other bears rough calluses and a few blisters. The rest of him isn't unscathed, there are various small wounds scattered all over his body. Careless living.

[tar_minyatur]

Elros Tar-minyatur is a young king with a busy job trying to establish a new kingdom. But he makes time to come down to the healing wards, especially with such an interesting visitor.

He makes it to the bedside and his breath catches as he sees the face.

"Maglor?!"

[seawanderer]

Busy yes, but never too busy to do what he feels is needed and right. Because that's Elros.

Maglor's been floating in and out of awareness, and his name finally catches his attention. He's been cleaned up and his badly damaged hand wrapped and bound. But that voice tugs at his mind and he finally manages to force his eyes open to stare up at the painfully familiar face.

"Mm...?"

[tar_minyatur]

"It is you!"

Elros drops to the chair next to him and reaches for his hand.

"Where have you been? We've been looking for you for the last thirty years!"

[seawanderer]

The last son of Feanor passes, singing alone, into legend. Or so the saying goes. Reality is rather different.

Reality had Maglor make his way to Numenor after a couple decades of wandering aimlessly, and was promptly shoved into the King's retinue, installed as someone trusted and to be respected.

His scars are better, these days, and he actually looks fairly well fed and much better kempt than when he'd first appeared. He still often keeps to himself, on the days when memory tugs most insistent and the sea demands he play for it.

For Osse, really, and Uinen. Even Ulmo, should the Vala listen. With his feet bared to the cool water and he'll play and sing for hours unless stopped, without thought for rest, food, or water.

[tar_minyatur]

"You know." A voice observes cheerfully. "You once told me in all sincerity that not even the Calaquendi could go on unceasingly. Admitedly, you were looking at Maedhros at the time..."

[seawanderer]

His heart is light today, so he spins with a little laugh at the observation. Even the mention of Maedhros doesn't manage to dampen his spirits.

He has Elros still, for now. And Elrond, when the other twin visits. And he seems to have tacit permission to travel between Numenor and Middle-Earth. It's enough, he tells himself.

"Ai!" He agrees. "But 'tis a good day and I thought I aught to share it."

[kinslayerswife]

The high windows of the King's Palace face East, not West, Elros looking back towards his brother rather than towards distant parents in a land he can never go to. This means that when she comes, it is not by sea - or at least, not that sea.

She never came to Middle-earth, never walked in Beleriand. But Numenor is not Beleriand.

She comes from the west, following the roads from Andúnië across the island and past Meneltarma until she reaches Armenolos and at last the eastern beaches of Rómenna.

"You never even wrote." She says softly, standing barefoot in the surf.

[seawanderer]

Seeing Her, hearing Her, is enough to stop his song and he almost, almost drops the harp completely. His breath hitches.

She's just as striking as the first day he'd seen her.

Of course she's upset with him. He takes a step towards her, just one.

"...No. What could I say?"

damn u

[toherthesailorscry]

He plays to the Sea, and the Sea hears him, and the waters rush up to play around his feet. As they pull away the foam takes shape, and Uinen calls to him.

"Are you still so sad, child?"

/cackle/ you love meeee

[seawanderer]

He doesn't fear the waters near as much as before. If Osse, and Uinen, and Ulmo wished him dead, a bit of land wouldn't stop them. Or so he figured, and it's held true so far.

Maglor bows to the Lady when she forms and speaks to him. "Not so sad today, My Lady! Remembering the better days rather than the rest, if that is well with you."

yar har fiddledeedee

[yerbanjaxed]

Let it not be said he didn't attempt to get back home the second he put two and two together here. It didn't take too long, really, to grasp that he was not in fact, anywhere near his ship, or his territory, or even his own exact planet. Where he was... well to be fair, he hadn't gotten around to even caring where he was, though honestly putting a little more brain power into figuring out his new coordinates might have been a better idea than... say...

Losing his temper and besieging the coast with a big, nasty, lightning filled storm.

He'd get around to figuring out what to do eventually, but first there was a great deal of steam that needed to be vented. Oh he'd not be hard to miss, not by a long shot, the glimmering, iridescent blue shape of the two hundred plus foot long beast occasionally diving out of the thick black clouds to let loose with an enraged howl, this supernatural little tantrum loud and powerful enough to shake windows and doors for miles upon miles.

[tar_minyatur]

Everyone tries very hard not to sigh at the way the no-longer-quite-so-young King of Numenor's eyes light up in interest as the report comes through of a dragon. Elros stays professional though - he is King now, and jokes aside, he knows his duty to his people. That much has come down from all sides of his upbringing.

But he does insist on riding out with the army - the Noldor have always led from the front, and this is an example Elros wishes his own people to follow.

(And it has absolutely got nothing to do with the fact that he is a Dragonslayer himself and enjoys the chance to go after one. Absolutely not.)

They have no Silmaril, no Vingilote to meet this new threat in the sky. But they do have the tactics passed down from Beleriand that King Fingon developed, the mounted archers with the great warbows and the newer crossbows that his craftsmen have been working on, as well as the long spears gifted to them by Gil-Galad himself. The dragon-fire proof armor that he wears is a dwarven gift - high honor given to Luthien's own descendent, considering how little love the dwarves hold for her, and testament, Elros knows, to the way Belegost honored Maedhros for his friendship when so many others forgot them. They are as prepared as they can be, as they ride down the coastline, headed towards the storm.

It's time to hunt down the threat to their people.

[yerbanjaxed]

Livid though he is, letting his guard down wouldn't happen. Especially not in an entirely alien world. Through the swirling clouds and sheets of rain he could catch sight of them easily. An army, an army headed right towards the thundering gale, each flash of lightning illuminating armor and weapons. Like so many fireflies to the elder blue.

Landing wasn't normally a thing he preferred to do, blue dragons didn't deign to fight on foot. But the temptation of a good row to clear his head was strong. Best to measure the mettle of whomever it was who had the balls to come out here and march an army at him.

The voice that cracked through the clouds was in and of itself like the rolling thunder, great bolts of lightning arcing between the copper tips of golden horns as the dragon's wings rowed the air into a howling whirlwind.

"Who's the fool among ye, who leads this tin army? So I know who to incinerate first?"

[tar_minyatur]

Elros and Elrond are guarded, the precious hostages/fosterlings of some of the most lethal elves in Arda. But Beleriand is not safe, not here, on the edge of the knife. Far younger than Maglor would like, far sooner that Maedhros deems is safe to allow it, they are trained to the blade and sent to the front lines, or as near it as makes no difference.

They are guarded, yes.

It doesn't mean they don't get injured.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

blarg

[lordofimladris]

Guarded, yes. But not even the Sons of Feanor and their men are able to be everywhere, or are able to keep everyone else on their side safe.

Which led to this.

Elrond closes one eye with an attempt at a patient breath, a hand pressing gingerly at the side of his head.

"It might help if you stayed still a moment," he hedges.

/pets gently

[tar_minyatur]

"I'm not moving, so I think your head is."

Elros says, gentler than most might think he could sound.

"Concussion, I assume. You're bleeding enough for it." Helmets can only do so much, after all.