The christmas-ball fell to the floor, as in slow motion. A clang and the sharp, red pieces cut the air like drops of blood.

"Sorry," Elros muttered. He knelt down to pick up the pieces, yet Elrond saw, how he bit his lip, how he blinked too rapidly. Quickly, he pulled his brother to his feet and looked him in the eyes.

"It's allright," he said, as Elros turned away.

"It isn't," his twin answered sharply. He knew, this wasn't, what Elrond had meant. But anger, hot and wild, was so much better than that bitter sting of grief, "nothing is allright."

"I know," Elrond responded. There wasn't anything else to say.

Not, that this was the fist christmas they celebrated without their family. Not, that this time they wouldn't hear the sweet melody of Maglor's harp, or the hoarse singing-voice of Maedhros. Not that they had lost the last bit of home they had had. 

A sudden knock at the door made the twins flinch. Quickly, Elrond glanced at his brother, who wiped way his tears and nodded, before he answered with a short "Come in!"

His surprise couldn't have been greater, when he recognized the high-king Gil-Galad standing in the doorframe.

"My lord," he bowed slightly and Elros did likewise.

They both were grateful, that Gil-galad had taken them in. He was a just king, a kind guardian. But not a family.

 The king's eyes scanned the room: the decorated tree, the pieces of the christmas-ball on the floor and finally the twins. "That's a christmas-tree," he noticed with the shadow of a smile, "I didn't know, there are still people who maintain this old traditions."

"Our fath- Maglor and Maedhros celebrated it with us." Elrond bit his tongue. He wasn't sure about how wise it was, to emphasize their relationship with the Feanorians, when here they were dependent on their status as the children of Earendil an Elwing. They were the heirs of both Gondolin and Doriath, not the sons of kinslayers.

Yet, to his surprise, Gil-galad's smile turned into gentle laughter.

"He did," he nodded, "it doesn't surprise me. The sons of Feanor never abandoned these traditions."

Elros' eyes widened in surprise. "You knew them," he asked confused, what the king answered with a nod.

"My father was a close friend of Maedhros," he explained, "he used to take me to their celebrations."

"High king Fingon?" Of course, the twins knew him. His was only one name on the long list of those Maedhros and Maglor had talked about, with grief and love and happiness in their eyes.

"Yes," Gil-galad bent down and picked up the pieces of the christmas-ball. He put them on the windowsill and sat down in one of the armchairs, "I remember it all very well. The lights, the - admittedly rather jarring - singing, the laughter,..." For a moment his gaze became blurry, as if he looked at something long gone. An expression, the twins knew all too well. Silence fell on the room, as each of them became lost in his memories.

"I miss them," Elros said suddenly. Gil-galad looked up to him in surprise. He shook his head, as if trying to get rid of his thoughts.

"You grief for those who killed your family," he asked.

A flash of anger in Elros' eyes: "They were our family."

The words hung between them in the sudden silence. Fragile and faint. A truth unspoken, that might shatter, the moment the silence was broken. Elrond held his breath, until the king lowered his head and nodded.

"I understand," he said, "tell me about them."

It took the twins a few secons to take this in. They hadn't expected the king to understand their grief. In fact, they hadn't even expected him to care. But here he was, understanding, listening and they sat down next to him and talked. Soon a conversation emerged during which they remembered not only the sons of Feanor, but everyone they had lost on the way. Slowly, the room filled with faces they knew too well, even if the twins had only met half of those people personally. Gil-galad told them stories of Fingolfin's valour, Fingon's kindness and Maglor's unwavering love for those dear to him. In response the twins shared anecdotes about the family they had had and everything, their parentes had told them about Gondolin and Idril and Turgon. They laughed and rolled their eyes and sometimes they cried, smiling about a nearly forgotten memory, as the cold room became warmer and the dim lights brighter than they had been before.

Smiling, Elrond looked to the window, where the broken christmas-ball still lay. The cold winter-sun was reflected by it, so that thousands of little lights glittered on the ceiling. Even the christmas-tree, as cold as it had looked before, finally managed to spend the comfort it should. Elrond couldn't stop looking at the sharp, red pieces on the windowsill. They might come from something broken, but they still were utterly beautiful.

I don't know, why everything I make turns out to be so sad this year! There seems to be a pattern: if you scroll upwards you find the very first christmas-oneshots I made two years ago, which are set in Valinor and are very comforting and wholesome. Then the one from last year has a bit of a lonely undertone, but still a happy ending. And now it's this it's-bad-but-better-than-before-thing, which is much more sad. Seriously, if it continues like this, then I'm very affraid of next year's christmas-oneshots!

Also, I turned to writing them in english, which is probably a bad idea, because I'm not sure about how great my gramma is. But violating the canon that much feels weird in german. I can't really stand it for some reasons.

Yet, I have one new idea, which will be much more happy and in german, I hope. Maybe I'll get to post it before christmas.

Anyway, I still enjoyed writing that, even though, I didn't really have a plan when starting.

Have a great christmas-time, still, and you will read from me

Alice 🙃