That sword had served Maedhros well, he relied on it just as he relied on his brother. The battle he'd been in had been necessary. Helping at the edges, where reinforcements might be bogged down before they could even reach their comrades. Then he had taken more wounds than normal and lost consciousness, finding himself picked up by the same people he'd protected and brought to the last place he felt he should be.

Imladris. He'd woken to find Elrond himself tending him. Hence the half-hearted arguing before he'd caved to his foster-son's stubborn mercies.

The familiar eyes startled him and he had to wonder. Elrond's own concern shined in this youth and he could only respond to it. "You are not."

A smile touched weary eyes, his lips twitched. "Estel? An interesting name."