Reconciliation by Ariana

Prologue

Fingon disappeared, that’s when it all started.

It was hard to forget the moment when Turgon came to the settlement of the sons of Feanor on his tired horse. It was the first time their cousin bothered to get to their side of the lake; until then, both sides had consequently kept their policy of not crossing each other’s ways. It had taken his brother’s disappearance for Turgon to overcome his aversion and inform them. They had been living there longer and thus had had more time to get acquainted with those lands, he affirmed angrily when confronted by Caranthir.

Maglor reluctantly recalled that day. It had taken all of his authority as the eldest to prevent Caranthir and Turgon from locking horns. As soon as he had made sure his younger brothers had some urgent tasks to fulfill at the other side of the camp, he was able to get more details from Turgon.

Fingon had left three days earlier. He had taken his horse, weapons, his harp and probably some provisions; of the last they hadn’t been certain. He had ridden before dawn, he had told no one about his plans. Even if he had felt like hunting alone, which would have been risky and unlike him, he would have long since returned.

Maglor had acknowledged that, he had reassured Turgon they would keep their eyes open and then had led him off back to the gates, silently regretting the fate that could have become Fingon’s; he had never wished him bad.

His promises were not just empty words and so his scouts patrolling the lands were more vigilant than ever. But days changed into weeks and they started to think that Fingon died or got captured. No news came from the other side of the lake, though Maglor silently hoped that his uncle would try to get in touch.  It looked though that Fingon had shared the sad fate of Maedhros and they did not have the strength to attack Angband and see if their suspicions were right.

And then, after almost three months, Fingon suddenly returned. And he turned their world upside down.

Chapter one

The giant eagle flying over the camp caused the motion among the guards. It was hard to miss the majestic bird in the light of setting sun.

The sons of Feanor went outside and watched the eagle pass their camp and fly over the lake to get down at the other side. The eagle landed where Fingolfin’s settlement was, but soon it left the ground and went back east.

The Noldor on the southern side wondered what was reason of one of Manwe’s eagles had to visit Fingolfin, but it was soon clear tha none of them had guessed. The solution came from north in a form of messengers with an invitation for Maglor; a summoning more likely, though put in elegant words.

The news that it was Fingon who had returned in such a spectacular way just fuelled the brothers’ curiosity. Caranthir suspected a trap, Curufin asked why only the eldest should go. Amras was trying to guess.

Maglor cut those discussions and ordered his brothers to wait. He hoped that Fingon had gotten some important news, if their uncle decided to share them with the sons of Feanor and sent for him so suddenly in the middle of the night. He also suspected that Fingolfin asked for him alone to inquire about the situation in the other camp and potential perspectives for cooperation.

The sun was rising when he reached his uncle’s settlement. It was the first time he could see it so close and only now he was able to assess the forces Fingolfin possessed. If they wanted revenge, they could have swept us from the ground, he concluded grimly, not daring to step inside without an invitation.

He didn’t wait long; soon someone took his horse, some other elf led him to Fingolfin’s quarters. Maglor hoped he was able to hide his nervousness; though he had suppressed his brothers’ considerations, he had no clue what was it all about.

Despite what he expected, there was no Fingolfin nor Turgon  in sight. It was Fingon who was waiting for him alone. Was he the least reluctant? ‘For I cannot say the most friendly,’ thought Maglor gloomily, watching his cousin as he approached him.

“Kanafinwe.”

“It is good to see you unharmed, Findekano.” These words, sincere, broke from Maglor’s throat instead some stiff greeting. There was no enmity on Fingon’s face, just a shade of fatigue which made Maglor wish to ask a lot of questions. Considering the strained contact between the two camps, or rather the lack of it, who knew when he would get another opportunity.

“There is someone who will please you more,” answered Fingon, but his serious tone alarmed Maglor. “Come.” He led him down the corridor.

Maglor followed his cousin, confused. Who could Fingon have meant? Among Fingolfin’s host there were many of his former friends, but he could think of no one particular he had missed. For a brief moment he even considered the possibility of this being some kind of a trap, but one glance at his cousin made him blush in embarrassment; Fingon was too sincere and straightforward to repay the sons of Feanor for their betrayal in such way.

“Keep calm.” Fingon warned him quietly and opened the door. He went in and moved to make some space.

Red hair. That was all Maglor saw in the silhouette laying on the bed; now Fingon’s words suddenly made sense.

He didn’t even know how he found himself on his knees beside the bed. His eyes were glued to his brother’s face, gaunt almost beyond recognition. He ran his fingers through the dry, pinched skin on the neck, touched the lifeless hand on the bedding. Carefully, as if afraid that Maedhros would break or disappear under his touch. What he was able to acknowledge with all certainty was that the elf’s ribcage was raising in a shallow breath and that his hand was warm, much warmer than his own, but that didn’t surprise Maglor; he could swear the blood in his veins froze and went still. And then it must have boiled, for waves of heat went through his body, black spots danced before his eyes and Maedhros’ hand ceased burning him. For a brief moment Maglor saw only dirt behind short, broken nails of his brother, the net of blue veins running just under his dry skin burnt by the sun. Then the tension in his temples lessened, the noise of his boiling blood silenced, his sight came back.

Maedhros did not disappear, though he started blurring. It took another moment until Maglor realized it was just the tears that disturbed his sight. He breathed deeply a few times, wiped his eyes with his hand; the other he didn’t dare to move, the warmth of Maedhros drawn him like a moth to the light.

Fingon was silent, waiting, observing. Maglor rose from his knees, sat at the edge of the bed, glanced at his brother more soberly. Maedhros had a clean face, reddened; it must have just been washed. Around his head laid a mess of his wet, copper hair. Maglor consequently continued his examination, looking at everything that wasn’t covered with dressings, he was looking and searching what was left of the Maedhros he remembered.

Fingon remained silent and Maglor was grateful for it, for right now he would not be able to make a sound, lest it be to howl in helpless rage. Or cry. Thank. Beg for forgiveness. And thank again. And shout. Too many emotions to put them into words; even he, playing with them so fluently, could not.

Maglor removed the blankets, subconsciously counted the exposed ribs. And then he saw his brother’s right hand, covered with thick bandages. And what was lacking. A moan escaped his lips.

“What have they...” The words stuck in his throat.

“It was not Moringortto.” Fingon spoke for the first time since they came to this room. “It was my doing. I had no choice,” he admitted sadly.

Maglor was grateful he was sitting, for he felt faint when he realised what his cousin had said. For a brief moment he thought that this was Fingolfin’s sentence for the slaughter in Alqualonde and for the burned ships, so that Maedhros would never again be able to raise his hand against his kin. He silenced it. ‘It’s Findekano,’  he reminded himself again. ‘It’s Findekano and he’s just returned  your brother to you.’ A friend, not bound by the Oath that had already taken it’s bloody reward.

He must have had it written on his face, for his cousin dragged himself a chair and sat down too. He spoke silently, not to disturb the wounded, he spoke from the end  to the beginning, from most important things to the details. Maglor remained silent, clinging to his brother’s hand, he listened and counted Maedhros’s every breath. Fortunately, Fingon didn’t expect him to answer and it was good, because emotions almost chocked him. Relief. Bitterness. Earnest gratitude for his host. Hate. Embarrassment. He could not raise his head to look at his cousin. ‘Coward,’ he thought somewhere around Maedhros’s two hundred breath.

They had betrayed their brother, renounced him, abandoned him to torture and oblivion. They had thought him dead, they had mourned him because it was easier this way, and then they had been sitting silently and fortifying their camp. And as it turned out, all that was needed  was one Fingon, stubborn and brave enough to bring Maedhros home. A shred. Alive. Cripple. Wounded. Wreck. ALIVE.

When Fingon understood that it was going to be a very one-sided conversation and moved to giving some details from his journey, Maglor could no longer sit idly. He grabbed a comb and put it into the mess of hair, trying to untangle them. He would have tried harder if not for the fact that he was afraid to move his brother. Soon he had to give up, accepted the scissors Fingon gave him. Strand after strand he cut the copper hair with his shaking hands. They would grow back. The hand would not. It doesn’t matter. Maitimo is alive.

”I need to go back,” said Maglor long after Fingon ceased talking. “I don’t wish to. I have to.”

“I can send a messenger to your brothers.” Fingon offered, but Maglor just snorted grimly.

“They won’t believe them. If I don’t come back, they may think you have kept me here against my will, even if you yourself would go with the news,” he answered. “Tyelko won’t keep them in line.”

Fingon did not comment, just nodded in understanding. It was hard to doubt the fiery spirits of the sons of Feanor.

“Maitimo will be safe here,” he promised, though Maglor would not doubt it. “Come back when you can.”

Maglor rose slowly, reluctantly letting go of his brother’s hand. He knew he would be back in a few hours at most, as soon as he convince his brothers that their uncle meant no harm. He was about to leave when he realized what was that he hadn’t said, though he had repeated it in his thoughts countless times since he had seen Maedhros.

“I find no words to express our gratitude,” he said at last, for the first time officially. “I am in your debt.” It sounded stiff, unnatural.

“Go, tell your brothers.” There was a friendly smile on Fingon’s face and Maglor blushed. He nodded at his cousin and left, this time not waiting for a guide. His horse was waiting outside.

He was wrong. As he rode back to his camp, the words came at their own accord, forming a song praising Fingon the Valiant.

xxx

“Are you content? Have you discussed with Kanafinwe when they would take him away?’ Turgon snapped at his brother when Fingon left the room where Maedhros had been placed.

“No.” Fingon pulled back his hair from his face; he had no time to comb them after washing and now they hung loosely on his forehead.

When Thorondor left them in the evening beside the settlement, Maedhros was his prime concern. He had passed out just after Fingon had freed him and hadn’t regained consciousness since then, indifferent to all the efforts Fingon had done to stop the bleeding and bring him home alive. Fingon had very few possibilities, he had left most of his things in the saddlebags, and Thorondor had risen from the cliff and took the way west. Fingon had not dared to ask him to retrieve his sacks, afraid that the eagle would leave them by the mountains. He knew he would never be able to ride a horse with Maedhros in this state, not even to mention the potential dangers they would have to face on their way. He had to manage with what little he possessed. Fingon had torn his shirt to pieces and done whatever he could so that his rescue would not prove fatal to Maedhros. He had not even touched any other wounds on his battered body, focusing only on the bleeding of his stump. Fingon had never seen anything this cruel and it didn’t help that he was the one who had maimed his friend.

When they reached the lake, Maedhros was still breathing, though his state had deteriorated during the long hours of the flight and his body burned with fever despite the cool wind from which Fingon’s cloak and Thorondor’s feathers gave little shelter. But Fingon took this shallow breath as a good sign and left his cousin to their best healers; Valar knew they had gotten a lot of experience during the crossing.

“Findekano.” Turgon’s impatient voice dragged Fingon back from his memories. “Father has asked for you.”

Fingon stroke his hair once again; only now he was starting to feel the weariness of his journey. Earlier he had barely found enough time to wash himself and change his clothes.

“No, we made no agreements,” he answered finally, returning to the main topic. “It’s too soon for that, let Kanafinwe go and share the news with his brothers.” He didn’t mention his cousin’s earlier remark. To be honest, Fingon realised, they had set nothing, they had not even gotten to the problem. Maglor had been too flabbergasted until he had remembered that his brothers had known nothing. Maybe it was for the best.

“Just make Kanafinwe take him away and problem’s solved,” snorted Turgon.

After the first moment of joy that Fingon was alive, Turgon seemed resentful. Their father just sighed in relief, but Maedhros caused no warm feelings despite his miserable state. And Fingolfin was even less pleased with Fingon’s spontaneous idea to send a message to Maedhros’s brothers; none of them was welcome here.

“I have no doubts they will want to take him as soon as possible,” retorted Fingon. ‘If Maitimo lives,’ he added silently. “But right now it is not,” he said coolly and gestured at the door, inviting his brother to step in.

Turgon went inside and stood behind the healers who worked around Feanor’s eldest son. He returned after a moment, pale and shaken at the sight what the Enemy could do with an elf if he wanted to.

“Father called me, you said?” Asked Fingon pointedly, knowing that he had made his point and Turgon would not return to the matter of moving Maedhros any time soon.

Turgon just nodded.

xxx

“That was reckless.” Fingolfin left the window and looked at his son. “I don’t want the presence of the sons of Feanaro to cause any trouble.”

Fingon didn’t try to argue. His brother’s reaction at the sight of Maglor had made him realize that many among their elves hated the sons of Feanor, perhaps even more than Turgon did.

“Forgive me, father, I should have discussed this matter with you,” he admitted. “But Maitimo is in such a state that I wanted to inform his brothers as soon as possible.”

“No son of Feanaro is welcome here,” replied Fingolfin. “You cause chaos, dragging them here like that, with no warning.”

“Should I have left him there?” Fingon raised his voice and looked at his father, wounded that he too, like his brother, would rather see his friend dead. “You’ve seen what the Enemy had done to him!? Should I have answered with malice for those burned ships and left him there? Honestly...”

“No!” His father interrupted him. “You should have not risked joining him there! If not for the grace of Manwe, you would have been hung alongside Nelyafinwe, no one here would have known what happened to you and the Enemy would have had another prince in his grasp!” He said agitated.

“But I succeeded and we are both here.” Fingon pointed out meekly; he had no other words to say to face his father’s love. “Perhaps I should have left Nelyo at the other side of the lake,” he got back to the second delicate matter. “But the eagle headed here and I did not know how to ask him to change his destination.”

“it’s done, you can’t move him now,” said his father and grimed at the memory of his nephew’s state. “But if other sons of Feanaro walk around our settlement, sooner or later we will have some incident and then a war with our brothers instead of Moringotto.”

“I have told Makalaure to come back,” cautioned Fingon. “I couldn’t refuse him.”

Fingon just sighed and nodded.

“Well then, Makalaure will have my permission. No one else,” he stressed and Fingon knew his father agreed mostly because he didn’t want to question his authority before the sons of Feanor. “Just tell the guards.”

“Of course.” Fingon nodded in thanks. “And it’s better that the sons of Feanaro learn about Nelyo’s state from one of them. Who knows what they could think if anything happens,” he added, giving his father an argument, should anyone try to question his decision.

Chapter II

The sun was setting when Fingolfin’s settlement appeared before their eyes. Although they had wasted no time and had taken fresh horses, the way around the lake was quite long. They went together as soon as Maglor had shared the news about their brother’s return. They had not passed this information any further, but nevertheless their settlement was bustling with speculations

“Wait.” Maglor stopped his brother, seeing that Caranthir was heading straight to the gate.

“Why?” HIs younger brother obviously felt the need to ask, though he slowed the pace of his horse.

“Because it is not your camp. Would you suffer Turukano walking freely  on your ground with no invitation?” snapped Curufin before Maglor had a chance to answer.  He wasn’t too eloquent, but nonetheless right; they could never get along with this particular cousin.

“How long do we have to wait?” Amras jumped off his saddle and fidgeted anxiously by his horse. Caranthir soon followed him and the rest of the brothers dismounted too.

They didn’t wait long. To Maglor’s astonishment it was Fingon who came to greet them. He was dressed more formally and his hair was braided, but his eyes still carried those black circles; he must not have had a chance to rest after his journey. He also looked uncertain when he saw all the five brothers.

“I’m afraid you came in vain,” he said, glancing at the sons of Feanor. “No, Maitimo is still alive,” he reassured them, preventing any violent reactions.

“Still...” echoed Maglor. “So...?”

“My father does not wish to see any of you within our settlement.” Fingon explained calmly. ”Only Kanafinwe may go with me.”

The mentioned elf caught himself wondering how many archers were standing behind the palisade and how quickly they would take their arms, should one of his younger brothers lose his temper.

“Would you forbid us the entrance?” As always, Caranthir didn’t need much to explode. “He’s our brother!”

“And, unlike Findekano, you did nothing to save him,” snapped Maglor, aware that it was just the beginning. “Just like the rest of us.”

Fingon had the decency to remain silent; Maglor found himself unable to meet his gaze.

Caranthir blushed, Amras took a step back. The eldest among them had said aloud what they were all thinking. Maglor himself realized fully that Maedhros’s return changed nothing, that the responsibility for his family and his people was still his burden to carry. Until now he had not even realized how relieved he was to see his elder brother back, how he had subconsciously thought that Maedhros would take the lead back. Maybe it would happen, but not now and not anytime soon.

“Give us a moment,” Maglor asked his cousin.

Fingon nodded and stepped back, though that was just a gesture of politeness; Maglor had no doubt they could easily be heard by the gate.

“They have their reasons for not wishing to see us here,” he hissed quietly, looking at Caranthir, glancing at Celegorm with the corner of his eye, as the latter was most likely to agree with his impetuous brother. “It is my fault that I haven’t thought about that and took you with me.”

“We would have come anyway.” Caranthir glared back boldly, provocatively; Fingon’s presence seemed not to bother him. “And we have every right to know...”

“Hold your tongue!” Maglor jittered angrily, aware that they were making a scene. “You want to know, then respect Nolofinwe’s wish and let me go with Findekano without fear that your churlish speech will get half of this camp on our heads!”

“You can talk, you’ve seen him,” Amras joined the argument with rancour in his voice. He kept glancing longingly at the gate, as if he hoped to see his eldest brother.

“I have.” Maglor replied dully. ‘You wouldn’t want to see him like that,’ he added silently.

“They cannot keep him against his will, they will give him back to us, won’t they?” For a moment Amras sounded so young when he silently pleaded  for  confirmation.

“I think they don’t want him here as much as we want him back,” muttered Celegorm. “Apart from Findekano, that is,” he added.

“I don’t like it that they won’t let us go to him,” Caranthir wasn’t about to change his mind. “Who knows what they may do to him...”

“They won’t do anything!” Maglor was at the edge of his nerves. “But you’re right, we cannot leave Maitimo alone. So if there is possibility, we need to take it. I will watch over him.” He risked a lot. His brother could agree with him or, Eru forbid, decide that Maedhros may be in any kind of danger.

“Go, we’ll stay by the water,” said Celegorm. “Now,” he hissed at the youngest, still glancing at Fingon with hope.

“Forgive me,” muttered Maglor to his cousin as they passed the gate.

“I should have told you.” Fingon just shrugged his arms. “It’s understandable that your brothers came too.”

Maglor followed him the already known way to Fingolfin’s house. Before they reached the room Maedhros was placed in, an elleth ran past them with a bowl of hot water, muttering hasty apologies.

“What’s going on?” Asked Fingon, seeing three healers deep in discussion at the corridor. The elleth went past them and vanished in the sickroom.

“We cannot subdue infection,” said an elf Maglor didn’t recognize. “The wounds are a mess, and his hand...” he shook his head grimly. “I know not what kind of curses and spells of Moringotto have kept him alive, but I’m afraid we are on our own now.”

“Will he live?” Maglor chocked on this question, looking desperately at the healers. If they told him that to heal Maedhros, they required something from Valinor, he would have walked back there and then.

“No, if we don’t stabilise him,” the healer took the little hope he had. “His body is too damaged to fight, the poison is slowly consuming him. If we don’t stop the infection, he won’t last long.”

Maglor chewed on that information for a moment, fighting the urge to fly past them and reach his brother.

“I can send for our healers,” he offered, struck by sudden realization. “We’ve dealt with Moringotto’s poisons, they have caused us a lot of trouble after battle. Maybe together you’ll be able to come up with something.” He glanced at Fingon, looking for approval.

“Of course,” Fingon had no objections. “Will you send your brothers? I wish you to stay here.”

Maglor barely managed to stand still, but he waited until the healers listed all of the problems and gave him clues for his brothers, what kind of help they should seek in their camp. As soon as they finished, Feanor’s son left in a hurry. Only when he was half way to the gate, he realised that Fingon had sent a guard after him, but the elf remained by the gate, so Maglor didn’t think twice of him.

“What’s going on, Kano?” Caranthir was first to jump on his feet, seeing his brother approaching in a hurry.

“We need help, Maitimo is bad,” Maglor panted slightly as he spoke. “Go home, send Alcarino. Ask for healers who have dealt with poisons, perhaps someone’s tended to someone who had lost a limb,” he explained quickly. “Nolofinwe’s healers are running out of ideas. Maybe ours can help.”

“You’re telling us Maitimo is dying and you are sending us away?” Despite Maglor’s assumptions, it was Amras who objected first. “They won’t even let us see him?”

Celegorm turned and grabbed Amras by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Do you wish to help or sit and watch him die?!” He growled at his youngest brother. “Think of what Maitimo needs, not about yourself!”

The colour of Amras’s cheeks matched his hair; then the redhead broke free from his brother’s grip, jumped at his horse and sped away without a single word.

“Tyelko,” Maglor stopped his brother before he mounted too. “Make haste. And don’t you all come back, I doubt Nolofinwe will change his mind.”

“Sure.” Celegorm just nodded. “Stay strong.”

 “Don’t let him go,” added Curufin, brushing his hand over Maglor’s shoulder.

The healers wasted no time and when Maglor returned, they were just changing the dressings, so he stood by Fingon’s side so that he would not disturb them, but also because he felt nauseous at the extent of his brother’s wounds.

This time he had every possibility to fully see in what state Fingon had brought his brother. Previously he saw Maedhros when he had been blissfully set into sleep with medicine and he was so quiet and fragile, with bandages mercifully covering the worst effects of Angband.

Right now nothing covered the cruel, festering lashes on his sides, reminiscences of fire whips, going far to his back and shoulders. The shackles Maedhros must have had as a prisoner cut deep into flesh, leaving his ankles in terrible state. All the wounds looked horrible and Maedhros, though unconscious, cringed and trembled with barest touch.

And then one of the healers uncovered  the stamp. Maglor shifted uncomfortably and tightly crossed his arms, watching in terror and fighting nausea and the growing urge to run away, though he would have heard his brother’s screams even on the corridor.

“If you’re about to faint, you’d better get out,” Fingon suggested coldly and that broke Maglor’s stupor.

“No, no,” he coughed; his throat felt dry. “I can help, I wish to help,” he glanced at the healers, trying to silence the distain he felt for himself. ‘You sentenced your brother for years of torture and now you lack courage to even look at him,’ whispered a merciless voice in his head.

The healer who was cleaning the wounds on Maedhros’s torso looked at him critically and nodded.

 “Hold him still,” she ordered shortly. “Just remove all this clothing.”

Maglor undressed quickly so that he was only in a shirt, without any hard things that could cause Maedhros discomfort, and he tugged his hair. Accordingly to the healer’s commands, he sat on the edge of the bed and rose his brother high, so that he could feel his damp hair on his collarbone. Maedhros trembled weakly and to any movement he responded with groan that crashed Maglor’s heart.

“He won’t break if you hold him more firmly,” reprimanded him the healer that was now kneeling beside the elleth, when Maedhros still tried to escape their touch.

Maglor realized that he was indeed afraid of holding his brother, of using any kind of force. He didn’t want to harm him and he knew not where to put his hands on his bruised shoulders without causing further pain. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip and, no longer able to stand the pleading whimpers, he leaned over and started muttering reassuringly.

“Good, keep him like that.”

Maglor sat crouched, his eyes glued to his brother’s face, tightened with pain. For some time he was rambling nonsense, just to talk, because it seemed that his familiar voice calmed the wounded. Then he started singing one of his old songs his brother liked; anything to quiet him.

Either Maedhros reacted to his singing or he simply tired himself out, Maglor didn’t know, but the moans quieted, the wounded stop moving  and he fell asleep. Maglor froze, not daring to move as not to disturb his rest. The healers finished cleaning and covered the wounds. Maglor didn’t know when Fingon left, but suddenly there were just the two of them and he was ready to sit an count his brother’s shallow breaths.

Chapter III

The healers sent by the sons of Feanor came in the late morning. The guards by the gate let them pass through, as they had been told so earlier by Fingon, but they stopped Amras who came with them. The youngest of the brothers was sensible enough not to argue and obeyed, but he could not go back home. He stayed by the lake where they had waited for Maglor the previous day and he tied his horse to the tree. He had a good view at the gate from there, so that he would immediately know, should his brother or any of the healers leave the settlement.

Hours passed and Alcarino didn’t go back, there was no sign of Maglor too. Amras paced restlessly along the lake shore, until the summer downpour forced him to hide under the trees. He sat there with his hood deep on his face and watched the gate. But day turned into evening, the cloudy sky cleared, revealing the shining stars and Amras knew as little as he had when had come here.

Perhaps the lack of news was good news after all. Alcarino had warned him that in such situation there was little chance for a change anytime soon, and should Maglor be able to pass his brothers some information, it would more likely be the one about Maedhros’s death than anything else. ‘Then maybe I should be glad Alcarino doesn’t come back because he’s no longer needed,’ Amras mused grimly as he spent the sleepless night under the trees. But when the dawn came and Maglor had no news, the youngest of the brothers could not wait any longer.

xxx

Fingon ordered that any problems concerning the sons of Feanor should be addressed to him without bothering his father, so he was the first one to hear that the guards had stopped one of the youngest brothers by the gate. He rushed there; he wanted to take Maglor with him, so that he would be present, but one glance at the door to the sickroom told him to abandon this idea. Maedhros was lying on his brother’s chest and no force would take Maglor away from him. Fingon went alone.

There was already quite a commotion by the gate, because the son of Feanor wasn’t the calmest person and the guards too were not too gentle. Only when the redhead saw Fingon, he stopped struggling and the guards let go of him. He pressed one hand to his stomach and carelessly wiped the blood running from his nose with the other, but he stared at Fingon impatiently.

“How’s Maitimo?” he spat his question. “I wish no trouble, I just want to know how’s Maitimo,” he repeated almost pleadingly, staring at Fingon as if he wanted to burn a hole in him.

Fingon almost pitied him, standing alone among the guards, but his father’s order was an order and his cousin had just broken it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said calmly. “You have been warned already.”

It seemed that the determination of one of the twins had risen since the previous morning to the point where he tried to get into his uncle’s settlement. The problem was that even if he had managed to mingle between other elves, his red hair would have betrayed him. Fingon realised he had no idea which of the twins was standing in front of him.

“Pityo or Telvo?” he asked in a calm voice; there was no point guessing.

Instead of replying, the redhead choked on the blood still running from his nose and he stared at Fingon as if he had seen a ghost. Then he composed himself and replied, a bit unclearly due to his swelling lip.

“Telvo. Amras.” He suddenly added his sindarin name.

“You’re going home.” Fingon grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the gate.

Amras followed him obediently, coughing from time to time and glancing longingly over his shoulder. Fingon was silent until they found themselves under the trees by the lake where his cousin had left his horse.

“Maitimo?” Amras asked for the third time when they were out of reach of the guards’ ears. “I have to know, Findekano.”

“He’s not worse than he was,” replied Fingon. “That’s good news,” he added, for now the youngest son of Feanor looked like he was going to cry. “But I feel like you want to worsen his state,” he stated sharply.

“What?!” Amras violently rose his head from the saddlebag he was fiddling with. “Of course not!”

“Then why do you do everything to convince my father that your presence cause disturbance?  Do you wish him to throw Makalaure as well?” hissed Fingon. “Makalaure is the only person that can calm Maitimo just a bit, so that he can sleep and not toss around. For Valar’s sake, why do you have to be so stubborn?!”

“Does that really surprise you?” For a brief moment Amras looked almost amused. “That’s first thing I’ve learned since yesterday,” he pointed out. “Couldn’t Kano at least send a word?”

“I don’t think he’s even aware that you are still here. I didn’t know until you tried to get inside,” admitted Fingon, watching his young cousin closely.

Amras surprised him. Fingon remembered him mostly as a kid before they went on exile, then he didn’t have much to do with the twins. The elf before him had been forced to grow up fast because he managed to compose himself rather quickly, and yet at times he still behaved like an adolescent, when he asked about his eldest brother with his eyes shining. Also, they must have no longer been inseparable with Pityo, because Amras was alone.

“I  need to know,” Amras repeated insistently.

“Don’t ask me to let you in, because I will have to decline.”

“But don’t deny me news.” This time Amras said it more calmly; he seemed content with the fact that Maedhros was still alive.

Fingon gave in and described what had happened during the last day. Amras stood and listened, subconsciously massaging his wrist twisted by the guards.

“Go home, tell you brothers,” finished Fingon. “Are you okay?” he asked, seeing that his cousin winced. “I don’t wish your brothers to jump to false assumption that Maitimo may be in danger here.”

 “I’m alright.” Amras dismissed him coldly and jumped on his saddle. “I told you I wish no trouble.”

 “Are you going to come back here?” inquired Fingon and he wasn’t surprised when his cousin just nodded. “Bring Kano some fresh shirt. And I don’t want to see you here earlier that tomorrow midday.”

Amras just nodded again and rode away. Fingon got back, hoping that he would at least wash himself a bit before meeting his brothers.

xxx

“Has something happened?” Maglor greeted him when Fingon came to the sickroom. “I had an impression you wished to call me?”

Maedhros was sleeping soundly, his head resting against his brother. There was a half emptied bowl of soup at the nightstand, meaning that Maglor had managed to feed him just a bit.

“The guards have stopped Telvo when he was trying to get to you,’ explained Fingon and sat on the bed. “I sent him back home with news for your brothers,” he added and described what had happened by the gate.

“I should have expected that.” Maglor was not surprised at all. “It will be hard to keep him on distance, especially him, especially from Maitimo.”

“I was sure they were both of them somewhere around our camp. Have they fallen out over something?" asked Fingon casually; he didn’t have to say he meant the other twin.

Maglor shut his eyes for a moment, hugging his sleeping brother protectively.

“Pityo is dead,” he said dully. He tried to uncurl his brother’s fingers clasped in tight grip; that was the only sign of life apart from delirious pleas to end his suffering.

Fingon looked at him, taken aback. In his eyes Maglor could see the dread of what he was about to hear.

“It wasn’t just you our father suspected of treason,” he explained bitterly. “He questioned  us too. Maitimo wished to send the ships back, but then it was made clear father had never intended to do so. They argued like never before,” he stopped and looked at his brother’s face, searching for any kind of reaction. He hoped this would call him back, as it was still a delicate matter causing strong emotions. “Maitimo left our camp then, I have o idea where he went, probably to calm down... We were sleeping and father set the ships on fire with everything we had left under the decks.” We were not all asleep, he added silently, but he was not going to tell Fingon that. He sometimes wondered if Curufin dreamed of their brother at nights. “One of the twins slept on the deck.”

“Valar...” groaned Fingon. “Fn5;anaro had not checked it there was no one on the ships?”

“He burned that one first,” Maglor corrected him grimly. If his younger brothers could hear him now, they would have accused him of slandering the memory of their father. As if it was possible to worsen the opinion about Feanor in their uncle’s settlement. “He suspected, quite rightly, that the twins would want to go back to mother and he wished to prevent that. And so they didn’t,” he snorted. “Telvo never spoke a word to him after that.” Said elf was no longer a child, but as the youngest among them was still protected.

“I am sorry.”

“For the last years I’ve had only one redhead,” muttered Maglor to himself and he stroke his brother’s short, sweated hair. Only now did he see the effect of his desperate haircut. They would have to fix it later when Maitimo gets better. ‘If he gets better,’ Maglor corrected himself grimly.

“It all mingles,” he said after a while. “It was maybe, I don’t know, a month, perhaps a bit longer,” he spoke with his eyes still glued to Maedhros, almost forgetting about his cousin. “Father went too far, up to Angband. We were on a foreign ground, but Maitimo managed to reclaim him. Then, before our father’s blood dried on our hands, an envoy came,” he continued bitterly, speaking more to himself than to Fingon. Rationality suggested that he should stop, but the words took control and Maglor spat the burden that had fallen on him. “Moringotto was surrendering, would you believe?”

 Fingon grunted at the mere thought of it, but Maglor caught his interested sight. No wonder, they had scarcely had an opportunity o talk about details, both of Feanor’s first days in Middle-Earth and Fingolfin’s journey. The two camps kept in touch when it came to matters of their safety and possible dangers. Their uncle and cousins knew only that Maedhros had been captured, and the sons of Feanor heard from Turgon about Elenwe’s death.

“And Maitimo picked that mocking game, he agreed to pact,” Maglor went on, as Fingon said nothing. “A week later another envoy came, this time with demands that were impossible to fulfil.”

“And have you tried...” Fingon’s question stuck in the air, unfinished.

“Do you think we haven’t?” Only now Maglor raised his head to look at his cousin. “He cast us away, I had to back off. I couldn’t lose more brothers.” The words he had been repeating himself since he had sent Morgoth’s envoy away went uncontrolled, like a desperate explanation.

“I know... That’s why Turukano is still so cross with me.” Fingon moved closer, his eyes darkened with sadness. “At the thought that I too might have not come back.”

“Who...?” Now it was Maglor who stared anxiously. “You told us about Elenwe, but Itaril...?”

“Not Itaril,” Fingon shook his head. “Arakano fell in our first encounter with orcs. We could barely recognize his body.”

Maglor could only nod grimly in acknowledgement. They had not even had this much when the ships burned. Amrod had been taken by fire and water, so maybe it was for the better that they had been spared that sight; the image of their dying father Maglor had engraved deep in his mind and only now Maedhros’s tragic state overshadowed it.

“So the oath has already taken the youngest,” Fingon sighed quietly.

The cousins exchanged glances, begging silently it wouldn’t also take the eldest.

Chapter VII

All the time Maglor spent in his uncle’s settlement he couldn’t wait when he would take his brother home, once he stopped worrying that every Maedhros’s breath might be his last. The resentment of Fingolfin’s people burdened him and despite Fingon’s and Aredhel’s friendly attitude, as well as Alcarino’s presence for most of the time, Maglor felt very lonely. The awareness that the general antipathy was well justified didn’t help, nor did the atmosphere of his departure.

As it turned out, the mood in their household wasn’t much better. Maglor had a feeling as if his brothers suddenly had a lot to do, like they were always busy, and the atmosphere was so thick it could be cut with a knife. No one escaped his duties, they took turns in taking care of Maedhros. Maglor found himself having such an abstract thing like free time, but his brothers needed time to adjust and it was not an easy task. The windows were kept wide open and yet Maglor felt like he was going to suffocate. Guilt and shame hung in the air, present in the glances the brothers exchanged or in comments dropped to no one particular. They failed and it was eating them.

Celegorm was unable to stay still and disappeared for entire days hunting or supervising the harvests, making sure the elves working on their fields were safe. He would come back in the evening and sat with Maedhros, but one time he didn’t return for night with no word of warning. At least Maglor didn’t have to worry about Amras, because he had enough notes and sketches to sit down and work on his maps. Caranthir took upon himself supervising the deliveries from Moriquendi and Curufin almost disappeared in his forge, unless he was staying with Maedhros. He sent his son to help Caranthir and kept working for long hours. When asked, he barely answered and would not say what he was working at. Maglor ignored it for the first few days, regretting only that Celegorm was ever absent, because he was most likely to get from Curufin what was bothering him. Maglor had too many things to do and he dropped the subject, assuming that his brother simply needed time to accept the situation and working in the forge was his way to deal with it.

He was forced to change his mind after four days, when he accidentally bumped on Curufin in the doors. His younger brother was cursing quietly under his breath and a wet cloth placed around his hand was a visible proof just how distracted he must have been; it had been long time since he had last burned his fingers.

Reminding Curufin that he was making mistakes their father warned them as twenty-year-old boys seemed to work. Next morning Curufin saddled his horse and went with Celegorm, and when they came back, he was wet and dirty, but visibly calmer.

xxx

Celegorm did not have Maglor’s patience, so sitting with his sleeping brother quickly left him restless. He should be glad Maedhros was sleeping and not disputing with illusions, but when he lied so still, he seemed almost dead.

Celegorm stood up and started pacing around the room to waste his energy somehow. He wasn’t Maglor to use the quiet moment to write poetry.

“You could wake up, Maitimo,” he said with light reproach, not overly quietly; he knew only Maglor was present in the house, probably sleeping if he had some common sense to do so after a restless night by the sickbed. “Come on, brother. You’ve made us wait far too long, it’s not fair. I don’t have the patience.” He came to the table and started rearranging some sketches; Curufin must have been planning something when he watched Maedhros. “Kano will wore himself out if it goes like that,” he adjusted the curtains. “And do you know that Amras is crying when he thinks no one can see him?” This wasn’t exactly true, Amras cried just once, a week earlier, when Maglor brought Maedhros home, but they were all close to tears then. “Maitimo, how much longer?”

“Finished?” Came a quiet reply.

Celegorm almost dropped a lamp from the table when he turned around and looked right into his brother’s eyes, open and lucid. Maedhros met his gaze with his own, tired but evidently conscious.

“Maitimo...” Celegorm was at loss first, but then he smiled widely and found himself by the bed with a few long steps. “If I knew I have to shout at you, I would have done so long time ago,” he said merrily, aware that he wasn’t making much sense, but too overjoyed to care.

Maedhros muttered something and tried to move. His brother elevated him a bit, adjusted the cushions and gave him some herbs. The sick elf drank eagerly, though it seemed that this plain task wore him out.

“Give me a second,” Celegorm jumped to the door, opened it and leaned out. “Kano!” He called and returned to his brother.

“Others?”whispered Maedhros, searching for his brother with his eyes.

“They are all well, don’t worry,” Celegorm reassured him at once, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Just nobody’s home now, apart from Kano. Where is he?” he glanced at the door. “I’d better go and wake him, or else he’ll never forgive me.”

“Stay. Let sleep.” Maedhros stopped him.

“Whatever you wish. But it will be your fault if he shouts at me later,” Celegorm smiled. “He sat by your side for a month, he’ll be disappointed.”

“Let sleep... you said... tired...”

“And so are you, right?” realised his younger brother, though smile never left his lips. Right now Maedhros could go back to sleep even for another day, for all Celegorm cared, now that he had finally woken and recognised his brother.

“Mmm...” The wounded closed his eyes and Celegorm, not knowing what to do, started telling him about the plans their brothers had for the following days. He missed the moment when Maedhros fell asleep again, but his familiar voice must have reassured him he was safe.

xxx

The commotion around supper was what woke Maglor. He realised someone had even covered him with a blanket, and the darkness in the room told him just how late it was.

“You were supposed to wake me!” Maglor greeted his brothers angrily as soon as he came to the room where they usually dined. “It’s second time now, Tyelko!”

The said brother glanced at him from his soup and grinned joyfully in response.

“Sorry, I had my orders from the highest rank.”

 “I thought i am the highest rank in here,” snorted Maglor. He combed his hair with his fingers and tied them loosely behind, when he realised what his brother had said. “No...”

“Yes,” Caranthir joined in with a smile.

“You do not disobey when Maitimo orders you twice,” replied Celegorm, visibly pleased with his brother’s reaction.  “I did call you though. Not my fault you slept so heavily.”

“And no, nobody added anything to your wine,” said Curufin and filled a goblet for his brother.

“And that was supposed to reassure me, right?” asked Maglor, sitting down. Only now he saw the excitement of his brothers, so he glanced suspiciously at his wine. “Maitimo? Is Amras with him?”

Celegorm nodded and referred the short conversation with their eldest brother. Maglor listened as he helped himself with the nearest dish. He ate without caring what it was, until he could sit no longer. He grabbed what turned to be some leftover pancake and went to finish some minor tasks before spending the night by Maedhros’s side.

xxx

Maglor liked sitting by his brother in the evenings. He felt calmer with Maedhros in sight, and the room was a quiet place to work in. His brothers tried to persuade him that he no longer had to be with Maedhros all the time, but he got used to that in Fingolfin’s settlement. Caranthir was first to give up and he ostensibly brought a second bed to the room if, as he claimed, Maglor had moved there.

Right now Amras was sleeping on that bed. He had fallen asleep sketching, barely moving the paper away, so as a result the quill had slipped from his fingers and stained the sheet. Maglor smiled with sentiment when he saw that and took the tools away.

When they were children, they used to sleep in various ways. First he was the one to migrate to Maedhros, then his younger brothers often ended up sleeping with their two eldest. Celegorm and Curufin tended to quarrel who would sleep in which bed and Caranthir had a period when he learned who was the best singer in their family and would react violently every time Maglor lost patience and tried to get rid of him. Maedhros had his bed regularly occupied when they were banished with their father. The twins used to sleep in his bed and Maglor often found his elder brother laughing, as he just shrugged his shoulders and went out for long hours, not sleeping at all.

None of them were adolescents now, and even if they had been when they had come o Middle-Earth, especially the youngest, the new home and war quickly forced Caranthir and Amras to grow up.

Maglor sat by his elder brother and gently stroked his bony hand; looking at Amras right now only reminded him who was missing.

Maedhros stirred and moved his hand; his fingers curled in a weak clench.

“It’s alright, Maitimo, it’s just me,” Maglor muttered quietly and let go of his brother’s hand.

“Kano?” The wounded opened his eyes, found him with his gaze and for a long moment he simply stared.

Maglor just smiled but made no move, waiting for his brother to fully wake, remembering his stressful reaction to his touch. He had already gotten used to the sight of his brother, but Maedhros was seeing him for the first time in years.

“How are you feeling?” asked Maglor awkwardly, not really knowing what to say when his brother was staring at him like that.

“Awful,” muttered Maedhros and shifted. “You? Rested?” he asked suddenly, probably remembering his earlier talk with Celegorm.

“Of course,” Maglor smiled wider, relaxed a bit. “Do you want me to elevate you? Sit up perhaps?” he suggested. He waited for Maedhros to nod before he slipped his arm behind his back and rose him to half sitting position, adjusting the cushions.

Maedhros froze when his brother’s hand went out of his sight and stiffened completely when he felt it on his back, but he didn’t try to escape. His head was falling to Maglor’s arm, who saw this and sat closer by the cushions.

“You’re home,” he said calmly and sat there until Maedhros relaxed. He took back his arm, for it must have been uncomfortable.

“Long?” Maedhros dropped his attempts to raise his head. “Here?”

“For over a month,” answered Maglor, moving a bit to sit fully. “I guess you won’t remember much of it,” he added, not really sure where this conversation was going. He wanted to check how much Maedhros remembered, but not now. However, his brother seemed determined to learned just a bit.

“Finn... I remember Finn. And an eagle, huge, so close to the wall...” A grimace of pain ran through Maedhros’s face as he shut his eyes for a moment. “Then...?”

“Then you were here, with us,” Maglor rushed with reply, deciding that his brother would learn about the details later. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat something?” he asked, changing the subject.

Maedhros’s hollow eyes widened with surprise, as if the mere concept of eating was foreign to him. Maglor hoped he himself controlled his expression better when he realised that this might have been true. Who knows when was the last time Maedhros had consciously eaten anything?

“There’s some soup in the kitchen, I can have it heated” he suggested softly. “There should be some warm bread at this hour.”

“Soup, yes... Why not...” Maedhros agreed quietly, shaking off the astonishment. “Bit higher, could you?” He asked after he failed to do it himself.

“Of course,” Maglor found some additional cushion. “Just wait a moment, I will ask for the soup. Do you want some bread...?” He paused as he saw his brother froze again.

With the movement, the blankets slipped enough to uncover his right hand. Maedhros was staring at his bandaged stump and seemed to have forgotten about his brother’s presence.

 “Maitimo?” Maglor gently placed his hand on his brother’s, with his intentions well visible.

Maedhros ignored him, still staring and trying to understand what he was seeing. Maglor didn’t push him; he had no idea what to say anyway. Until now he had just wanted his brother to wake and he hadn’t thought how to tell him what had happened. As it turned out, the problem solved itself.

The silence was finally broken by movement at the other side of the room. Amras woke and, seeing that Maedhros wasn’t sleeping, rose quickly with a joyful cry,

“Maitimo!” He got to his brother, leaned over him and kissed Maedhros in the forehead.

The wounded made a muffled sound, half cry half moan, and cringed. His thin shoulders shook as he tried to move towards Maglor.

Amras realised he had surprised his brother. He backed slowly, removing his hand he had earlier placed on the cushion next to Maedhros’s head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologised, but then wide smile returned on his lips. “Valar, you’re awake! Finally!”

“Could you please go fetch some soup for Nelyo?” asked Maglor, seeing his brother’s discomfort. Two of them was too much.

“Sure.”

The two eldest brothers were left alone. Maedhros closed his eyes, as if keeping them open cost him too much effort. The room was barely lit, as Maglor turned off most of the lamps when Amras had fallen asleep. They sat in silence and Maglor worried that his brother fell asleep again, but the wounded opened his vigilant eyes when Amras returned. The youngest brother gave them soup and left, understanding that Maedhros was overwhelmed and there was no sense in troubling him.

“Do you want to try it?” asked Maglor gently.

With the first spoon Maedhros froze and stared at his brother utterly lost, so that Maglor started doubting if soup with chopped vegetables was a good idea. After a moment the wounded seemed to remember what to do, for he chewed slowly and swallowed.

“It’s good...” he sighed in disbelief.

Encouraged by his positive reaction, Maglor kept feeding him. Maedhros ate painfully slowly, but the next spoons didn’t cause such astonishment. So the wounded surprised Maglor when he suddenly pursed his lips and turned his head.

“Nelyo?” The singer tried to give him another bite before taking his hand away. “What’s wrong? Something hurts?”

Maedhros’s eyes were empty again, staring somewhere over Maglor’s shoulder, his face grimaced in pain. He seemed not to hear his brother.

‘No... please... no...” The wounded elf shut his eyes, his breath hastened. His good hand moved as if in attempt to push Maglor away.

“No, of course, whatever you wish.” Maglor put away the bowl and gently took Maedhros’s hand. “I will not force you to do anything. You don’t have to eat more,” he promised, drawing circles on his brother’s palm.

Maedhros’s breath slowed gradually as he calmed. Maglor waited until his chest was raising and falling peacefully before he gently laid him down.

“Sleep well.”

Chapter VIII

The following days were full of anxious waiting. They all welcomed with hope every moment when Maedhros was conscious and lucid. Encouraged by his positive reaction to his first meal, they tried to give him various light dishes. Every time the wounded reacted almost like a child, tried the food and recalled long forgotten tastes. He usually didn’t finish his meals and fell asleep. He spoke little, almost nothing, because it wore him out. But he was certainly lucid sometimes and answered some questions.

Nevertheless, with every passing day the brothers realised that this tortured elf was not the Maitimo they remembered. It was understandable that Maedhros would fall asleep in the middle of conversation, but there were still times when he acted unpredictably. He would seek for the hand of the brother who was with him, only to shake a moment later and escape from the said hand caressing his hair. Maglor couldn’t help the feeling that the fea of their brother was somewhere there at the edge of consciousness, lurking uncertainly and testing the surroundings, only to run away at the slightest stress. Judging from Maedhros’s grimace and haunted gaze, he went straight back to the captivity.

They were catching him. Every day, bit by bit, they tried to capture their brother’s spirit and anchor it back in his body. Every small talk lasting longer than a quarter was another step to making Maedhros realise that he was safe, though Maglor sometimes thought they were still in a deep swamp. How else could they explain the fact that almost every day there was a moment when they needed to reassure him he was safe? Maedhros scared Curufin the most, when he was left alone for a moment. When the smith came back after a quarter at most, Maedhros welcomed him sobbing in relief, as if he thought long hours had passed and he had already lost hope to see his brother again.

And so every conversation was shadowed by nervous awaiting when Maedhros would stop answering and run away from them. For Maglor there was little difference between the present reality and the previous weeks, but Celegorm and Curufin couldn’t find themselves in this situation. Nevertheless, the younger brothers kept taking turns in looking after Maedhros to let him get used to them. And also because they needed to get used to him too.

xxx

“Did Tyelko see the eagle?” Asked Maedhros, once he was laying more comfortably on his side. It would be better to talk sitting, but the wounds on his back hurt and he needed to change position.

“Only from distance,” replied Curufin and shifted on his chair.

Unlike Maglor, he didn’t really know what to do, once there was nothing he could help with, but Maedhros was looking for distraction, anything to draw his attention from feeling awful and he was rested enough to start a conversation. The image of the giant eagle was written plainly in his memory, but he remembered nothing of what happened later. Today he felt well enough to finally ask about it.

“I bet he would give much to tame one like this.” The wounded stuck to the topic, his eves never leaving his brother, mostly because it pleased him to simply watch him; to watch anyone from his family.

“I suppose...” Curufin looked away. “But we saw him just from distance, he must have been even bigger,” he added, utterly unconvinced. “It was Findekano who had the opportunity to see him closer.”

“I know.” Maedhros still tried to look his brother in the eye, but Curufin consequently avoided his gaze, as if he didn’t know what to do. His behaviour intrigued Maedhros; he already knew Curufin was uncomfortable, but never to that degree, from what he had observed. “What happened later, Curvo? How many of you came?”

 Curufin shut his eyes and winced, as if he had been hit.

“One,” he muttered so quietly Maedhros barely heard him.

“One squad?” asked the eldest son of Feanor. “Risky, but maybe that’s why you succeeded.” Weird, how his own rescue seemed distant, as if they were not talking about him.

“Findekano. One Findekano,” Curufin spat out and finally looked at his brother. His cheeks were red, his eyes shining with tears, full of shame and guilt. “Not us, just he alone. He went to search for you, he found you and brought you back to us, the eagle carried you to their settlement at the other side of the lake. We knew not of his journey. He didn’t even tell his own father where he was going.” The last words Curufin almost shouted and then silenced abruptly.

“Oh...”

Maedhros felt his heart freezing, because he no longer saw his brother. The memory of the dungeons came clear and vivid, no, it was not a memory, he was in these dungeons. He felt the cold wall behind his back, the shackles on his ankles so tight that they cut his muscles before he got thin. And the voice, he heard it as if it was only yesterday. ‘Your brothers abandoned you.’

“Maitimo? No, don’t run away, please,” Curufin’s frantic voice came from distance. “Don’t do that again...”

Maedhros saw his brother sighed in relief when he looked at him, but then a flood of words came from his mouth. Apologies, explanations, apologies...

“Curufinwe, enough.”

His younger brother silenced, but he looked like he was about to choke on his words. He didn’t explode, though, like Caranthir would, but pressed his lips in a tight line so that he reminded Maedhros of their father.

“Leave me alone, Curvo. Please.” It wasn’t a request, but an order, and even though spoken with barely a whisper, Curufin obeyed, or rather took the chance to escape while he had it.

The eldest son of Feanor was left alone and suddenly the room became very quiet. Too quiet. The wounded elf laid curled on the bed, regretting he hadn’t asked his brother for another blanket, because the one that covered him gave him no comfort from the chill he felt. Maedhros recalled everything he learned from Curufin. So from all of his family only Fingon cared for him enough to try and rescue him... Not Maglor, not his brothers who had agreed with him that they should stick together, then, when their father’s madness was visible... And now they left him alone again... They wouldn’t tell anything when Maedhros asked about Fingon, Maglor only told him that he had sent a word to their cousin and that Fingon would surely come as soon as he can. But from where...?

Finally the door opened, though it seemed his brothers would not leave him alone; there was always one of them every time he woke. Maedhros sighed in relief when he saw Amras, but then he closed his eyes to let him know he didn’t wish for his company. His youngest brother got the message and respected it. He placed a big sheet of paper on the table, took his tools and started sketching, bent over his work. The wounded elf observed him for a moment with curiosity, but he grew weary and his arm pulsing with pain wouldn’t let him sleep. There was a pitch of herbs at the nightstand, but he had already learned this morning he didn’t have enough strength to reach for a mug, let alone drink without spilling everything. The presence of one of his brother’s in the room was well justified.

“Ambarussa?”

“Amas, Maitimo,” his younger brother corrected him gently. He raised his head and put away his quill.

“Amras.” Maedhros repeated the unknown name, tasted it and grimaced. It sounded short, sharp.

“Nobody calls me Ambarussa anymore. It was our name, not just mine.” The youngest brother glanced away, but then composed himself. “Amras or Telvo, all right?” he asked. “Little, if you really must,” he added with a resigned smile.

Maedhros almost smiled back. Amras must have come to terms with the fact that as the youngest he would never stop being little to them. Ambar... Amras. So his mother name was too painful to use after the death of his twin. Maedhros tried to cling to thinking about his youngest brother, but he couldn’t swallow the bitterness that threatened to overcome him. He stared at the ceiling. So his brother was no longer the kid who had once wanted to run away from their father after the burning of the ships. Ambarussa grew up he didn’t know when... ‘No,’ Maedhros silently corrected himself; he did know. It was when his brothers kept as far away from Angband as they could. When he was there, captive.

“Maitimo?” He must have been silent for too long, because Amras suddenly found himself beside his bed. “Do you need anything?”

“Water.” He wanted to sleep, to stop thinking, and hoped the herbs would help.

He almost screamed as Amras placed his shoulder around him and lifted him into half-sitting position. Maedhros felt dizzy and only after a moment he managed to drink half of the mug Amras pressed to his lips. His youngest brother watched him closely, as if trying to guess any other request before it was voiced. There was none, as Maedhros wanted to sleep, to not remember...

Amras wrapped his second arm around him and embraced him closely, placing his head on Maedhros’s good shoulder.

“I missed you,” Amras whispered somewhere below his ear.

“So what?” hissed Maedhros. His heart was still held in an icy grasp, though the warmth from herbs emanated slowly through his body. ‘You left me, convicted me, you did not rescue me,’ he wished to spit at his brother. “So what? You did not search for me, so don’t you tell me about missing me. Let go of me.’

Amras gasped in response and just hugged Maedhros closer, making him hiss in pain; the position was very uncomfortable.

“Let me go, Ambarussa.”

This time Amras obeyed and lowered him gently on the pillows, adjusting them. He crouched by the bed. Maedhros could feel his wounded, hopeful gaze, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away. He just wanted to sleep.

xxx

It was already afternoon when he woke. Amras brought him some soup and fed him, but then left, saying that Alcarino would soon come to redress his wounds. However, Maedhros didn’t expect Maglor would assist the healer.

His younger brother sat closely on the bed, by the pillows. He asked about his mood, then touched his forehead which made Maedhros flinch. He didn’t have a chance to ask what was that for, when Maglor lifted him up with ease, so Maedhros found himself sitting, with his brother’s arm hurting his back. Maglor’s fingers combing his hair he just couldn’t stand.

“Stop it,” he growled and his brother froze. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing...” Maglor frowned but took back his hand. “I mean... The same things as usually, they help...” he explained quietly.

Usually. The wounded closed his eyes as he realised just how Maglor fussed around him. When he opened them again and met Maglor’s, whose arms were ready to embrace him if he allowed it, Maedhros couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Nobody held my hand when these wounds were inflicted, so nobody needs to do so now!” he exploded. As much as he was able, he moved away. “Get out.”

“Neylo...” Maglor was staring at him, shocked and wounded.

“Get out, Kanafinwe,” growled Maedhros.

“As you wish.”

Maglor surrendered and laid him back, then left without asking any questions. Maedhros turned his head away from the door and carefully moved to lay on his left side in attempt to take off the pressure from his back. So his brothers thought him weak and Maglor wanted to protect him from the sight of his wounds... As if Maedhros was blind and indifferent for all those years of captivity.

When Alcarino repeated Maglor’s gesture and rose him to give him some bitter potion, Maedhros didn’t resist.

“Don’t be surprised your brother cares so much, Nelyafinwe,’ said the healer, startling the eldest son of Feanor. “For two weeks he sat there and watched you dying on his hands and then waited, thinking you would not wake, because your fea already fled to Mandos.

“He should be glad it was this short. I waited much longer.” The bitter words escaped Maedhros’s lips before he could stop it. ‘Yet another proof I control nothing, even my tongue,’ he thought grimly and silenced.

“Without Kanafinwe we probably wouldn’t have been able to pull you through the worst,” remarked Alcarino calmly, pretending he didn’t hear the remark. “We couldn’t touch you without him.”

“Kano won’t make me forget,” muttered Maedhros.

“But it can be less unpleasant with him.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“I will need someone to help me later anyway,” the healer warned him.

Alcarino took his arm and started undressing it. Maedhros had to force himself not to try to pull his arm back. He would have achieved nothing, as the whole limb with dislocated joints was numb, but he felt anxious at the thought of being so helpless, even if it was Alcarino taking care of him; Alcarino, who was a friend of his grandfather and whom Maedhros had known for ages.

“Nelyafinwe.” The healer’s voice stopped him from getting too far away.

Maedhros looked at him and suddenly felt the need to talk to someone who was not his brother. Curufin did not come since he had told him there was no rescue mission. The other brothers didn’t avoid him so openly, but they didn’t know what to do, apart from Amras who consequently kept drawing his maps and wasn’t overbearing. Maedhros could not really be cross with him for long when his youngest brother was seeking his company. But he couldn’t talk with Amras, also because he would not want to burden him.

“You think I shouldn’t be angry with Kano,” he stated sleepily, watching the healer.

“I didn’t say that,” Alcarino pointed out. “But since you’re asking, I think you should not shut your brothers out. They can help you now.”

Maedhros did not ask, but the rational arguments of the healer were soothing,  unlike Maglor’s fussing.

“I don’t remember you coming earlier,” said Maedhros, watching closely what the healer was doing.

“I tried to change the dressings while you slept,” explained Alcarino. “But you are worryingly warm, so I’d rather check now if there is anything worsening.’

“Alright.”

The healer uncovered what was left of his wrist and Maedhros gasped at the sight of where exactly his arm ended. He stared, but his breath quickened. How...? Maedhros started shaking, he realised he couldn’t catch his breath. When...? He was hanging, surely... So why? He couldn’t remember!

Alcarino put some kind of ointment on the stump and Maedhros moaned, though he had promised himself he would make no sound, he would not give this satisfaction to his tormenters... Not a sound...

“Nelyafinwe.” Alcarino’s voice came from far away. Maedhros did not see him, he had his eyes shut, his face hidden in a pillow. “Nelyo, Nelyo.” This time closer, right over his ear, when the healer leaned over him.

A cool hand on his cheek was so unexpected that Maedhros went utterly still. What this time...?

“Open your eyes, Nelyo,” Alcarino ordered gently. “Look at me.”

Maedhros ignored him, hoping that whatever the healer might have wanted, he would tire and leave him alone. However, Alcarino kept talking gently to him and was not about to give up. Finally the wounded opened his watery eyes and the first thing he saw was a friendly smile of the elder elf.

“That’s better, isn’t it? I am not going to harm you,” promised Alcarino and Maedhros wanted to trust him. “I won’t force you to look if you don’t want. But I want you to know it’s just me.”

The wounded nodded weakly and closed his eyes. Alcarino, it was Alcarino, he realised. The healer went out of his sight, he must have gone to the door, as his footsteps made the floor crack. Next moment something warm and hairy laid on Maedhros’s hand.

 “Huan, it wasn’t you who was asked,” said Celegorm at the doorstep, half amused and half sounding as if he gave up.

“You will help me, Tyelkormo,” ordered Alcarino. “And Huan may stay.”

The giant dog barked happily and started sniffling the wounded. Maedhros ignored his brother and focused on his dog. Huan licked his hand, then stepped on the bed to lick his cheek.

“Are you sure he may?” Asked Celegorm, amused. “Get down.”

The dog moved back obediently and Maedhros let out the air he was holding. Huan surprised him, the touch of his tongue was not unpleasant, but entirely different from the healer’s hands.

“Are you alright, Maitimo?” Medhros could feel how strain and unsure his brother was. Celegorm too did not know what to do.

“Mmm,” Maedhros muttered in response. He closed  his eyes and allowed his brother to talk about his latest hunt. At first he wanted to ask Alcarino about something, but the questions vanished as the healer’s doings were less and less unpleasant and the herbs finally started working.

Chapter IX

The place Turgon had insisted on showing him was a pleasant one, but Fingon barely hid his impatience and feigned enthusiasm when his younger brother kept talking about his plans of building a city, gesturing vividly and showing him sketches spread on the ground. Finrod and Turgon made Fingon join them on their trip, which  provided a good distraction, but on the other hand cut him from any news from their cousins’ camp. He had gone anyway, to soothe the storm Maglor’s departure had left. Turgon was quick to anger but wouldn’t hold grudge for long, so when he had sent Finrod to ask him to come, Fingon agreed, knowing his brother wanted to say he was no longer angry with him.

Unfortunately, it meant that the messenger sent to them by their father reached them after three days. Fingon was ready to ride back there and then, once he learned that Maedhros had awoken, but they had to finish measurements Turgon needed for further planning, though Finrod did his best to rush his friend. Turgon complained a bit, but then gave up and said he would come back there with Finrod, because Fingon would surely just mess with his notes and he would have to repeat everything anyway.

xxx

It was late morning when Fingon came to his cousins’ settlement; he left home long before dawn, as he couldn’t sleep. The guards at the gate let him through with no problems and one of the elves led him to the sons of Feanor. They went through the camp which had already changed into a proper settlement. Tents were rare, replaced by simple houses. Whatever could be said about the sons of Feanor, it was not that they wasted their time.

There was a commotion at the yard with elves passing by in a hurry. Fingon easily found the centre of it and with little surprise spotted Celegorm there, going back and forth. The reason of bustle was a huge amount of animals brought from a hunt. Celegorm was ordering his comrades, he himself too dirty up to his elbows. He must have dragged to work everyone who had come close enough, realised Fingon as he saw Maglor skilfully plucking a pheasant.

“No, wait, take this one first.” Celegorm pointed at a deer, then turned around and almost stepped on Fingon “Oh.”

His abrupt silence must have been a change, as Maglor raised his head from his pheasant. For a moment Fingon caught his grim gaze, but then a polite, studious smile appeared on his lips.

“Forgive us for not greeting you properly,” he said and rose on his feet; he was as dirty as his younger brother. “Tyelko has brought so much meat we need to take care of it before it runs off. But please, follow me, I’ll just get changed.” Maglor pointed at the ajar door and led him inside, with his pheasant still in his hand.

“You don’t need to drop your work, I came to...” started Fingon, but Maglor cut him off.

“I know why you’re here,” he said sharply, but then covered the unpleasant impression with a smile. “If you stayed there any longer, you’d surely gotten a bird to pluck, I made this mistake in the morning. Excuse me for a moment, I’ll go get changed.”

Maglor left him in the kitchen. Fingon mused if he could go and search for Maedhros himself, but decided it would be better to wait. He could feel Maglor was tensed under a mask of courtesy, as if he was trying very hard to hide the fact that he didn’t want him here. Considering in how good terms they had been during those three weeks, Fingon could not understand his cousin’s behaviour.

“Maitimo is sleeping,” said Maglor at the doorstep, now clean and changed.

“How is he?” Fingon watched his cousin closely. Maglor seemed less hoarse and sleep-deprived than he was in their house, but tensed and nervous nevertheless.

“He’s better, much better. Alcarino is pleased, his hand has finally started to heal,” replied Maglor as if he was reciting. The unsaid ‘but’ hung in the air.

“Then what bothers you so?” asked Fingon, staring at his cousin.

“He’s closing up on us.” Maglor winced. “He knows it was only you who went to search for him. I guess he’ll greet you warmly. Well, you’ll see.”

xxx

‘Four in this week, eleven through the previous two, so along with the rest...’ Caranthir tossed the pages with nervous gesture, seeking for information. He found, added and cursed.

Trying to organize records made by at least two other brothers, apart from him, was never an easy task. Maglor’s letters were brisk and Caranthir always half expected to find rhymes, but Celegorm had a habit of taking notes on whatever came in hand. Caranthir had recently neglected his records and now it was getting back at him.

 He fought an urge to shut the book ant throw  away all the notes. He was silent; earlier, when he kept muttering under his nose, cursing the mess, Maedhros told him that Caranthir could go elsewhere if he and Fingon were disturbing him. That was the most Maedhros had said to him since morning. Caranthir refused, explaining only that his brothers’ notes made no sense. He would have never admitted it was Fingon’s presence that made him unable to think.

‘Findekano,’ he growled silently, biting his lip not to curse aloud. Their cousin had come while Maedhros was asleep. At first Maglor took upon himself to entertain the guest, but when the wounded woke, Caranthir had no choice but to meet his cousin.

It hurt. Maedhros welcomed Fingon with enthusiasm and he must have been well rested, because he became chatty. He even expressed his desire to sit up and Caranthir rose to help him, but Fingon was closer. He sent him an inquiring look, seeing his cousin froze half way to the bed, but Caranthir just blushed and went back to the table.

Fingon had done nothing wrong and yet Caranthir wholeheartedly wished his cousin already gone. The easiness Maedhros talked with him reminded only of the thick silence of the previous three days. His wounded brother kept asking about Fingon’s lonely journey, then about the other settlement, once he realised the Noldor did not live in one place. Caranthir sat there and listened; at some point he stopped even pretending he was trying to count anything. He listened and wondered when Maedhros would ask Fingon to take him back at the other side of the lake. Considering the atmosphere here, Caranthir would not be surprised.

The request did not come, but Fingon must have seen the wounded was getting weary, for he asked about how he was feeling. Maedhros quieted at once and moved weakly, as if he was trying to get away.

“May I?” Fingon asked as he grabbed the edge of the blanket, seemingly wanting to see if there was any progress in the healing.

“NO... Nnnnno.” Maedhros looked around fervently and to Caranthir’s satisfaction calmed visibly once he found him.

Caranthir used the opportunity to bring his brother fresh herbs and helped him lie down, covering him with ostensible care. Despite his reluctance, Maedhros was more used to his brothers and accepted his help more easily than his cousin’s touch. For a moment Fingon didn’t know what to do, but then he said goodbye and left to let the wounded rest. Caranthir sighed in relief and went back to his recordings.

xxx

It was all surreal. The bed, clean and dry; fresh air coming through the open window; food that had taste, that he could eat or not, whatever he wished; the herbs with intensive smell, soothing his pain. Home.

Every time he woke he could not cease to be amazed. Neither his brothers nor Alcarino disappeared, the food was still tasty and the herbs helped a bit. Earlier his brothers would talk to him, chatting about whatever they liked, and Maedhros could listen to them just for the sake of hearing their voices – fair, elvish, familiar. Safe. Anchoring him and convincing it was all real.

The more this silence hurt. Three days of impassiveness from Maedhros’s part and ignoring every attempt to start a conversation had shut his brothers’ mouths. Even Maglor started singing only when Maedhros was already drifting asleep.

The better he felt awake, the worse the nightmares struck once he closed his eyes. Without the voices, the conversations giving him some kind of familiar ground, he was slipping, losing himself to the point when he no longer knew if his brothers were just another illusion. And yet, when he was once again aware where he was, the bitterness prevented him from seeking the company of those who had left him.

Now he was too eating in silence, without looking at Maglor. He focused on the spoon, furious he could not grab it himself; his hand was too weak and shook too badly for him to eat,  so he preferred to be fed and spared further embarrassment.

“Why are you still here?” snapped Maedhros, when his brother did not go back to the table, or out of his room, but sat on the chair by the bed and watched him.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t wish to talk to you.” Maedhros turned his head and closed his eyes; this much he could do. “Why don’t you just leave? You were good at it,” he pointed out. Maybe if he offended Maglor, he would stop coming.

But no, this time Maglor did not retreat, he just slammed the bowl.

“I do not make the same mistake twice,” he hissed, reminding his brother their father had not been wrong when he had named him. “You know very well why I’m not leaving.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why did you keep Telvo away from father?” snapped Maglor, now plainly at the edge of losing composure; his voice was shaking. “You told him you would let him go once it’s safe. I cannot leave you now, not until you’re well. If you wish then not to know me, I will respect that. But not now, Nelyo. Not now.

“You could, then.” Maedhros looked at his brother.

“Really? Do you honestly believe we did nothing?”asked Maglor, no longer hiding his hurt and bitterness. “Do you really think we did not rush to your aid? We didn’t make it to the gates, we were pushed away. I had to retreat,” he spat in raspy voice, as if barely constraining himself from shouting. “And then Moringotto sent his emissary. He demanded that we go back west or at least move south. And give up any claims concerning the Silmarills. Then and only then, he said, he would let you go. Do you think I could trust him, when he had just captured you and slaughtered all of your men? That I could break the Oath, condemn our brothers and myself, knowing at the same time I would not buy your freedom? Do you really think it was easy to send his emissary with refusal?”

Maedhros blinked in confusion. This was the first time he heard about the conditions the Enemy gave to his brothers. Sauron always told him he had been abandoned and forgotten, and Curufin’s late behaviour seemed to confirm that. Now Maglor said something completely different... and he was honest, Maedhros realised.

“I thought he killed you once we refused,” admitted Maglor. “I hoped, for it seemed more merciful solution. If I knew... I don’t know what I would have done. Forgive me if you can,” he added and stood abruptly. He went out just like he was asked earlier and Maedhros was left alone with his thoughts.

xxx

Maedhros was woken by muffled sobs. He opened his eyes and saw his younger brother sitting on the floor beside his bed. Maglor didn’t even realise he was being watched; he kept his head hidden in his arms laying on the bedding by his brother’s hand, his back shaking from sobbing. He was muttering his apologies over and over again, begging for forgiveness and then apologizing again. Maedhros did not remember when he had last seen his brother crying; perhaps in Valinor, when their grandfather died. For even when Feanor died he could not recall a single tear. Though who knew what happened then...

“You should not be crying,” said Maedhros, trying to keep his memories at bay.

Maglor startled and rose his head, with blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said nervously.

“Your people should not see you like that.” Suddenly, Maedhros wanted to hush him somehow, to caress his dark locks spread on the bed, but his maimed arm was useless. He turned carefully on his right side and reached to Maglor’s cheek with his good hand.

“There is no ‘my people’,” objected his younger brother. He straightened and escaped beyond Maedhros’s reach. “I never wanted to be a king,” he said quietly; something that must have burdened him for a long time.

“But you were,” replied Maedhros calmly. “And you still are,” he reminded him. Though he was back and he was more and more conscious, it was still Maglor ruling. And he was going to rule for the nearest future.

Maedhros’s remark only depressed his brother more. Maglor stopped staring at the floor and placed his keen eyes on him. His fea, usually balanced, shone brightly in his eyes.

“I was,” he corrected Maedhros bitterly. “And I managed to make the worst decision ever. With one word I condemned you to long years of all this, you, my brother, my king.”

“Stop it.” Maedhros leaned farther, forced his brother to raise his head. “You would have achieved nothing. And I never, ever, not in the darkest moments wished for any of you to share my fate,” he said forcefully. “Knowing that you were all far away, relatively safe, was what kept me alive.”

“I could have freed you years ago.” Maglor was adamant in that matter. He seemed stiff, as if he tried to back away and at the same time wished to lean to the touch.

“You could not,” retorted Maedhros and changed position. “To set me free, you would have had to cut your way to the deepest holes of Angband and fight every worst evil of this world.” HIs voice was cold, his fingers clenched subconsciously at his brother’s cheek. “We did not have such power, then, when I so foolishly thought I could outwit Moringotto. I doubt we have it now, even with Nolofinwe’s aid. You kept all our younger brothers safe, so do not torment yourself for being more sensible than father and I.”

“And yet Findekano...”

“Even Fin with Manwe’s eagles would have achieved nothing if Moringotto had not grown bored with me and left me alone there on the cliff. “Maedhros cut him off. He had repeated it to himself so many times during the last hours that he even managed to say it out loud convincingly. He tried to silence it, but it still hurt that his brothers had not tried to do what Fingon had managed. ‘Your brothers abandoned you,’ whispered Sauron’s silky voice in his mind.

“Nelyo?” Maglor’s alarmed voice made Maedhros open his eyes; he didn’t even realise he had closed them.

His brother had guilt written all over his face, his eyes still shining and disturbed. Maedhros fully understood what the whispering voices tried to do. ‘Even here you are trying to make us quarrel?’, he asked silently his imaginary tormentor and then glanced at Maglor. No, he would not let it happen.

“It’s past,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm. “And you really should not be crying, look how you sound,” he tried to lighten the mood.

“My voice, what does it matter?” Maglor laughed bitterly, still too drowned in his remorse to realise his brother was trying to change the topic. “I would give it up without hesitation if it meant I could go back, free you, if I...”

“Kano.” Maedhros cut him off again. “Don’t ever say that again. Never.  It was your voice that called me back from the darkest places,” he reminded him; his brother’s voice was the only thing he remembered from the last weeks, apart from a foggy image of Fingon on the eagle. “It is dangerous to ask for such things, and there is no power on Arda that could reverse the time. Desiring it may only lead us the wrong way.” Worse way, he added silently. “Don’t go back to it, please,” he added, weary, and leaned against the pillows.

Maglor stared at him in silence, unsure and unconvinced, but when Maedhros reached his hand, he did not escape but grabbed it in his. The eldest son of Feanor relaxed a bit.

“Sing for me, would you?”

Chapter X

Long days of recovery began for Maedhros. Alcarino was adamant in that matter and expected him to move as much as possible. Maedhros himself wasn’t exactly oppose to that, as after two weeks he was no longer sleeping most of the time and grew bored of laying still. As the healer suggested, he started mostly with training his left hand to get its strength back.

But as he grew stronger, he also became aware of his limits. His right arm remained swollen and numb, with the stump healing slowly, fortunately without any infections. It didn’t change the fact that his arm was irreparably maimed, but the other sons of Feanor would not let his brother fall in despair. Every time Maedhros quieted and grieved, they would force him to talk to them or start exercising, though they could see by the hunger and relief in his eyes that they did not always catch him in time. The wounded didn’t want to talk about it, so none of the brothers insisted, afraid to wake unwanted memories.

xxx

“What do you have there?” Maedhros asked finally, because Amras, leant over the table, seemed to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone. He was sitting silently for a long time and sketching something with black and red ink.

Amras startled when he heard his brother and sent him an apologetic look. He placed the quill aside, as if Maedhros had caught him doing something improper. Then he must have realised how his it looked, for he grinned.

“A map of the nearest grounds,” he replied. “I am still missing quite a lot, but we’ve already got more than half,” he said proudly.

“Show me,” asked Maedhros. He had known his brother was working on maps, but had not felt like watching them.

Amras waited for the ink to dry and then carefully grabbed the sheet of paper. His wounded brother sat more straight and flattened the blanket on his knees, so that they could place the map there. At the same time he accidentally dropped some clips and mechanisms that Curufin had brought him to exercise his precision, either by opening and closing them or by matching the pieces together. To Maedhros’s frustration, his fingers were still clumsy, though he was getting better with some of his brother’s bibelots.

The youngest son of Feanor picked them from the floor and placed at the nightstand, then sat on the bed and rolled the map.

“We’re here,” he pointed with his finger at the southern part of long lake Mithrim. “Here’s Nolofinwe and his Noldor,” he moved his finger up.

“Quite far away,” remarked Maedhros as he judged the distance. “We were there with father, were we not? Before we were attacked.”

“Yes, and now Nolofinwe is there,” confirmed Amras. “There was too little place for all of us and Makalaure decided it was better to keep some distance,” he explained shortly.

Maedhros didn’t ask, as right now he was more interested in maps. He asked about the hills east to the lake and Amras brightened. Maedhros didn’t have to ask twice to tell him about the nearby grounds.

xxx

Maglor looked in his wounded brother’s room as he heard Amras talking vividly about something. Maedhros was answering him and seemed almost cheerful; the last few days were calm and he made progress, though he still needed help with simplest tasks. ‘Seems it’s a good day,’ mused the singer as he watched his brothers.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked, smiling to himself at the sight of his two redhead brothers leaning over a map. Maedhros was trying to sit without support, but it was plain he was getting tired. Nevertheless, he tried and he played with one of Curufin’s clips.

“But not soup,” said Maedhros.

“Is there anything particular you’d like?”

“No, I don’t want to eat at all.” Maedhros leaned against the pillows. “Yes, I know I should,” he said before Maglor objected. “Anything but soup.”

Maglor decided against asking further questions. There was a pot of stew in the kitchen and another one with groats; recently they rarely ate together as they usually came home at different times, so everyone just grabbed something to eat whenever it suited him. They remembered about regular meals only when it came to Maedhros.

Like his brother had asked, Maglor left the soup and took some groats with stew, making sure the meat was cut.

In the meantime Amras removed his maps and went out as soon as Maglor came to the wounded, muttering something about joining Celegorm at the fields to see how the harvesting was going.

“Give me,” requested Maedhros as Maglor sat and he took the fork from the bowl.

The singer moved closer without a word to make it easier for him. Maedhros focused completely on eating and seemed unaware of his brother’s presence and Maglor silently watched his brother eat. Maedhros’s fingers, though healed, were still stiff and his movements looked clumsy and unnatural. Nevertheless, the exercises  had given some effects because he was able to hold the fork and emptied half of the bowl before giving up with frustration.

 “We’ll need some table,” remarked Maglor as he placed the bowl away and tossed the groats from the blanket; not exactly an ideal food for first independent attempt, he realised too late.

“I’ll need to get up finally,” growled Maedhros; despite making another step towards independence, his good mood vanished.

“Alcarino was against it,” the singer reminded him. “He doesn’t want you to put too much pressure on your ankles just yet.”

“It’s my arm that bothers me,” muttered the wounded darkly and tried to place his arm more comfortably. He drank a mug of herbs without protests and slipped deeper into the blankets.

Maglor didn’t insist on talking. He made sure his presence wasn’t annoying his brother, then sat with his legs crossed and started singing one of the songs he knew Maedhros liked. He wasn’t surprised when his brother fell asleep; the herbs he had given him were strong and worked fast.

xxx                                                                                                                                                             

The room was dark, someone must have covered all the crystal lamps and the last candle had burned out some time ago. Maedhros lied in this darkness and listened to the silence of the sleeping house, to calm breathing of Maglor sleeping on the other bed. A few days ago he had managed to convince his brothers he no longer needed someone sitting beside him all the time, as he could easily call, should he need something.

Maedhros watched his brother lazily, trying to focus on how calm Maglor looked. He couldn’t sleep, he didn’t really want after sleeping through most of the day. His arm was still bothering him, but he didn’t want to wake Maglor. It had been so well...

Why had Fingon done this to him? Maedhros suddenly remembered his cousin’s visit, his warm voice and his mood, too bright to be completely sincere. Fingon wore a mask, hid his emotions; loss, pity, perhaps even disgust? He was kind, they all were...

Maedhros swallowed bitter tears that came out of nowhere. They all consequently pretended they didn’t see. Amras picked things he had dropped as naturally as if he had been doing it of ages, Maglor said nothing when he cleaned after his meal. Celegorm usually became chatty when Maedhros failed to do something, as it to draw his attention away, Caranthir stuck to similar strategy. Only Curufin  would just cross his arms at his brother’s frustration and tell him to try again. But they all seemed blind and talked only about his progress, without seeing that Fingon had irrevocably crippled him.

He wished he could just say he hated his cousin for what he had done to him. He wished... And yet he could not say he would prefer to have died, not when there were still small things that pleased him. He couldn’t remember his rescue; for him it was just another day of hanging between life and death that was merciless and wouldn’t come. He knew what happened, but these were not his memories, just Fingon’s relation, lacking the details. His friend had told him more about his lone journey and fruitless attempts to get inside Morgoth’s domain. About the rescue itself he had said little, but Maedhros clung to that, repeating his cousin’s words and trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered. The memory hit him suddenly, overwhelming him with images, emotions, sensations. His shoulder exploded with pain, emanating to his elbow and further, up to the tips of his fingers; he couldn’t breathe. Maedhros curled under his blanket and clenched his teeth, biting his lip until he felt blood.

He remembered. A song, coming from somewhere below, a voice full of remorse singing about the Blessed Realm. He took his cousin for an illusion, a cruel joke of his own mind, but he pleaded for death anyway. He hoped that one precisely shot arrow would ease his pain, but no, Fingon’s phantom, though pulled the bowstring, did not end his life. He was not killed by the giant eagle either, even though it would take just one scratch of its claw. But the claws pinned to the stonewall over him and the phantom, no, not a phantom, Fingon slipped from the eagle’s back. How he was able to find a place for his feet, Maedhros did not know, it was enough he managed to keep himself there as he pulled at the shackle, making Maedhros rock and hit painfully against the wall. Fingon remained deaf to his cries and pleas, he could not give up.

At first Maedhros did not realise what he was up to. With every movement his shoulder burned as if Fingon tried to rip his entire arm off by the ribs, but up from his elbow the arm was mercifully numb. It took several blasts of a knife before Maedhros realised what his cousin was trying to do. He scram. He begged for death, and yet...

Maedhros had no idea what happened later, after the blissful darkness came. He felt nothing, remembered nothing until he was called by Celegorm’s half serious reproach. He didn’t wish to remember what kind of dark paths his mind had wandered those first weeks after his rescue. But the fact was that Fingon had cut off his hand so why did it still hurt?

The room became brighter. The windows, usually curtained, as if his brothers feared something could harm Maedhros and tried to shield him from anything that might have come from outside, were uncovered today. The silver light of the moon came inside when the whole circle moved on the sky and glanced through the window. The sky must have been so clear...

Suddenly Maedhros wished he could go out to see the stars. Even just to the window, just for a moment... The desire to look at the sky, even through the glass, was strong enough to make him sit up carefully and glance at the other bed. Maglor slept peacefully and deeply enough not to react at the movement. All the better; Maedhros did not intend to wake him. He could not require help in everything and anyway Maglor would oppose his idea of getting up. He had to learn how to manage on his own.

The sick elf put his feet on the floor and waited for a moment, listening to his body. His arm still hurt up to his non-existing fingers, but his legs did not oppose the change of position. Maybe they would even carry him...

The task of raising was still a problem though. Getting up with no help was not going to work, there was no way his muscles would manage. Maedhros sat at the edge of his bed and slowly dragged the chair standing nearby. He grabbed the back, but it wasn’t enough. Irritated, but all the more determined, Maedhros dragged the chair closer and placed also his elbow on its back. He tried again.

The chair moved and fell, dragging Maedhros behind. The noise, as well as the startled cry of the elf, immediately woke his younger brother.

“Maitimo?!” Maglor jumped off the bed and uncovered one of the lamps as he rushed to his brother. “What are you doing?”

Maedhros blinked, still a bit confused, as Maglor moved the chair and knelt beside him. He didn’t answer nor protest when his younger brother picked him from the floor and sat him back on the bed. Maedhros just clenched his teeth and hugged his arm, hit painfully when he fell. Maglor was talking to him, but the wounded elf did not focus on his words, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What happened, Maitimo? Can’t you sleep?”

“No..” He could not, when he felt Fingon’s knife hitting his wrist again and again, cutting through his tendons and crushing bones.

“Why didn’t you call me?” There was mild reproach and care in Maglor’s voice. “Let me see.” Maglor carefully forced Maedhros to lean against the pillows and moved away his left hand. “What hurts?” His skilful fingers ran up his arm, over the elbow to the shoulder.

“Lower... Wrist...” Maedhros gave up. “My hand...”

Maglor sighed. Without ceasing to massage his arm with one hand, he placed the other on his brother’s face.

“Maitimo...”

“I know, Kano,” hissed the wounded. “I know...” He closed his eyes and leaned to the touch, hoping it would bring some relief.

One of their brothers must have come to check what was the reason of the noise, because Maglor asked someone to prepare some painkillers. He apologised for not reacting in time, though Maedhros purposely had not woken him. The eldest brother did not answer, too worn with pain and his failed attempt to stand. He opened his eyes back only when Maglor pressed a mug with hot herbs to his lips. He swallowed as soon as he could without burning his lips and gave his brother the empty mug.

“Why did you try to stand up?” inquired Maglor and took his hand. “What were you up to?”

“I just wished to see the stars...” muttered Maedhros. He tried to look at his brother, but his eyes closed.

“You will see them soon, Maitimo,” he heard Maglor. “Soon.”

Chapter XI

The failed attempt of getting up left Maedhros impatient, but despite his brothers’ assumptions he did not ask to be carried outside. Instead, he focused on his exercises and Alcarino had to stop him a bit, reminding him that he would not heal faster if he overworked himself. In general, though nobody objected any kind of activity that did not cause Maedhros pain.

“Have I bored you yet?” inquired Caranthir and stopped talking about his latest trade meeting with Moriquendi, as he noticed that Maedhros had stopped asking questions. The wounded was interested in everything concerning the local elves, but he had been quiet for some time.

“No.” The sick elf opened his eyes and looked keenly at his brother. He must have realised that the evening had changed into night. “What time is it?”

“Long after midnight,” replied Caranthir, wondering what his brother was up to. It was not the first time Maedhros had slept during most of the day and was active at night. After he had fallen from his bed, they decided that he still needed company, thus this conversation about Moriquendi in the middle of the night.

Maedhros sat up without support, wincing as his maimed arm slipped from the pillow. He put away the blankets and placed his feet on the floor; he was wearing but a long shirt.

“Help me up, Moryo,” he demanded.

Caranthir nodded; he wouldn’t be surprised if his brother grew bored to death. He grabbed Maedhros below is armpits and swiftly pulled him up. His brother’s knees buckled, his fingers pinned in Caranthir’s arm, but he managed to stand.

“What now?”

“Window...”

“As you wish. I’m holding you.” Caranthir pretended to be calm, but he watched with fascination as his brother moved his foot with effort and made his first unsteady step. And then second, and one after another as they slowly but stubbornly made the few steps to the window.

“Open it,” asked Maedhros, panting. He was leaning against Caranthir with almost all of his weight, his legs shaking with effort, but he seemed not to mind it as his eyes were drawn by the sky.

Caranthir freed one of his hands to open the window. Seeing that his brother was not going to stand any longer, he helped him sit on the windowsill and lean against the frame. Maedhros inhaled deeply, then a grimace of pain flashed on his face as his maimed arm reminded of itself. He moved it up and placed carefully on his lap; his eyes never left the sky.

“Are you alright?” Caranthir asked quietly, assuming that his brother could not be comfortable on the windowsill, but Maedhros looked so calm he almost regretted saying anything.

“Mmm...” Maedhros nodded thoughtfully. “I won’t fall... Possibly.” A shadow of smile appeared on his lips. He leaned his head back against the wall.

Caranthir decided to trust his brother on that matter and left him for a moment. He dragged an armchair closer to the window and untied a sash he had around his hips. Maedhros paid no attention to him, lost in thought until Caranthir touched him unprepared, intending to make a sling. His elder brother froze and held his breath, and when Caranthir placed his hand near his neck, he hissed and turned his head away as far as he could, as if trying to avoid being hit.

“Nelyo, calm down, it’s just me!” Caranthir rushed to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I mean no harm!”

Maedhros fought the urge to flee and leaned forward, but he closely watched his brother’s hands.

“I don’t want it,” he muttered unhappily as his younger brother adjusted the length of the sling and tied the ends on his neck.

“What is wrong with my sash?” asked Caranthir provokingly with feigned offense. “I thought you’d like the stars,” he pointed at the golden pattern embroidered on the red sash that seemed russet in the faint light.

Maedhros touched it and reached to his neck, placing his hand under the fabric as if it was bothering him.

“I don’t like it that...” he stopped. “It ties me,” he admitted under his brother’s expecting look.

‘’So you’d better get used to it, you’ll need a sling for some time,” Caranthir pointed out. “You cannot use the other hand, you need to have it free. But you’re right, it’s definitely not your shade of red.”

“Mmm...” Maedhros winced. He glanced at his bare knees and unsuccessfully tried to cover them with his shirt.

“Come, it’s not the best place for you to sit,” said Caranthir.

“No, I don’t want to go back to bed.” The wounded elf objected at once, moving a bit.

“Who said anything about bed?” The younger brother pointed at the armchair. “I can see you’re not comfortable.”

Maedhros accepted his help and soon enough he was seated comfortably in the armchair, leaning against a pillow. Caranthir did not miss the stressed gaze his brother gave to his bare legs nor his attempt to cover himself with the shirt. He covered his elder brother tightly with a blanket and only then Maedhros relaxed.

“May I assume you will not try to get up on your own if I leave you for a moment?” asked Caranthir, sitting for a moment on one of the armrests. He brushed hair from Maedhros’s forehead and noticed with satisfaction he did not escape his touch.

“Why would I?” Maedhros seemed content with his place by the window.

“I’ll bring some raspberry pie,” offered Caranthir as he stood up energetically. “And something to drink, my throat went dry from all that talking.”

“Moryo?” His brother’s voice made him stop at the doorstep. “Bring me some wine, might be watered. Anything but water, because I feel like even the one for washing smells of herbs.”

Caranthir was not surprised. Alcarino prepared various potions, soothing, but mostly strengthening and added them to the water Maedhros had at the nightstand. This way the sick elf didn’t have to take additional medicine, but the water had characteristic taste.

Caranthir came back soon, carrying a tray with leftovers of the pie and a carafe of wine. He poured half a mug for his brother; Maedhros had not moved and was still staring out of the window.

“I’m not going to ruin it by adding water,” said Caranthir, offended, when he met his brother’s inquiring look. “It’s strong and I don’t want to intoxicate you,” he smiled merrily. He also didn’t want Maedhros to spill the wine on himself, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“With this amount?” Maedhros eyed the mug and sniffed the wine with interest.

“Try it,” Caranthir encouraged him. “And who knows? I am not going to explain myself to Alcarino, or worse, to Kano.”

Maedhros half smiled and took a sip. He nodded approvingly.

“It’s good,” he admitted. “And it is strong indeed. Where is it from?”

“Ha! I brought it from my last meeting with Moriquendi,” explained Caranthir, content that he pleased his brother. “You should have seen how Curvo fussed.”

“It is good,” repeated Maedhros thoughtfully and turned back to the window. Caranthir poured himself some wine and stepped back to give his brother much needed space.

xxx

Once he was allowed to get up, Maedhros did everything not to be completely bedridden again, even if his activity meant his joints hurt. He insisted that his brothers put him on his feet and help him walk even a few steps – to the table, to the window, around the room. Anywhere, if it meant he could move.

It was a good evening. They sat together for a supper and nobody felt like leaving once the meal was over. His younger brothers and his nephew felt more comfortable around him, as if encouraged by the fact that Maedhros managed to get up and was sitting with them by the table. They were watching him closely, of course, especially Maglor, if he didn’t need anything, if he wasn’t tired, but the conversation was fluent, full of anecdotes and jesting.

Maedhros sat in an armchair, his fingers clenched around a mug of wine. He felt quite well, the shared meal suited him even if Maglor had had to carry him as he had run out of strength half the way to the dining room.  The armchair was cosy and it was a nice change after the weeks of laying in bed, and the company of more than two brothers was not burdensome at all.

They started talking about all the problems the brothers had had to deal with at the very beginning of organising their settlement. The younger brothers made Maglor answer for all the mistakes in front of their eldest. They were all responsible for most of the setbacks, but officially Maglor was the one in charge. Maedhros glanced at him to check if he wasn’t going to take it all seriously and go blame himself, but they all shared the light mood and nobody was worrying.

Celegorm recalled the time when half of their elves had gotten sick because they had not cared enough for the water. After time, the whole situation sounded ridiculous, but Maedhros had no doubts it had not been so amusing then. Now it was good to hear his brothers jesting instead of tiptoeing around him.

“You were not so amused when you went after Amras and it got you during the ride, were you?” Maglor finally snapped back.

Despite what Maedhros expected, Celegorm did not laugh but rather winced. It was Amras who surprised him, though, as he loudly pushed his chair from the table and left abruptly without a word. Maedhros stared at his other brothers and his nephew. Caranthir seemed unsure, Curufin looked as if something pained him. Maglor muttered something Maedhros didn’t catch, but it didn’t sound approvingly.

“What is this all about?” He asked, seeing that none of his brothers was going to explain.

“I spoke out of turn,” muttered Maglor. He sighed and continued. “Amras learned about Losgar then, that’s why Tyelko went after him,” he hesitated for a moment, then added. “It was just after we sent the Moringotto’s emissaries away.”

Maedhros just nodded, though he suspected there was more than Maglor said. During those weeks before his capture Maedhros was very close with Amras and he stopped him from leaving their camp more than once. He suspected that if he hadn’t watched him then, Amras would have fled. Maglor must have feared the same when their brother learned about Curufin’s part in the burning of the ships.

The eldest son of Feanor placed his mug away and threw the blanket from his knees. Maglor and Caranthir, being the closest, rose at once. Maedhros accepted their help to get up, but then shook off their hands. He wanted to talk to Amras alone.

“Sit down,” he commanded and made first few, careful steps, being watched by five pairs of eyes.

Maglor was staring at him and Maedhros didn’t have to turn around to know his brother was very uneasy. The singer did not oppose and remained by the table, though he did not sit down; he would most likely want to follow Maedhros.

Step by step, watching the floor and leaning against everything he could, so that his freedom would not end too quickly with a fall, Maedhros made his way to the door and stepped out on the corridor. Somewhere half the way he realised how fruitless his attempt to find his brother would be, if Amras had left the house. Nevertheless, he closed the doors behind him to stop his other brothers from assisting him. Fortunately Amras was still on the corridor and came to him once he saw him.

“Maitimo, what are you doing here alone?”

“I wish to talk to you.” Maedhros grabbed the doorframe, determined not to fall. It seemed that those few steps had drained him from all the strength he had this evening.

“Forgive me, I didn’t intend to worry you.” Amras placed his shoulder around him and supported him. “I’ll go back to the table.”

“No, I wish to talk to you in private... And I’ve had enough of sitting by the table for tonight,” admitted Maedhros; he was aware he was not going anywhere on his own.

“I see,” muttered Amras. “I’ll carry you, alright?” he offered brightly. He waited for his elder brother to agree before taking him. Instead of carrying Maedhros to his room, though, he pushed the door of his own.

“We’ll talk in here,” he grinned, seeing his brother’s surprise.

He was pretending to be cheerful and perhaps Maedhros would have been deluded, had he not just seen his brother storming out of the dining room. The fact that Amras was able to hide his emotions so quickly was one of the things he could not get used to.

Amras placed him on his bed and helped him lay down comfortably; he himself sat on the floor with his legs crossed. The smile never left his lips, but more sincerity appeared in it.

“Makalaure told me what was that about,” inquired Maedhros, though as soon as he lied down, he had to force himself to keep his eyes open; the wine he had drunk affected him more than usually.

“I already told you I didn’t mean to worry you,” repeated Amras irritated. “Kano startled me, that’s all.”

“You smile,” noticed Maedhros, seemingly answering his own thoughts. “I didn’t think, then, that you would ever smile again.”

“Me neither.” Amras became serious, surprised by the change of the topic. He was no longer looking at his brother, his eyes on the floor; he fiddled nervously with his braids. He was visibly displeased with the way this conversation was going. “But you too did not forget how to do smile,” he gently pointed out.

‘No, I did not,’ realised Maedhros with astonishment. This evening had proved he still knew how to make his lips curve into a smile and he was sincere in it. Amras, however, seemed to be hiding behind his merriness and his other brothers must have grown used to it.

“He didn’t know, Maitimo,” said Amras suddenly and he looked at his brother with his keen eyes. “Curufinwe. I remember how he reacted there, on the beach. He didn’t know where Ambarto was, just like he didn’t know if Tyelpe too wasn’t on the deck.” Amras let his mask fall for a moment; his eyes were hard as steel. “If he knew, you would have found only four brothers here. Or three perhaps.”

Maedhros shivered at the mere thought, which didn’t go unnoticed. The youngest son of Feanor softened and smiled.

“If anyone heard us now, they would definitely scold me for troubling you. Especially Kano.”

“Mmm...” Maedhros closed his eyes, but fought sleepiness for a moment longer. “You talk,” he noticed. “You and Curvo.”

“Well.” Amras shrugged his shoulders. “We do, now. I couldn’t ignore him forever,” he spoke monotonously and Maedhros was once again struck with how much he had changed. “And Kano didn’t need to be our peacemaker too. And... It was enough he would not look at me for many long months,” he confessed quietly. Then he shook his head and stated firmly. “That’s enough for tonight, Maitimo. I’ve had enough. You too, I guess.”

Perhaps if he pushed him now, Maedhros would have managed to get from Amras more of the things his brothers kept from him, but he gave up. The more prosaic problem was how to get back to his own room; he really didn’t feel like moving at all. Anyway, he moved his hand to push himself up, but Amras placed his hands on his shoulders.

“Stay,” he offered. Maedhros did not oppose.

Amras made sure his brother didn’t need anything and when Maedhros fell asleep, he left quietly. Finding Maglor was not hard, as he was sitting in his room by the desk, leaning over some sheets of paper; he seemed too unfocused to be paying attention to the documents.

“Makalaure?” said Amras at the doorstep, as his brother did not notice him.

Maglor startled and turned to the door, surprised when he saw his youngest brother.

“Come in, please,” he said carefully, inviting Amras inside, as if he needed an invitation.

“If you were looking for Maitimo, he’s in my room. And before you ask, everything is alright.” The youngest son of Feanor smiled. Maglor had been visibly overprotective for the last years and Maedhros’s return did not free him from being responsible for everything. He might not have showed it on daily basis, but it was clear for Amras how much he worried.

Maglor watched him closely, but he must have believed him, for he relaxed. Then he glanced at the papers spread on the desk and sighed.

“Good... Can you please ask Moryo to come here? I don’t get it.” Maglor waved his hand holding two sheets of paper.

“What do you have there?” Amras glanced over his shoulder. “You know, give me that. It seems I’m not going to sleep tonight anyway.”

Chapter XII

Sometimes Huan was far better company than any of Maedhros’s brothers, especially when the wounded needed peace and quiet to focus on something, and walking on his own was one of such tasks. All his brothers tended to watch his every step, no matter who accompanied him. One time Celegorm left Huan with him and it turned out the dog was a good companion, with his back high enough to be a support. Once trained, Huan was also able to push Maedhros a bit to help him up.

Maedhros used his help eagerly. Celegorm had left a moment ago and promised to come back soon, but the sick elf grew tired of sitting in his room, so with Huan’s help he went slowly on the corridor.

He walked carefully with his hand on Huan’s back. The wooden floor was polished and, as Maedhros observed with amusement, unbelievably clean. When he started getting up from bed, he refused to wear any kind of shoes, so his brothers sanded and waxed the floor right away. Who cleaned it on regular basis, Maedhros did not know, but he certainly didn’t bring any sand to his bed.

The main door opened behind him and someone hastily went inside. Maedhros ignored the sound, focused on keeping his balance, but when the steps stopped abruptly, he too stopped and turned around.

Despite what he had assumed, it was not one of his brothers. The elf that went in was as startled as Maedhros and he was staring, all his manners forgotten. The eldest son of Feanor could feel the puzzled, curious gaze, watching him, analyzing. Judging.

Maedhros tensed, his fingers unintentionally clenched on Huan’s fur. The giant dog sensed his anxiety and growled. The Noldo pulled himself together and bowed.

“Nelyafinwe,” he said perplexed and placed his hand on his heart. For a brief moment he looked Maedhros in the eye, but then he turned his gaze away.

“Who are you looking for, Calion?” asked Maedhros. As soon as he remembered his name and the elf stopped staring, he could force himself to be calm. ‘Whatever you think, I was not broken’. Only his fingers remained clenched, hidden in Huan’s fur.

“Tyelkormo... Turkafinwe,” Celion corrected himself hastily under Maedhros’s vigilant gaze. “I have some news from south for him.”

 “Speak.”

The Noldo flustered even more, but he dutifully reported the last scout. Maedhros listened carefully, though most of the names Calion used sounded unfamiliar to him; he recognized only a few as ones he had seen on Amras’s maps. The elf was rescued from his nervous reporting by Celegorm, who joined them hurriedly and interrupted with several questions. Unlike Maedhros, he knew exactly what Calion was talking about; no wonder, as they had been close friends in Aman and often hunted together. Maedhros suspected that now Calion was probably one of his brother’s closest followers. Celegorm exchanged a few more words with him and dismissed him, promising to come later to talk with the scouting party.

“As you can see, we keep our eyes and ears open,” he smiled at his brother. He must have seen Maedhros had been stiff through the whole conversation, for he untangled his fingers and supported him without asking.

“Good news?” asked Maedhros shortly, accepting his help; standing was tiring. They slowly made their way to the dining room.

“Everything is in order,” nodded his younger brother. “But it’s high time to do something about you,” he stated critically.

“Hmm?”

“Calion could barely utter a whole sentence,” remarked Celegorm. “You make an impression, Maitimo, a huge impression. Just think what it’s going to be once we finally do something about your hair.”

Maedhros didn’t answer. He stopped abruptly at the corridor and convulsively clenched his fingers on his brother’s shoulder. Alarmed, Celegorm grabbed him tightly, but before he had a chance to ask what was going on, the sick elf doubled over and vomited.

“What’s wrong, Maitimo?” he asked fervently, but he could do little but prevent his brother from falling.

“Who... died...?” asked Maedhros in  a raspy voice, looking around anxiously.

“What?” Celegorm creased his eyebrows in confusion. “No one, Maitimo, no one. Come on.” Deciding that his brother needed to sit down and calm, before he could perhaps explain what he meant, Celegorm tried to lead him to the kitchen, as it was the nearest room. Maedhros made two unsteady steps almost hanging on his brother, but then he stopped ant looked at Celegorm with panic.

“Not there... Who, Tyelko?” he repeated insistently and glanced at the door, as if he wanted to go and check and feared it at the same time.

‘Tyelko. So you’re still with me,’ Celegorm sighed in relief. Without asking further questions, he took his brother in his arms and carried him to his room. He could feel Maedhros shaking as he carried him and then helped him change into a fresh shirt. The sick elf slumped helplessly in the bed.

“Maitimo, why did you ask who died?” Celegorm went back to his brother’s question that was bothering him. “We are all fine and fit. If you want, I will bring the others to you, but I promise you they are fine.”

Maedhros watched him closely for a moment, but he must have believed him, for he just shook his head and reached for a mug with herbs. He took a few sips and winced.

“Nobody checked if they were still alive. Those in the nearby cells, because I was watched closely,” he muttered quietly with his eyes fixed on the blanket. “If someone died, they would lay there for days, and the smell...”

Only then Celegorm connected his brother’s violent reaction with the rotten smell coming from the kitchen. He had noticed it earlier, but he had no time to check what went off.

“Fool,” he growled, thinking about Curufin.

“Who?”

“Curvo,” grunted Celegorm. “Take him hunting... He must have left some guinea fowl in a corner, went to his forge and forgot about it...” he hastened to explain, hoping his sick brother would calm once he knew the source of the smell. “Unless we have mice again an something died behind the cupboards,” he snorted and smiled.

He succeeded, because Maedhros smiled weakly and raised his eyebrows.

“Mice?”

“Aye.” Celegorm spread his hands helplessly. “We’ve had them three times so far, Tyelpe amused himself with making traps. Once he even managed to catch Makalaure when he tried to get something from under the cupboard,” he grinned merrily. “Kano was so furious Tyelpe avoided him for the whole week.”

Maedhros returned his smile. They all knew Maglor was rarely angry, but once he got mad, it was better to get out of his way until he calmed.

xxx

Celegorm worked in silence, glancing from time to time at the other side of the yard. He was pleased Maedhros had managed to make all the way through the corridor and then sat in the shadow at the bench near the door. Celegorm asked him if he needed anything, but his brother claimed he was fine, so he let him be. After all, they were all fussing around him and with each day, each successful step Maedhros was less willing to accept their help. There were still the worse days when he would not get up at all, but most of the time he was stubbornly moving the boundaries of his limitations. Celegorm decided his brother would call him if he needed anything; so far there was no problems in that matter.

It was high time for Maedhros to get used to going out again, thought Celegorm as he glanced at his brother, who was most probably napping. Perhaps he should have brought something more comfortable to sit, but if his sick brother was going to fall asleep, he would just carry him back inside.

The yard was quite empty; the bustle of the settlement around was something Celegorm stopped paying attention to long time ago. It was relatively quiet, though, so the sudden noise of the bench falling over tore him immediately from his work.

‘Just wonderful,’ Celegorm groaned inwardly as he rushed to his brother. Maedhros was laying on the ground, trying to pull his leg from under the bench. He managed to free himself before his younger brother reached him, but his strength failed him once he tried to stand up.

“Maitimo!” Celegorm knelt to help him and for a brief moment crossed his eyes with his brother’s, wide with fear, before Maedhros backed and tried to crawl to the door. He scratched the ground with his good hand, trying to free the other one from the sling with frantic movements.

“Damn it... Kano!” Celegorm shouted towards their house.” It’s alright, Maitimo! I don’t mean to hurt you!” He reached with his hand, but his elder brother glanced at him with unseeing eyes and managed to move to the doorstep.

“What’s going on?” It was Caranthir who ran from the house, not Maglor. “Kano’s gone hunting.”

Right, they had almost forced Maglor to leave the camp and get some air. The youngest took him hunting, so now the two of them had to deal with the problem.

Caranthir cut off the way of escape, but Maedhros didn’t cease struggling, trying to squeeze in the wall, helping himself with his bare feet. Somewhere nearby a whip flicked, someone must have been training horses, and Maedhros shut his eyes and cringed, protecting his arm.

“Maitimo, everything is fine!” Celegorm reached again to hold his brother, but Maedhros moved away with surprising force and backed right into Caranthir, who swore under his breath as his brother unintentionally hit him in the face. He managed to put his arms around his brother’s thin shoulders. Celegorm held his knees before he tore the skin on his feet; Maedhros consequently kept walking barefoot, as he claimed it was easier to keep balance this way.

“No one’s going to hit you, Maitimo. You are safe,” they both kept repeating, scared by his violent reaction. Having no free hand, Caranthir used his sleeve to wipe the blood running from his nose.

Maedhros struggled for a moment, but then went limp in his brother’s arms. As soon as he stopped fighting, Celegorm took him and carried him inside. Together with Caranthir they changed their brother into a clean shirt, but when Maedhros didn’t wake, the younger of the brothers went to fetch Alcarino. The healer made sure the wounded did not hurt himself, apart from bruising his leg, but promised to sit with him until he woke.

The rest of their brothers returned from their hunt just as Caranthir finished washing his face and placed his dirty shirt in a bucket. Maglor of course had to see it at once.

“Nobody came from the other side,” said Caranthir before his brother asked anything.

“So what is it?” The singer pointed at the bloodstains.

“Maitimo’s bony elbow,” his younger brother shrugged his shoulders and dried his face. “I don’t suppose he will remember it, so you may not mention it to him.”

Caranthir told Maglor what had happened and it was enough for the singer to stop looking at him suspiciously and disappear in the room of their sick brother.

xxx

“Is it bad time for me to come?” asked Fingon, seeing Maglor’s grim face as he went to greet him.

“There’s never bad time for you, you know that,” the singer rubbed his eyes. “Maybe you will be able to get to him today. He doesn’t want to talk to us, even to me.”

“Oh, has something happened?”

Maglor explained shortly what happened the previous day. Before Maedhros woke, the brothers hoped he would not remember the incident, but it wasn’t so. Their eldest brother demanded explanation and would not be told off until he heard how come he had fallen from the bench and hadn’t woken. The awareness that he had lost the sense of reality and hallucinated depressed him enough to ignore his brothers.

“So it is you now?” Maedhros greeted him with a sigh. He was laying covered so tightly with blankets Fingon felt breathless even by looking at him.

“I just wanted to see how are you.” Being forewarned by Maglor, Fingon was not going to let Maedhros get rid of him. He made sure it was only the blankets at the edge of the bed and he sat down freely.

Maedhros muttered something incoherent and looked away. He was silent for a long time and Fingon was bracing himself to start a conversation, when he spoke suddenly.

“You should have killed me.”

Oh. Fingon was startled as he had not expected his mood to be this bad. What Maedhros said had been his private nightmare for the last two months, the inevitability of shooting his friend returning over and over again at nights. He waited and waited, prolonged the moment when he would have to pull the string, Maedhros’s pleas ringing in his ears, but the help never came.

“Do you have any idea what you asked for?” Fingon finally answered with a question. “Manwe had a reason to show mercy and send help.”

“And what was the purpose of saving me?” Maedhros exploded with bitterness that must have risen in him from some time. “What for? What can I do?!”

“More and more with every passing day,” remarked Fingon. “Not much time has passed and you are making a great progress already. You could barely move last time I was here, and now I’m told you are walking again.”

“I can barely move today,” muttered the sick elf. “And we have no time. You would have spared my brothers a lot of trouble and Kano would have been able to focus on more important things.”

“And do you really think they would prefer to hear from me that I had to kill you?” retorted Fingon, perhaps too harsh. “Look me in the eye and tell me your brothers would want you dead instead of getting you back. That if it had been Kano in your place, you wouldn’t rather have him. No matter how damaged.”

Maedhros winced and shut his eyes. Fingon cursed himself for his choice of words, but it was too late to take them back. The wounded pulled himself up a bit after a moment, uncovered his hands.

“How do you think am I supposed to fulfil the Oath? How?” he asked in a raspy voice; his still hollow eyes were full of despair. “Tell me, how am I to fight Moringotto if I am not even a master of my own mind? How can I be sure I would not lead my brothers to death only because my thoughts were shadowed by terror? In the brightness of the day?!”

“Certainly not by letting those dark whispers of Moringotto win,” replied Fingon sternly. “If you give up now, he will break not only you, but your brothers as well.”

Maedhros inhaled deeply and turned his head away, ostensibly ignoring his cousin. Fingon let him and for quite a long time they sat in silence, but finally he broke it.

“So?” he asked defiantly. “Shall we try to go out?”

“So I can make a show of myself once again?” Maedhros did not brighten at all. “No, thank you, I prefer to stay at home.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Fingon replied simply. “And I want to talk to you, not to watch you sleep.”

“We are talking all the time,” the wounded pointed out, but he could easily guess what his cousin meant.

“It’s quite stuffy here, let’s go out.” Fingon was in that comfortable position that he could be as stubborn as Maedhros and nag him without worrying he would have to put up with him later.

 The eldest son of Feanor gave up and sat. He let Fingon tie a sling on his neck but refused to put on any shoes.

“I’ll go barefoot.”

Once pulled up, Maedhros clang to Fingon and walked very unsteadily, so that before they reached the door, Fingon was ready to agree it wasn’t the best idea. But when he mentioned that maybe they should go back, Maedhros just glared at him with offense and stubbornly limped to the main door; his bruised leg almost gave out, but they managed to reach the bench outside.

“So?” asked Fingon freely. “It’s better, isn’t it?”

“If you’re not going to leave me be until you hear so, then yes,” muttered Maedhros, offended. He allowed Fingon to place a thin blanket around him and leaned his head against his cousin’s shoulder, but he couldn’t hide neither how tensed he was nor his hand grasping his friend’s for support. Despite what Fingon had claimed earlier, they sat in silence.

Chapter XIII

Convincing Maedhros to let them cut his hair proved to be easy. The sick elf accepted the fact that he needed to look decent if he started moving more freely and going outside.

“What do you think?” asked Amras, combing his brother’s damp hair.

Cutting the ends made the longest strands wave by the ears. Amras cut as little as he could, seeing how unhappy Maedhros was, but he had little choice. As the result the haircut was a bit more regular than earlier, but still far from ideal.

Maedhros combed his hair with his fingers and brushed them from his forehead. He watched himself in the mirror and Amras caught his brother’s reflection staring at him.

“It’s short,” sighed the sick elf, barely containing his bitterness.

“I can’t do much more,” claimed Amras. “Soon we’ll get rid of those dull endings. Look how nice they grow now,” he caressed the hair on the top of his brother’s head.

“Mmm... Yes, I suppose.” Maedhros made an effort to show some enthusiasm and failed.

“You don’t like it.” Amras leaned and embraced him from behind, resting his chin on his head and looking at the reflection. “That’s good,” he said suddenly and smiled.

Maedhros in the mirror looked at him, puzzled, then grabbed one of Amras’s long braids hanging down up to his ribcage. He entwined it around his fingers, examining carefully the bead on its end.

“Tyelpe made those,” said Amras, as if answering an unvoiced question. “Curvo teaches him well, Russo.”

Maedhros stirred hearing the name no one had called him in a long time. He let go of the braid, not really hiding his longing look, and Amras leaned forward to reach for the scissors.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Maedhros at once, glaring at his hand.

“Cut it,” Amras just shrugged. If his brother felt bad seeing his long hair, he was willing to shorten them.

“No!” Maedhros stopped him. “You look good this way, don’t do that...”

“Are you sure?” Asked the youngest son of Feanor, glancing at his brother’s hand, then at his reflection. “Alright, alright!” He surrendered, for Maedhros fished the scissors from his grasp.

“Don’t even think of that!” The elder brother shook the scissors and placed them as far as he could.

Instead, Amras removed a few beads from his braids and examined his brother’s hair. There was no way for him to braid them, but he could put the jewellery on them. Maedhros kept his eyes on the reflection and watched him with interest.

“What would you say?”

Maedhros carefully shook his head, but the beads didn’t fall. He smiled uncertainly to his brother and nodded. Amras hastily tied his loosened braids behind.

“Breakfast?”

xxx

“Curufinwe, wait.” Maedhros called after his brother as he was already at the doorstep.

Curufin stopped obediently, not really hiding his impatience; his son was waiting for him.

“What is it, Maitimo?”

“Take me to the forge with you,” asked the eldest brother, pushing himself from the table.

“Of course, if you wish so.” Astonished, Curufin waited for his brother to rise and join him.

Maedhros caught Curufin glancing at his feet, as he was probably going to say he would not take him to the forge barefoot, and then the surprise on the smith’s face as he saw the shoes. The idea of going to the forge was not spontaneous; Maedhros decided  few days earlier that he would have to confront the noises that troubled him so.

“Why the sudden interest?” asked Curufin and supported his brother, as they were going for a longer walk.

“I want to see what you’re doing.” Maedhros watched the floor closely, as he felt a bit unsteady in shoes; walking barefoot was much easier.

“Right now? I’m about to finish hinges for the main gate. Moryo wished them to be more decorative,” replied the smith. “Are you sure you want to go there?” he worried as his brother stopped by the main door and leaned against the doorframe to rest a bit. “It’s stuffy there.”

“I have to see what you are doing,” repeated Maedhros. He hoped that once he saw what his brother was doing with his son in the forge, the urge to run away would disappear. It had been embarrassing enough when he had sat with Fingon and his fingers had clenched convulsively at his cousin’s hand with every bang of an anvil.

They didn’t make half of the way through the yard when Maedhros simply stopped and leaned heavily on his brother.

“No rush,” muttered Curufin, adjusting his grasp. Celebrimbor calling from the forge that everything was ready contradicted him.

Maedhros looked at the distance to the forge door and decided he had overestimated his strength. There was a bench by the well only few steps away; it was Caranthir’s idea to put those heavy, solid benches with high backrests all around the yard. They looked as if someone had abandoned them there, but they gave Maedhros an opportunity to rest and the backrest helped him rise.

“Atto!” Celebrimbor called again and Maedhros made a choice.

“Leave me here for now,” he said, turning towards the bench.

“Are you sure? I can...”

“No,” Maedhros cut him off. He let go of Curufin and sat down. He had a deal with his brothers that outside the house he was moving on his own; if his strength failed him, he was going to try again in a week or two. ‘You will not carry me like a doll,’ he had said to his brothers and Maglor had winced at this expression.

“Off you go!” He pushed Curufin and watched him go.

His younger brother joined his son and Maedhros leaned comfortably. He knew he wasn’t going to sit there for long; it was far too hot for him and there was not even a scrap of shadow.

The first bang on the anvil took him by surprise and his heart raced. ‘Curufinwe, it’s just Curufinwe,’ he repeated, but the images lurking at the edge of his consciousness already crept on him, painting the images of Angband’s dark forges; the shoes on his feet felt like shackles. Maedhros fought the urge to curl and protect his head and his arm, he forced himself to open his eyes and stared at his brother’s smithy. He could not force his muscles, painfully pulling at his barely closed wounds on his back, to relax.

Determined not to repeat the incident from the last week, Maedhros rose on his feet. He could either try to return to the house or go to the forge. The latter was closer and it had been his initial destination.

He made a few steps, partly aware how absurd it was to escape the sun heat only to go right to the forge. Mostly he just wanted to get to his brother, to reassure himself there was no reason to become agitated.

Something fell in the forge with a loud bang. Maedhros tried to step back and lost his weak balance. He fell forward with a curse on his lips, instinctively reaching with both of his arms to soften the fall.

Celebrimbor was less busy when he and his father heard the cursing. He was first to leave his tools and run outside and he wasn’t really surprised when he saw Maedhros sitting on the ground, furious and humiliated.

“Are you alright, Maitimo?” Celebrimbor leaned and swiftly pulled his uncle up instead of giving him a hand.

“I asked you something,” hissed Maedhros, irritated. He tried to shake off his nephew’s hand keeping him upright, but Celebrimbor didn’t let him, seeing how his knees were buckling.

“That’s enough for today, isn’t it?” Curufin joined  them and examined his brother. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No!” growled the eldest son of Feanor. He used the fact that Celebrimbor let go of him and wiped off some dust.

 Celebrimbor made some place for his father, knowing that Maedhros was more likely to accept the help from one of his brothers, but before they reached the house, he supported his uncle from the other side. Maedhros stopped by the door to his room to catch his breath, but then he firmly freed himself from their arms. His narrowed eyes were furious.

“Nelyo, are you sure you are alright?” Curufin looked at his brother worriedly and Maedhros exploded.

“I told you I am!” He pushed himself from the wall and opened the door. “Can’t you just leave me alone?!” He went in a bit unsteadily and slammed the door behind him. At the corridor, the father and son exchanged helpless glances.

Just like the wounded elf wished, nobody disturbed him for the following hours. It was Amras, being unaware of the morning incident, who came back home and was first to realise that they had made a mistake.

When he came in, at first he thought Maedhros was just sleeping, but then he noticed his unusual position. His eldest brother was lying curled on his left side with the pillow on the other and of the bed, so that he was facing the door. He kept his knees up to his chest, with shoes still on his feet; his face was tight and his cheeks flushed. He was hugging his maimed arm protectively. And first of all – he did not react to Amras’s presence, though he had been a light sleeper recently. When light shaking too did not wake him, the youngest son of Feanor went to fetch the healer.

xxx

The light hurt his eyes, bright, brighter than stars or the Trees. It didn’t allow him to open his eyes. It should not have been so bright in there... The golden gleam forced him to turn his head away, to give up. Did he know it? Had he forgotten? Because surely the dungeons were black, dark and stifling.

His ribs hurt with each breath, his back burned. His hand...? He knew not what had happened to his hand, but he curled when he was touched, feeling he needed to protect it.

The hands that were touching him tried to force him to uncurl. Strong, steady hands which tried not to cause him unnecessary  pain. A voice muttering soothingly was pleasant to listen to.

The voice... He knew it. Soft, tender, yet strong. ‘You are safe.’ It sounded as if the speaking person could protect him with the voice alone. Kano...? The light dazzled him, didn’t let him open his eyes, but the touch was nothing like torture. Whatever those known-unknown hands were doing, they wanted to help him. Moryo...? Skillful, strong hands... Tyelko perhaps? You’re safe, don’t worry. Atar...? No, he was dead. But the voices over his head sounded familiar, safe. It’s your brothers.

A stronger grasp, a jerk. Someone managed to straighten his arm, forcefully, without asking. Why...? Whoever did that, they kept him firmly and did not let him escape. Maedhros felt his panic raising. He was supposed to be safe, his brothers promised nothing could happen to him... The pain in his arm intensified as if someone was tearing the skin. What did they come up with this time?

He wanted to scream once the thought appear in his head. There were no brothers. They did not come for him. He was alone; just him and the tormentors, the blinding light and illusions.

‘Drink.’ A request at first, then an order, a mug pressed to his lips. A poison or a cure to make him live longer? He turned his head away, but the plea was repeated, calmly, urgently. All the more, he could not trust it.

He struggled, his ribs protested. He lost his breath and with the lack of air came the wave of fear.

More hands pinned him to something soft, someone forced some sour liquid down his throat. He spat as much as he could, choked with the rest. His lungs burned, his shallow breath turned into rasps. And the voice... apologized? So now they wanted to torment him with the memories from home? Surely his brother would not hurt him...?

Whoever was giving him drink, they were stubborn. The second time Maedhros gave up. They gave him the liquid in small sips, raising him high and immobilizing him. If they wanted to heal him a bit before further torture, at least he would stop hurting for a moment. And if it was poison...

xxx

Maedhros was sleeping restlessly and Maglor felt as if those horrid days from a month ago returned all over again. The wounded said nothing about the consequences of his fall on the yard and when the fever rose, he could not wake up and did not recognize the surroundings. The singer had kept him all the time when Alcarino searched for the reasons of his condition and Maedhros reacted with blind denial to any order. He calmed only after Maglor forced him to swallow some herbs. The healer agreed to stay with the wounded until the fever break, so they sat together with Maglor, chatting quietly.

Maedhros moved and opened his eyes. He looked at Maglor and immediately shut his eyes back, turning his head away.

“Nelyo?” The singer leaned over the sick. “Nelyo, do you need anything?”

“G-go away,” hissed Maedhros. “St-top it, s-stop it,” his tight voice was full of desperate plea.

“What’s going on, Maitimo? Why do you want me to leave?” asked Maglor nervously and reached for his brother’s hand. Next thing he knew was Maerhros’s fingers clenched around his wrist with surprising force.

“You are not real.” The hallow eyes of the sick elf shone when he met Maglor’s. “Go away, go away! D-don’t torment me! Leave...” His voice broke into a muffled sob. Maedhros moved his hand and turned on his right side, hugging himself.

“Maitimo, but I...” Maglor fell silent, not sure how to respond to such accusation. He backed a bit, still watching his brother.

“L-leave me alone,” muttered Maedhros into his pillow.

Maglor backed away, hurt and anxious, he sat on his heels. He sent the healer a helpless glance. Alcarino nodded slightly and took the lead.

“What is it, Nelyafinwe?” he asked calmly and sat on the right side of the bed.

Hearing another voice, Maedhros glanced vigilantly at the elf. He blinked, surprised, but mistrust did not leave his eyes, rather opposite.

“Don’t curl like that, you won’t be comfortable this way.” The healer calmly but firmly placed his hands on the sick elf’s shoulders and forced him to lay flat on his back. Maglor winced as he saw his brother’s expression, but did not interfere.

“Let me, Nelyafinwe.” Alcarino then reached for the maimed arm and placed it carefully on a pillow. “You tore some stitches, I don’t want you to lie accidentally on your arm,” he spoke smoothly as if he didn’t see the the wide, suspicious eyes of his patient.

“Don’t touch...” hissed Maedhros and he tried to cringe again, but the healer’s hands did not let him. He tried to shake them off, but he just winced and froze.

“Nelyafinwe, Nelyo. I’m not going to do anything right now,” promised Alcarino. “Careful with the arm, I know it’s tender. By the way, it was foolish not to tell us anything,” he added more sharply. “You are still weak and so are your bones. You should have told us. Yes, you have broken a rib when you fell,” he explained, seeing the puzzled look of the wounded.

Maedhros blinked again and focused his gaze on the healer. Understanding appeared in his grey eyes.

“...’Rino?” A-Alcarino?” he asked hesitantly, relief almost breaking his voice.

“Yes,” the healer smiled. “You are safe, with your brothers,” he reassured him.

“Not... dungeons...?” Maedhros stared intensively at Alcarino without blinking. “Not...?”

“No, you are by the lake, with your bothers,” the healer repeated calmly and pointed at the crouching singer.

Maglor swallowed bitterness raising in his throat when he watched as Maedhros let Alcarino convince himself, as he believed and trusted him. It hurt that his brother had escaped from him just a moment earlier, even if it was the fever messing with his thoughts and bringing again some nightmares.

Maedhros looked as Alcarino pointed him and when he crossed his eyes with Maglor, the singer made sure none of his emotions showed on his face.

“Kano... Kano...” The quiet voice of the wounded turned into a hiccupped sobs. His slim fingers, so far clenched into a fist, reached for his brother. “It’s you... you, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s me, Nelyo.” The smile on Maglor’s face was not forced as he entwined his hand with his brother’s, sitting again on the bed. He leaned and kissed his forehead, still a bit warm. “I’m real,” he promised. “And you are safe, nobody is going to touch you here. But Alcarino is right, don’t frighten us like this again, please?”

“Real...” Maedhros moved closer and buried his nose in his brother’s tunic, their fingers still curled.

Maglor sat more comfortably and placed his right arm over Maedhros’s head. He put his fingers into his brother’s hair, trying to untangle Amras’s beads from them. Maedhros did not escape his touch, just cuddled closer. The singer exchanged satisfied looks with the healer and picked one of his old melodies.

Chapter XIV

They sent for the healer in the late morning as it was agreed – as soon as Maedhros woke. Alcarino passed Maglor in the doors to the sickroom and suggested that they should be left alone. The singer nodded and muttered something about breakfast, but did not seem offended.

“How are you feeling?” asked the healer as he sat on a chair.

“Alright.” Maedhros responded automatically.

“I don’t ask to bother or bore you,” Alcarino reminded him. “I need to know, so I expect an honest answer.”

Maedhros just sighed resignedly and made a movement as if he wanted to cover himself up to his nose, but decided against it and simply wiped his eyes.

“Weak.”

“May I?” Alcarino reached to the sick elf’s face, but didn’t touch before he got a permission. Maedhros seemed reluctant to accept any kind of touch, even though he was aware where he was and with whom. The healer preferred being overly careful than agitating him unnecessarily.

“The fever is mostly gone,” he said, pleased. “Good, you respond more quickly to my treatment. You’re getting stronger.”

Maedhros snorted doubtingly and watched in silence as Alcarino uncovered the bandages on his stump. His eyes never left the healer and he followed his every move.

“I want you to tell me if something hurts. Without hiding anything.”

“Ribs, here,” Maedhros pointed at his right side. “Not much,” he added flatly.

“Arm?”

“Only when you touch it.”

“Good.” Alcarino redressed the stump and then bent and straightened the elbow joint a few times. “And with such movement?”

“No,” replied Maedhros, showing first signs of discomfort.

“I want you to sit up.”

“Later...” muttered the wounded elf and turned his gaze away. Alcarino expected his mood to be worse, but Maedhros seemed mostly just tired and disheartened.

“Now, Nelyafinwe. Let me,” he placed his hand behind his back and helped him as not to bother his tender ribs. Maedhros leaned forward and supported himself by placing his elbow on his knees. “Tell me if something’s wrong.”

Alcarino moved his arm up, watching his response. Maedhros was staring grimly at his blanket, but when his arm reached the shoulder level, he sucked air and stiffened.

“Don’t!”

“Does it hurt?” The elder elf obediently lowered his arm a bit.

“No. Leave it,” hissed Maedhros urgently. “Don’t move it up,” he requested. “What for, anyway?”

“The joints are healing nicely,” explained Alcarino calmly, letting go of the maimed arm. “I wanted to check the range of movement, you will need to exercise this arm. Now, move it as much as you can on your own.”

Maedhros sighed, irritated, but he moved his arm back and forth a few times, without even trying to lift it. As soon as he decided he pleased the healer, he hugged his arm closely to his chest. Alcarino didn’t push him more, just helped him move and lean comfortably against the pillows.

“Don’t overdo yourself today,” he ordered. “Today, tomorrow, you’re in no hurry, but you may get up if you wish.”

“I don’t.”

“Maitimo?” Called Amras from the doorstep. “What would you like to eat? Anything particular? There is some stew from yesterday’s supper, plum pie, groats if you want...”

“A pie perhaps,” muttered Maedhros with little enthusiasm; Alcarino felt he would have refused to eat at all if not for his presence. “Some milk, warm,” he asked suddenly with more interest.

“How about some bread with honey?” suggested Amras, following the line of sweets. “It’s still warm.”

“Why not.” The sick elf nodded and the youngest son of Feanor went to the kitchen. “Alcarino, would you like to eat with us?”

“No, thank you,” the healer smiled. “I will just leave you something for the fever, I’d like to eliminate it completely. Drink once you’ve eaten something,” he said and left.

Maedhros was left alone for a moment, but Amras soon returned carrying a tray with breakfast. He sat on the bed once he realised Maedhros was not going to get up. He opened the small legs of the tray and placed it on his brother’s legs.

“It’s too much,” stated Maedhros when he saw a plate full of sweet sandwiches and cake.

“It’s not just for you,” Amras smiled and grabbed the nearest loaf.

The sick elf sipped the hot milk and reluctantly reached for food. He wasn’t particularly hungry, rather weary, but honey was good, sweet, it ran down his fingers, but somehow it reminded him in a simple, childlike way that nothing bad could happen to him, that the vivid memories from the last night were not real.

He ate lazily and listened to his brother talking about his trip from the previous day. Amras was a bit quiet at first, and Maedhros felt as if he was trying to burn a hole in him with his intense stare. Soon, though, Amras became chatty and seemed not mind at all that the sick elf barely answered. The longer Maedhros listened, the more he felt like his youngest brother was hiding behind that cheeriness. He forced two loaves of bread and pushed the plate towards Amras.

‘What happened?” he asked finally, no longer able to bear the false enthusiasm of his brother.

Amras quieted a once and just shook his head. A smile returned on his lips.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked, grabbing another piece of cake. “No? Alcarino left this for you to drink,” he reached for the mug on the nightstand and passed it to his brother. “You’d sleep a bit more, wouldn’t you?”

Maedhros shuddered at the thought, but he knew what effects Alcarino’s potions had on him and he couldn’t hope they would not send him to sleep, especially after a feverish night.

“Perhaps... Not that I wish to,” he admitted without hesitation. He caught Amras’s gaze and was again struck by the sadness hidden behind the smile that did not reach his eyes. “What happened, Ambarussa?” he asked again.

“Nothing, Maitimo, nothing,” Amras reassured him with little conviction and he helped his brother lay down. “You scared he yesterday,” he confessed when he was leaning over his brother and was sure Maedhros could not see his face.

“I can imagine...” The eldest son of Feanor moved a bit, because Amras clang to him and didn’t look like he was going to let go of him. “But it was so real, I thought...”

“I know.” Amras suddenly went serious and he moved back; gone was the childishness of the young elf that had just embraced him. “I know how vivid it can be. I saw the ships. Yesterday, the day before...” he said quietly, then composed himself and tried to smile.

“Don’t do that, Ambarussa,” asked Maedhros and grabbed his hand. “Don’t hide.”

Amras swallowed and nodded, wiping his eyes with one hand, grasping Maedhros’s with the other. The eldest son of Feanor returned the grasp and suppressed a yawn.

“May I stay?” Amras asked quietly. “It’s so lonely in my... Sleep, I’ll just...”

“Yes. Please, stay,” insisted Maedhros before his brother decided again he was troubling him. He too did not wish to be alone right now, and the mention of the ships suggested just how his youngest brother missed his twin. “Come here,” he moved a bit to make some space at the edge of the bed.

Amras didn’t need to be told twice. He laid on the edge and buried his nose in his brother’s arm. Maedhros closed his eyes and focused on the heat of his brother; he was safe.

xxx

Maglor feared that the fall, in addition to regress in recovery and nightmares, would depress Maedhros more than the incident with the bench. However, the sick surprised them all, because though he was weary and reluctant for the first two days, he did not push his brothers way. On the contrary, he sought their company and showed interest in anything related to the daily life in the settlement. He grasped all the information and gossip his younger brothers provided him with, as if he wanted to reassure himself that the dungeons were only illusions and shield with everything he heard.

But first of all, he was interested in his youngest brother. After that feral night, Maglor was surprised to find both of his redhead brothers sleeping peacefully in the sickroom. He knew Amras had not been sleeping well recently; no wonder, as it was another anniversary of their coming to Middler09;Earth and the burning of the ships, but his youngest brother had learned to hide well that the nightmares were bothering him again. Because of all the commotion around Maedhros, Maglor had not had an opportunity to talk to him, and he doubted Amras went to anyone else. He learned later from Maedhros’s worried questions that it was him who got him to talk. The singer told him how Amras had coped in the past years when he was sure the youngest could not hear them. He hardly hesitated; Maedhros insisted, and taking care of their youngest drew attention from his own problems, so Maglor hid nothing. Only later a knowing smile Amras sent him made him realise that the younger redhead knew exactly what he was doing, aside from the fact that he longed for Maedhros’s company.

After two days Maedhros grew bored of laying in bed and started getting up again. To Maglor’s relief he did not oppose having company during his walks, just in case.

xxx

After his last visit ten days ago Fingon was a bit anxious what he would find this time, but Amras greeted him friendly and told him Maedhros was probably in his room. He didn’t act like he was going to lead him there, so Fingon took it as an invitation to walk freely around the house.

Indeed, he heard voices from his friend’s room, but also some commotion.

“Have mercy, Moryo!” Fingon heard his cousin and he pushed the door without knocking...

Only to get some soft, richly embroidered fabric thrown right in his face. After a second look it proved to be a knee-long robe, the kind they would wear at their grandfather’s court during some official events.

“Findekano, how nice,” Maedhros greeted him with amusement, seeing his cousin froze at the doorstep with the robe still in his grasp.

The second person in the room was Caranthir standing by the open wardrobe, red up to his ears. Fingon wondered which of them had amused Maedhros so.

“I can see you are feeling better,” he smiled. “Morifinwe,” he greeted his cousin pleasantly.

“Yes, and my loving younger brother decided it is a great opportunity to throw my wardrobe inside out,” snorted Maedhros. “You’ve come just in time.”

“Pffff. I have enough of seeing you in those long shirts,” said Caranthir, offended. “Tell me he doesn’t look better this way, Findekano,” he added challengingly.

Fingon took a closer look of his friend seated comfortably in an armchair. Maedhros was wearing a soft, dark blue robe and loose linen trousers. The robe was buttoned up to his neck and so it covered the collarbones. No clothing could mask the gaunt face of the eldest son of Feanor, just like nothing hid his slim fingers or his maimed arm, but with his hair evenly cut he looked healthier than last time.

“Definitely.”

“Would you like a drink?” offered Maedhros, pointing at the carafe on the table.

Caranthir listened to the chatting as he sorted his brother’s clothes, putting away those that needed different bindings and those Maedhros refused to wear any more. He admitted that now that Maedhros was not is such a bad mood and did not ignore his brothers, their cousin’s visit was not so unpleasant. Fingon agreed the wine was good and voiced his appreciation of their trading contacts. Their own exchange, as he said, was rather poor. Finally Caranthir could not resist and joined the conversation.

“And would you like?” he asked, which caused both his brother and cousin stare at him in astonishment. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snorted, irritated. “We keep in touch and trade many things. Our smiths are considerably better, so they provide us with material and we make various things... I’m going with another delivery next week. If you wish, you may send someone, I will help you get in touch. Providing that you have something to trade, that is,” he added mockingly.

 “Of course. It’s a generous offer, Morifinwe.”Fingon smiled and bowed in thanks. “I will speak with my father about it, he will certainly wish to accept.”

“Let me know,” Caranthir summed up shortly and went out with armful of clothes. It was worth to offer such thing to their cousin to please Maedhros.

xxx

“You have worse mess than father when he got struck by an idea,” heard Curufin.

Astonished, he put away the nails and glanced at Maedhros standing at the doorstep. What surprised him more was a satisfied smile on his brother’s face. Valar, how he missed that smile! For a moment Curufin could see the old Maedhros in this gaunt shadow that was leaning against the doorframe and resting.

“I am cleaning, can’t you see?” he snorted with feigned offense, but his eyes were smiling.

“No.” His brother was looking at his workshop with visible interest, as it there was anything interesting to see. Curufin was painfully aware his temporary forge could not be in any way compared to their father’s workshops in Aman, and Maedhros was never really much into blacksmithing.

“Ehem.” Curufin cleared his throat, glancing at his brother’s bare feet, as soon as he stepped inside. “No way, Maitimo. You said yourself I have a mess in here,” he pointed out.

“I need to sit down,” said Maedhros shortly and Curufin momentarily pointed at the bench by the wall.

His eldest brother didn’t seem to be in talking mood, so Curufin went back to his work. He only placed a box at the door to allow more air inside and busied himself with all the things on the table he needed to order. He knew better than to ask Maedhros how he was feeling, so he just kept glancing at him from time to time. He changed his mind when he realised his brother sat stiffly, ready to run away, and the content that please him so had vanished.

“What’s wrong?” Do you want to go out?” he asked carefully.

“No.” Came a quick response; too quick to be genuine. “Your smithy is alright,” said Maedhros as if he was trying to make himself believe it.

“I should say so.” Curufin stopped moving the boxes. He stared at his brother for a moment, trying to understand; then it dawned on him. “Did... did they force you to work?” he asked carefully, though he feared that his brother, once pushed too much, would shy away and close on him. So far Maedhros had not spoken much about his captivity and never voluntarily. It was Alcarino who got most of the information when he tried to establish the reason of the slow healing of the wounds.

“Forges, mines, stone-pits...” said Maedhros in a flat voice. “With no light nor air... But it is alright here,” he repeated, still not entirely convinced.

Curufin suddenly realised how much the noises from his forge must have unsettled Maedhros and why he insisted so much to come here. The smith hesitated only for a moment, then decided he could improve his brother’s thoughts about forge.

“As you are already here, I have something for you,” he stated and reached inside a coffer standing by the wall. He took a long package, covered carefully with a cloth, and placed it before Maedhros.

The eldest son of Feanor looked at him with surprise and removed the cloth. He was stunned when he saw a sword and he traced the patterned grip. Finally, he decided to grab it so Curufin held the hilt and they bared the blade together.

“If it doesn’t fit you, I’ll adjust you another one.” The smith was first to break the silence. “The blade is light, it should serve you well.”

“I won’t use it without a hand,” Maedhros pointed out painfully, but he stared at the sword, mesmerized.

“So you will learn to handle it with your other,” stated Curufin simply. “I know you will.”

His left fingers felt wrong on the grip, the movement was unnatural and the sword itself was too heavy, so that Maedhros was hardly able to lift it. But just like his brother claimed, the blade was light and the eldest son of Feanor was not going to check the balance. Curufin might have claimed the right to do some adjustments, but he would surely be offended if Maedhros openly checked the blade.

“It’s too heavy for now.” Maedhros sighed with regret and placed the sword on the table. It was good to feel the familiar weight again, even if it was all amiss. “When did you do it?”

“I started the day Maglor brought you here,” admitted Curufin, suddenly abashed. He looked away, so he didn’t see Maedhros’s expression. “I hope it will serve you well.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Maedhros traced the inscriptions made by his brother on the blade. The concept of fighting with his left hand should not have sounded so foreign to him, as he had no other choice; nevertheless, Curufin surprised him with his plain statement. He was not so sure himself, but he would have to learn sooner or later. And... Curufin believed in him before he had even woken. And if his younger brothers trusted he would get a grip and regain his strength, he could not let them down.

Lost in thought, he did not see when Curufin left. Without his brother, the forge stopped looking homely at once and Maedhros found it airless. He rose slowly on his feet and went deeper into the workshop to search for Curufin.

The forge was definitely not a place for someone with as fragile balance as his. Maedhros tripped time after time and when he caught himself from falling, he pushed a box which fell down with a loud crash.

“Valar! Maitimo, what are you doing?!” Curufin ran inside and glanced at his brother worryingly.

“Nothing... Forgive me,” muttered Maedhros, embarrassed, looking at the mess at his feet. “You went out.”

“Now I am back,” the smith pointed out and led his brother from the pieces on the floor. “I told you it’s not a place to walk barefoot,” he sighed as he saw the reddened toes. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. Truly, Curvo,” stressed Maedhros, because his brother didn’t seem convinced. He allowed to be seated again on the bench and watched as Curufin swiped all the spilled parts and put them in a flat box. What surprised him, though, was the fact that Curufin placed it before him and then the feral box with compartments.

“Why are you staring at me?” The younger of the brothers snorted in amusement. “I told you I was cleaning and you have just messed it all.”

Maedhros took a closer look at all the small parts, then at the box which, as he suspected, was not described in any way. He sighed ostensibly.

“Do you have any particular order?”

“Put the similar ones together.” Curufin just shrugged and went back to work.