The Seven Gates by Laerthel

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A Day in the March

Wounds - seen and unseen - are tended, and a cloak stirs controversy.

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It was a beautiful morning. Cold for the season, yet bright and clear: perfect for a round or two of friendly sparring.

Or – in case you found yourself on the wrong end of Lord Maedhros’s blade – friendly torture.

The fourth impact against rain-steeped soil resulted in a very nasty crack somewhere in Counsellor Tyelcano’s leg. Instinctively, he rolled onto his side and checked his calves; they still hurt, but the only visible injury he found was a new tearing in his favourite trousers.

Lord Maedhros seemed tall as a Vala as he towered above him, longsword still in his hand.

“Did I wound you?”

“I did not take care when I fell.”

The lord frowned. “You always do.”

Tyelcano stretched his legs experimentally, and swallowed a curse when the pain came back. He should have secured his ankles. His old riding boots were starting to get loose.

“You are terrible to fight when upset, lord. Lose focus for one second, and you will send me flying through the meadow!”

Maedhros’s frown deepened.

“Upset?”

Tyelcano closed his eyes for a moment, searching for escape routes, but he found none. Maedhros – much like his father and grandfather before him – was hard to fool.

“Ever since that messenger came this morn, you are not yourself. First you send me off with the letter for the High King, saying that it can wait; then you lock yourself up in your study for hours. Then you ask me to spar with you, you beat me four times, and still you continue pacing like a hungry wolf. My dearest Lord, what ails you so?”

Maedhros sheathed his sword, and settled on the grass next to his counsellor.

“How strange,” he said. “I almost feel tired.”

“Do not burden your mind,” said Tyelcano gently. “It shall have to bear new weights soon enough. It would be wise to make those a little space.”

A smile ghosted through Maedhros’s face, and Tyelcano wished it would stay there for ever.

“Tell me about the letter you wrote,” his lord said at length. “It asked Findekáno for tidings about Princess Lúthien, the Silmaril and Findaráto’s fate, did it not? Evasively.”

“Evasively.”

“Good.” Maedhros was staring at his own gloved palm. “I say that we now know enough. It would be unwise to send that letter before my brothers are found…and questioned.”

Tyelcano stole a glance at his lord. “Do you still intend to make them stand trial?”

“I have been thinking about it,” Maedhros admitted. “Yet… they have lost so much, and pride is a fragile shield. There is no place for strife within my walls; and in Himring, my word is law. Whatever the decision, it is I and I alone who must take it.”

“There will be talk,” Tyelcano said. “And wondering.”

“Such things cannot be helped. Surely, if my own people start doubting me, I might as well hand my lordship over to Kano.”

“Where reason is mute, authority must speak, my lord says,” Tyelcano said smoothly, “and he may as well be right.”

Maedhros was silent.

“Your years and battles have earned you wisdom. Whatever doom you lay upon your brothers, they must bow before it, and so shall we all. You have made grave decisions before: why flinch now?”

“Let us walk,” said Maedhros, extending his hand to help him up.

Tyelcano swallowed his pride, and took it.

* * *

Halfway back to the castle, they crossed a thin forest belt, lord and counsellor stopped to look at the plains of Himlad as they opened below them, caressed by the enormous arms of low-running hills.

“I wanted to talk about a private matter,” Maedhros confessed. “That is why I have tormented you with sparring.”

“I know,” said Tyelcano.

“And yet you still let me do it.”

“It does not hurt to train every now and then…”

 “You are a far better swordsman than I, Counsellor. Or at least, you were. I have no idea why I keep winning.”

Tyelcano considered that for a moment. “Wrath,” he said.

“I could take offense, you know.”

“You certainly could, if you wanted – but as things are now, I doubt you would have time for it.” Tyelcano frowned. “Is this about your dreams?”

“I prefer to call them visions,” said Maedhros, a spark of excitement stirring in his eyes. “I wanted to ask... have you seen one since? And if you did, has anything changed…?”

“I see the same dream most every night; and I now remember every second of it, every corner and every shadow. I think you are right, lordship: it is a vision.”

Maedhros looked at him intently. “Tell me.”

Tyelcano did not answer at once; instead, he rolled back his sleeves and examined a scrape on the hilt of his sword.

“In my dreams,” he said at length, “I lay helpless on blood-steeped soil. It is my own blood – I am gravely wounded, and every breath is painful. Then I hear a crow cawing nearby, and more crows answer its call. I know that I am in danger, for my enemies are not far; though I have no memory of what they have done to me. There is a heavy pounding in my head, as if a blacksmith was working in it with hammer and anvil… The crows caw on, it makes my head hurt. I feel like they are laughing at me… I know that I have to go, to flee, but I feel too weak to stand. I use my hands and knees instead.”

“And what then?”

“I see corpses everywhere, but they are all Orcs. I am alone, and left for dead, but I know that I am still being followed. I hide in caves and breaches as the land rises around me. I walk when I can and crawl when I must, following the course of a dried river without any idea where it would take me. It is getting cold, and high mountain-peaks tower above me. I lose my sense of time and I despair; and that is when I hear the voice. All flowers shall wither, it says. In sorrow it has started and in sorrow it must end; behold the banners as they gleam in the light of the rising sun! The night is passing but another night shall come, blacker than ink, black as the Void beyond the Circles of the World. Many years could one wonder and many years could he hope, yet he shan’t succeed; the mountains are high and the peaks icy cold, and all flowers shall wither.”

“And then my enemies find me; my hands are bound, I am captured… And then the voice speaks again. Hideous creatures lurk in the walls, it says, but he who walks in starlight does not flinch; he hides in caves and near breaches and behind rocks, and on he wanders, and on he wanders, but a dead end awaits. The gates are closed. Hearing such words of doom, I despair.”

“Yet after a long time, a time that seems like a thousand years, a faint light comes to me. I am in a large room; a room at home, in Tirion, and... and I believe I see Aran Finwë looking down at me, his hand resting on my forehead. He is saying something, but I do not know what. I see gates, guarded by armies and barred with iron. They are closed. That is all I remember. Is this by any means similar to your dreams, lord?”

Maedhros shook his head. “I hear the same words – and probably the same voice –, yet all I see are fleeting impressions of battlefields, flowing banners and corpses. Countless corpses. Some other times I fly above the world and I see fair Tirion as well, draped in the light of moon: that is not a picture from my memory, and not only because I cannot fly. The Tirion we knew was shining with the light of Trees; we cannot possibly know what would it look like in moonlight! True or not, I wish these dreams would go away, for I cannot grasp their meaning. All flowers shall wither might mean that all my plans shall gone awry, no matter what I would do; and I strongly believe that these visions are a warning that concern our people’s fate. The last time you asked me about these dreams, I was still trying to convince myself that they were meaningless; but since then, my patience has thinned. They make me feel helpless... I haven’t felt helpless since the cliff.”

“Lordship – ” said Tyelcano, with great grief.

“It is unbearable. I could stop the flood of war and tragedy that strains the hurdles – I should stop it, in fact – but I lack the knowledge, the understanding, the information to do so. And that... that frightens me!”

Only once before in his waking life had Tyelcano heard his lord – then, his king – saying I am frightened; and that was not a moment he now wished to remember… However, if Maedhros had sought him out with such a personal problem, it must have been gnawing at him for a long time; and he, Tyelcano had to try his best and help.

“It is possible, my lord,” he said as a sudden thought occurred to him, “that our dreams are two parts of a whole, and they only have significance if we put them together.”

“Two dreams as a whole?” Maedhros seemed to stir a little bit. “That sounds sensible enough.”

“Yes, lord. I am surprised, though, that it is me of all people you were destined to share this dream with. Your brothers would seem a much more natural choice.”

“I would not say so,” said Maedhros. They sprang to a walk along the narrow path, stray branches of burberry and dogwood grazing their waist and shoulders. “You are as much behind everything that happens in Himlad as I am; for I decide, and you make my decisions work. You certainly have to be warned of the same danger as I.”

“You told me that the dreams made you feel helpless,” said Tyelcano. “Is that what you feel each night when the dream wakes you up?”

“Sort of. The aftermath of this dream is a shadow of impending doom. Suffocating.”

Tyelcano frowned. “I see this vision as a riddle or task; some means of guidance to forego a disaster that would be inevitable if we would not have been warned beforehand.”

“I see no warning here,” said Maedhros. “This is a doom. All flower shall wither, it says, not all flowers might wither if we are not swift and smart enough. And it says that the gates are closed. No matter what we do, our doom is already weaved by Vairë; and there is nothing we can do to change it.”

“The gates are closed,” Tyelcano echoed. “Closed, my lord. Not locked. Not barred with iron. And our task is probably to open them. There is still a way for us to fair Tirion, and we shall find it! We will probably still suffer a lot from Moringotto’s malice; yet light is stronger than darkness, for it sees right through it, comprehending its ways and its purpose. Darkness cannot comprehend light and flees even from its sight.”

“That is what my father once told me,” said Maedhros.

“And do you think that he lied?”

“Nay. Yet since then, I saw veils of darkness that swallowed even the brightest of lights.”

* * *

The afternoon shadows were deepening around Tyelcano and his lord as they walked back along the path. Soon, the forest began to thin around them, and they reached the grass-overgrown crest of the hill they had climbed, letting the imposing sight of the Fortress of Himring reach their eyes.

The castle was built upon the highest hill of Himlad, wide and treeless, its summit slightly flattened. Lesser hills dappled the horizon; some of them were covered in scant forest, others were crowned by grey-green grass, and yet others remained bald and rocky. Several watchtowers stood upon these hills, facing all directions of the compass: shadows in the dewy daylight. The gates of the Himring were open, and a long line of riders was leaving the fortress. Along the high walls, beacons were lit.

Tyelcano and his lord exchanged a glance, then broke into a run. Soon, they were seen from the castle, and the riders rode to meet them, as if chased the Valaraukar themselves. It was a lanky youth who first came to them; his clothes and armour were ragged, his left arm hung wounded, and his eyes were wide and frightened.

“Lord Warden, Lord Counsellor,” he said. “We were about to search the woodlands for you.”

“And who gave you leave to do that?” said Maedhros coolly.

“C-captain Tulcestelmo, my lord,” the youth stammered. “I – it is about Lord Maglor; he has a bad wound.”

“When and how did that happen?”

“This morn, my lord, when the Orcs...”

“Orcs? Within my borders?!” Maedhros frowned. “What in Manwë’s name are you doing out there in the Marches?!”

“Lord Maglor was heading home, my lord,” the scout explained apologetically. “I was with him... and several others... when Orcs ambushed us. Our numbers were less than two dozen and theirs more than a hundred. We tried to flee.”

“A hundred against two dozen?” Tyelcano raised his brows. “How did you survive? And where is Lord Makalaurë?”

“Out there, not moving, with only two to guard him,” said the scout. “You will have to come with me, lords. I will tell you everything on the road.”

“Let us go then.” Maedhros straightened his back. “Senge,” he called at one of the guards, “bring my dear old friend, Silmatal.”

“And Alasto with him,” Tyelcano said.

“Here they stand, saddled, my lords,” Senge smiled faintly. “Three led horses as well.”

“Three?” Maedhros caressed the nose of his faithful stallion, and pulled himself up to the saddle. “Is that how many survivors we have?”

“It is,” said the scout. Their troop began the descent from the wide hill, horses snorting happily in the faint sunlight.

“Tell us your name, young one,” said Tyelcano, “and what happened. You must have fought heroically to save Lord Makalaurë.”

“I am called Antalossë,” said the scout. “Sadly, my lord, I did not fight as heroically as I would have liked. We would have all fallen to the last Elf, if lords Celegorm and Curufin did not come to our rescue!”

“My brothers?” Maedhros turned his head abruptly. “Here? They never announced their coming!”

“I do not know whence they came, my lord. By the time they chanced upon us, only four of us were alive, and one was Lord Maglor himself. Two of my kinsmen were bound at my two sides, and the Orcs... they started whipping Lord Maglor. Our blood was boiling, but there was nothing we could do: and that was when the help came. Lord Celegorm took the whip Lord Maglor had been tormented with, and turned it against the Orcs; and Lord Curufin freed me. We managed to fight off the remaining Orcs, but Lord Maglor was cruelly wounded. Lord Curufin as well – I begged him to come with me and see his wounds tended, but he would not leave his brothers behind. I can only hope that our enemies avoided them; Lord Maglor could not be moved, and I was the only one who had the strength to run for help.”

“You have done well,” said Maedhros. “Truly, I should thank you for the rescue of my brothers. A great evil has been avoided today.”

“I thank you, Lord Warden,” Antalossë bowed deeply in the saddle. “It was my pleasure to meet them. They are truly fierce and noble fighters.”

Laiquenis, the healer who was riding next to Tyelcano and behind the lord, shifted in her saddle. “Is it true, Lord Warden? The frightful rumour we hear about Nargothrond?”

“I do not know what you have heard,” said Maedhros gracefully. “We all know the nature of tales; the hero leaves home with a noble purpose, and the further he goes, the more unrealistic his quest gets; the more boasting and exaggeration lies within. My brothers are lords from the House of Finwë and I shan’t have their deeds taken on hearsay.”

“Yes, Lord Warden.” Laiquenis bowed. “Forgive my hasty words.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Maedhros, “the question was just. Yet it is wrong enough that the lords of the Quendi should chase rumours coming from their own kin. This is a fire we must not feed.”

Everyone agreed upon this point; yet Tyelcano sat in the saddle with an uneasy heart, watching the wind as it danced in his horse’s mane. They rode for another hour if not more, staying in the open fields all the way long. There was no reason to hide.

“If these Orcs found a way through my borders,” said Maedhros suddenly, “then something must be done. They have already taken the Gap and several lands on the edge, and they have roamed through the Pass of Aglon and the northernmost part of Thargelion. That is quite enough. Moringotto might have won the last battle, but this time, his black hand reached too far. He will burn his fingers.”

Maedhros’s eyes shone with unearthly light, and his voice was clear and sharp; Tyelcano had not seen him in such a mood since the Dagor Bragollach, when his lands were sacked and his castle besieged.

“Hurry and lead me, Antalossë of the March! Are we far yet?”

“I left them just there, my lord, at the foot of the next hill.”

Their escort circled the area; most of them vanished from sight, either into the forest or behind the closest hills. Only Tyelcano, Antalossë, the guard Senge and the healer Laiquenis remained with Maedhros. Together, they rode on; and soon enough, they encountered the first corpses. When they came upon the large meadow where the worst of the fight had happened in the morning, an army of flies and crows took wing, dreading Senge’s longbow and the hooves of their horses alike.

“Kano!” Maedhros cried, unable to contain himself any longer. “Tyelko! Curvo! Brothers! Can you hear me?”

After a short, dreadful silence, there was a faint “Nelyo!” coming from the back of the meadow. Maedhros jumped off his horse, followed by Tyelcano and Laiquenis; Antalossë and Senge stayed behind to keep the horses in check.

Counsellor Tyelcano had seen much since he had been born under the stars in fair Cuiviénen, and though he did not know this, he was still going to see much more; yet even among those countless highs and lows, he never forgot the sight that greeted him when they came upon that meadow.

Maglor was lying against a pinny oak, his head propped up with a pair of tattered cloaks. His face and neck were covered in bruises and his breath came ragged. Curufin was kneeling above him, holding his hand, whispering soothing words in his ears; and Celegorm was sitting next to them, his elbows on his knees, his face gaunt and expressionless.

Both Celegorm and Curufin seemed famished and dirty, their hair unkept and matted, their hands almost skeletal, clad in rags, a faint smell of blood lingering around them. Maedhros, who less than a second ago had still been running mindlessly to aid his brothers, suddenly halted and stared at the scene unfolding before his eyes. Tyelcano slowed his steps as well, and cast a wary glance upon Curufin, then Celegorm, then the seemingly unconscious Maglor, and then his lord.

Celegorm still seemed to be unaware of his surroundings; his shoulders were slamped and his face pale and blank. Curufin, on the other hand, raised his eyes straight to meet those of Maedhros; and for a moment, his face went cold and barred, something akin with enmity flashing through his eyes. It was an expression of humiliation, blind pain and mistrust: a trait of those who have been sent to exile, or who have been discarded by their own people or brothers-in-arms. For the shortest of moments, Curufin was painfully similar to Fëanor himself, the fallen star of a late Age.

Maedhros beheld his brothers in silence, his gaze softening for a moment. Then, his sigh was like a tempest: a breeze of distant fury.

“Nelyo,” Curufin said. His voice was throaty and low, deep wells of sadness opening within his eyes.

And that moment, Tyelcano knew that everything Feredir told them was impartial and true.

* * *

“Are you going to let him suffer, now that we have come this far to his rescue?” Laiquenis ran across the meadow, and fell to her knees next to Maglor. “Make yourselves useful, lords, and bring me clean water! There is a spring at the other side of the hill.”

“A task for me,” said Celegorm, suddenly awake from his reverie.

“Not before I broke your bones, little brother,” Maedhros said, his face unreadable. Celegorm stiffened, but his elder stepped to him with open arms, and embraced him, and kissed his brows. “Take my cloak, Tyelko, it will serve you well. And be swift! Kano shall need to drink fresh water once he is awake.”

Celegorm’s arms tightened around his brother’s waist for a moment, but he accepted the offer and draped himself in the soft crimson fabric.

“Counsellor, Lady Laiquenis,” he said, his voice calm and collected but his eyes still dreadfully empty, “I am glad that we meet again.”

“So am I, lord,” Tyelcano said. “So am I.”

Laiquenis was already checking Maglor’s pulse, but she raised her head as well, and graced the brothers with a smile.

“Well met, lords, and welcome back,” she said. “Lord Curufinwë,” she continued in an authoritative voice, “I have been told you were suffering from an injury.”

“That can wait, Lady Goldenhands,” said Curufin. “It is no more than a scratch, while my brother is in true danger.”

“I have been told no more than a scratch more times than I can count,” Laiquenis retorted. “Back then, I was young and naive, and I thought warriors must be able to measure the graveness of their own injuries. Yet that is the cruellest of lies.”

“I have heard crueller ones,” said Curufin, but he helped her straighten Maglor’s arms and legs nonetheless.

“What happened to you?” said Maedhros. “And what madness made you and Tyelko attack a troop of forty-some Orcs? You could have died!”

“At first, we planned to run and warn you about their presence,” Curufin sighed. “But then... then we saw them beating Kano, and we could not contain ourselves. It was probably a witless deed to do, but we had to do it, Nelyo. We could not leave him at the mercy of Orcs. I do not think that Tyelko had anything specific in mind other than blind rage and indignation, but I was afraid that the whole ambush had been previously planned and they wanted to capture Kano, then hide their precious prize from our eyes.”

“An Orc-ambush within my borders,” Maedhros sighed. “Two hours’ run from my own castle! Curse Moringotto and his rats! What have they done to Kano? Do you think he might suffer from inner bleeding?”

“Likely,” Curufin nodded. “His nose has been bleeding as well, but at least we managed to stop that. For a little while, he was conscious, and he told us how stupid we were for rescuing him. And he also mentioned you, Nelyo... he spoke of some message that someone took and that he came too late.”

“A message that someone took?” Maedhros frowned

“We did not understand that, either,” Curufin shrugged. “He might have felt distraught, wanting to say too many things at the same time.”

“He does have an ugly swelling at the back of his head,” Laiquenis commented, her skilled fingers drawing patterns in Maglor’s hair. “And he was thoroughly beaten; the muscles in his chest are all stiff. He shall need at least three days to fully recover – if he does not suffer from internal bleeding, that is. Curse those cruel beasts who have done this to gentle, kind Lord Makalaurë!”

“Can you do anything now to lessen his pain?” Maedhros pleaded.

“I shall need a fire to heat water,” said the healer. “Celandine for the wounds that bleed, milfoil for the ones that are hidden. I cannot risk anything else before examining the lord more thoroughly; yet I can almost certainly say that these shall lessen his pain for a short while.”

Tyelcano had to smile at Curufin’s and Maedhros’s eagerness as they carried out the healer’s commands. Laiquenis never had a problem with ordering lords and kings around when the need arose; she was a skilled healer and a strong, stern woman, but not one without a sense of humour. The Counsellor suspected that the latter was the very reason why Maedhros let her and only her tend to his wounds; and perhaps also that Laiquenis had taken part of the group of healers who had helped him recover after his rescue from Morgoth’s captivity.

Merely a few minutes later, fire was crackling happily next to them, and Laiquenis began to heat the contents of the small bottle she carried with herself. Soon, Celegorm arrived with fresh water, and Tyelcano held Maglor’s shoulders while Laiquenis washed his face gently, and smiled with satisfaction when a wave of wild shiver ran down his spine.

Two stormy grey eyes opened, then blinked.

“Cold water,” Maglor mumbled disapprovingly.

“A perceptive lord!” Laiquenis caressed his forehead lightly. “Can you sit up?”

“Lady Goldenhands!” His eyes opened again, and with an effort, Maglor smiled. “I am saved! Am I – am I at home already?”

“Nay,” said Laiquenis lightly. “I give you a draught to regain your strength, and then we shall all go home. Does it hurt your lordship when I do this…?”

The examination went on for a while; here and there, Maglor hissed and his eyes welled with tears of pain, but he seemed to get better every minute; and soon enough, he was sipping milfoil tea in the shadow of a great oak. Maedhros sat beside him, kissed his cheek, asked him how he fared; and Maglor leaned against his brother and accepted his comfort, not caring that the others saw him. He seemed reluctant to speak about the Orcs, yet provided a colourfully detailed description of Celegorm beating them up with a whip, explaining that back then, he thought he was only dreaming.

Tyelcano listened to the conversation with a wry smile on his face, his fingers playing with a strand of celandine. Such a small flower it was, yet its healing power estimated beyond measure...

“Tyelko, Curvo,” said Maglor suddenly, “it is only now that it occurs to me: have you come alone?”

“Never alone,” said Curufin. “I have Tyelko, and Tyelko has me.”

“No, I mean... where is Tyelpë? Where is Erenis? Where is Huan? Where is... anyone...? Has something happened? Valar, don’t tell me that they all... that they have all... and your clothes...”

“Nothing happened,” said Celegorm. “They are safe.”

“Everything is in order,” Curufin nodded.

“I have no doubt about that,” said Maedhros, and there was an edge to his voice that made them both wince. “But let us discuss those matters later, shall we?”

“Something has happened,” said Maglor tentatively. “Something I do not know of. That is why you sent for me to come at once.”

Maedhros closed his eyes, and he suddenly seemed very tired.

“Do not burden yourself, Kano,” he said. “Drink whatever is that you are drinking, come home with us, and recover. You will know everything in time.”

“Tell me” Maglor insisted. “I can handle it.”

“I do not know most of the story myself,” said Maedhros.

“Please, Maitimo, tell me...”

“Later, I said.” Maedhros caressed his brother’s hair, but his eyes were cold and commanding. “And now I, Nelyafinwë, Lord of the Himring, Warden of the East and all that, command you to stop brooding. Do you think you shall be able to ride?”

“I may give him a mouthful of spirit that gives him strength for a few hours to help him home,” Laiquenis said, “but after that, he shall feel weaker than before, and he shall need to stay in bed.”

“I am willing to take that risk,” said Maglor. “I shan’t slow you down!”

“Then let us hit the road within the hour,” said Maedhros. “Counsellor, bid Antalossë and Senge to bring us horses, and another spare cloak as well. I will not have my brothers parading around in rags.”

“I want no spare cloak,” said Curufin, his voice suddenly icy. “And I shan’t be lectured, humiliated and judged. If you are ashamed of me as I look now, Nelyo, then our ways must part here.”

“And you will go – where exactly?” Celegorm snapped. “Do not be such a fool!”

“I am no fool but I have my dignity!” Curufin hissed back at him.

“You know where you can shove your dignity! We no longer deserve such luxuries. Seize the opportunity while you can, and be glad that we are not rejected!”

“Be glad that I am allowed to breathe now, is it that? I will have none of it, thank you! What happened to you, Tyelko? Why are you so willing to crawl in the dust?”

“Valarssake, you were only asked to accept a cloak!” Celegorm cried. “I am tired of this, Curvo! I am weak and famished, and I long for a good night’s sleep without having to dread enemies in the darkness who want to slice my throat!”

“Rejected...? Famished...? Darkness...? Throats...?” Maglor shook his head in distress. “What in Varda’s holy name is going on here?!”

“Easy, Lord Makalaurë,” said Laiquenis softly, “you are tearing the bandages.”

Tyelcano’s eyes met the healer’s for the smallest fraction of a second; and the Counsellor knew she felt as uneasy as him, witnessing an unpleasant, and quite private family moment.

“Tyelko, Curvo,” said Maedhros, “you are my brothers. I have heard many things of late, but that is a truth that will never change, nor will I ever discard or deny it. As long as I draw breath, all my brothers and their servants, followers, friends or companions of any kind shall be fed, housed and garmented. If you prefer your rags, ride in them. I wished to spare you the narrow glances and humiliation, but if that is what you would rather have, I shan’t deny it to you. If either of you would rather offend me by not eating food from my table, you are free to do that as well. But if you are asking me to leave you alone in the wilderness, I cannot do that. Will not do that. Come with me, and I shall ask you questions, then we shall come to a compromise. And if your trust in your eldest brother is so weak that you think I would ever gag, humiliate or judge you, you may have witnesses on your own. You must, however, accept that you owe me explanation on certain matters; and I will have my answers relatively soon, whether you are willing to provide them or not.”

For a few seconds, utter stillness reigned on the meadow, only Maglor moved, his lips forming the phrase “what in Moringotto’s seven hells” over and over again.

Finally, Curufin bowed in front of his brother.

“Forgive me!” He said reluctantly. “You have never deserved such an insult. I grew rather... weary since last year, not that it blunts the edge of my words, of course. Please grant me another moment of your patience if you can.”

“Granted,” said Maedhros gracefully. “Now follow me. We have to scout the surroundings over before we leave; and the burial of our dead should be organised as well. We cannot leave them rot here in disgrace, under the open air.”

“What of the Orcs, my lord?” Tyelcano asked.

Maedhros did not even turn his head as he said,

“Burn them.”

 

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Chapter End Notes

OC name meanings: 1. Senge [Q] (adj. keen of sight, observant, sagacious); 2. Laiquenis: laique+nisse (Herb-woman)