A set of six images from the retreat after Nirnaeth. Lots of angst, taking care of each other and facing the brutal reality.

The story is compliant with my other stories, but can be read separately.

One hundred and forty five tears

The defeat tasted like metallic blood from his bitten lips and the wound on his forehead. It was rusty like spots on his chainmail and armour. It smelled of sweat, fear and death.

That was all Maedhros's weary mind registered, though he seemed to have come to terms with the facts and was doing everything he could to keep the survivors alive. The Union of Maedhros, the greatest alliance that was supposed to break Morgoth's power ended in slaughter and retreat that was not a panic escape of the survivors in all but name. Even if he had some strength left in his arm, Maedhros could not turn back to help his cousins, unless he wished to lose the army of the sons of Feanor to the very last warrior. There were about a hundred and a half of them, certainly less than two hundred, yet only one out of ten could stand some chance in a fight; those were riding at the back, protecting the wounded and seeing that nobody was left behind. Who would lead them anyway?
Maedhros looked at his brothers. Out of the six of them, aside from him only Amras was well enough. Celegorm could ride, but he would not stand long on his wounded legs. Curufin, still lucid and wincing in pain, was hanging on the horse's neck. He had not fallen off yet only because Amras was walking beside him and guarding him. No one sane would have sent Caranthir to the battle right now. He wasn't that bad, but Maedhros had purposely left Maglor in his care, for had he had free hands, he would have killed every Edain they passed. The singer was hanging limply in his grasp like a doll and his chest was covered with orc blood. They had not had a chance to check how gravely wounded he was and the only inclination was his raspy breath. But Maglor did breathe, so they could go on riding, just a little further.

Or they could not. At the back of the column some wounded fell from his horse and there was a little commotion to put him back with someone healthier. Curufin raised his head and looked back, then went grey, leaned and threw up. Amras caught him just in time to prevent him from falling. His older brother curled with a moan. He didn't have the strength to wipe away tears marking clean tracks on his dirty face.

"We have to stop." Amras looked at Maedhros, determined. Half of his face was covered with a bloody bruise from a hit that had not crushed his cheekbone only by some miracle. His right eye was swollen shut.

"Very well."

Amras was already taking Curufin down, who moaned quietly. The remains of the Feanorian army and some random refugees from other hosts met the decision with relief. They dismounted, some of them almost falling, then sat where they could. Those less wounded took care of the remaining horses, so that they would carry them later.

Celegorm dismounted and made a few unsteady steps to fall down more than sit next to Curufin. Maedhros freed Caranthir from Maglor with Amras's help. They laid him gently on the ground, but Moryo remained by his horse for a moment to regain his balance. Without waiting for him, Maedhros started taking the battered armour off his younger brother. Maglor's breath quickened and became shallow, then the singer stared at Maedhros with his unfocused eyes, full of panic.

"It's me, Kano, be still," muttered the eldest son of Feanor, struggling with a destroyed buckle. Usually they used Sindarin when they were among other elves, but now he switched to Quenya, hoping to calm his brother a bit.

"Can't... breathe..." choked Maglor. His lips were open, gasping for air chaotically and he started to struggle.

"Shhhh, give me a moment and you'll be free." Maedhros tried the buckle again, but to no avail. "Moryo, help me," he asked his younger brother, seeing that the other two were busy with Curufin.

Caranthir joined him, stumbling only once on his way. Maedhros moved and elevated Maglor so his brother could reach him more easily.

"Easy, Kano. Breathe."

"Can't!" There was pure panic in Maglor's voice as he reached blindly with one hand to his armour, disturbing Caranthir. HIs other arm was limp.

"Don't speak," ordered Maedhros and he lifted him a bit more. "Is it better? Breathe."

Maglor silenced obediently, but he was still staring at his brother with fear and his breathing was raspy.

Maedhros muttered soothingly, trying to conceal his fear of what he was about to see under the breastplate. During the battle Maglor stopped Uldor as he tried to reach Caranthir, but then he was thrown from his saddle and buried under his own horse. His brother managed to get him out, but he was already unconscious then.

Caranthir finally managed to unfasten the buckle and he took off the breastplate. Maglor breathed deeply, but his exhale changed into a painful moan and he lost his breath again. There was nothing unusual in it, as his ribs and sternum were covered in purple-red bruise. His left hand turned out to be broken as they removed his arm guard.

"Better?" Maedhros held his brother with his stump as he clang to him, using his hand to help Caranthir remove the rest of the armour and clothes. Moryo was using his right arm only, as his left was dislocated by a strong hit he had taken with his shield.

"Nay..." moaned Maglor quietly and he dug his fingers into Maedhros's forearm as his younger brother moved his broken arm.

Caranthir got rid of the armour and clothes and went to search for some water and bandages. Maglor managed to catch his breath, so Maedhros sat there, unmoving, giving orders to have the camp guarded and the gravely wounded tended to.

It started raining. The thick drizzle stuck to everything and it was plain that everything would be damp within half an hour or so. Before Amras managed to set the broken arm and secure it, Maglor was already shaking. Maedhros used what he could to cover him, but he gained little. They moved the wounded under the trees, hoping they would give them some protection.

Maedhros folded Maglor's cloak behind his back, then added his own. Amras used his to cover him and all they could do was to hope it would be enough. They could not lit a fire, they had no medicines and the elves sent to search for some herbs had not returned yet.

Celegorm tended to Curufin and Amras and Caranthir carried him under the trees. As soon as they laid him down, Curufin turned, heaving. Caranthir kept him so that he would not choke, but he had little to throw up.

Retching left Curufin exhausted, so as soon as it stopped, he curled, one hand by his abdomen, the other embracing his knees. Maedhros had no heart to tell him not to, as he could see he was shivering despite being covered. The evening rain had brought relief only for a moment after the heat of the battle and escape. Now the gravely wounded were already shivering in cold and exhaustion.

"Nelyo!" Maglor's panic call dragged Maedhros's attention from Curufin. "Too low... Can't..." His grey eyes sought him with fear he could not conceal.

"Coming." Maedhros crouched beside him and helped him sit up. He moved his brother so that he could remain seated, leaning against the roots. Maglor's short, loud breaths rang in his ears. "Calm down, Kano. No one is going to lay you down again," he promised, brushing the wet hair from his brother's forehead and placing his broken arm in more comfortable position.

He sat like that for a moment, listening to his brother's raspy breathing, until Amras reset Caranthir's dislocated shoulder. He left Maglor in Moryo's care and went through their makeshift camp. The remains of his army looked pitiful. The standard with the star, somehow rescued from the battle, was standing there, leaned against a tree. It was damp and hanging limp, but it was ironically clean, while all of them were crashed and trampled into mud. The elves were lying and sitting where they could, with no order. Each kept the survived horses by themselves. Some of them fell and did not move, some watched the most gravely wounded put in small groups.

One of Celegorm's elves caught Maedhros's attention. He had seen him, but didn't know his name. The elf was lying on his side, still fully armed. HIs chainmail was torn and covered with blood on the chest. It seemed no one was taking care of him, so Maedhros knelt by him. He needed a moment before he realised what was amiss. After he had just been hearing Curufin's moans and Maglor's laboured breathing, he expected the same, but the elf was utterly quiet.

He was dead. Maedhros had already left too many friends and elves he had known to remember each and every one of them, but somehow he was shaken by the sight of Celegorm's follower, who managed to get out of that hell only to die because he didn't get help in time. Only now did Maedhros realise there were probably more elves like him and there still would. And who knew, perhaps two of his brothers would be among them.

The elves he passed informed him about the wounded, the provisions they had, about things found in the forest. A few of the Fingon's warriors, separated from their company by the dragon, kept together, but they didn't look at Maedhros with distaste; all of them were in the same hopeless situation, but those few found themselves under different command.

Someone managed to find some herbs and despite the orders made a small fire in a hollow to heat some water and prepare a decoction for fever for the wounded. The eldest son of Feanor wasn't going to punish him for this insubordination. The wounded desperately needed help and the flames were barely visible. If someone followed them, they would sooner hear them than see the fire or smell the smoke.

Maedhros took a mug of the decoction and went back to his brothers, where Amras was just sharing the little food they had. Celegorm and Caranthir ate without appetite, but they were visibly hungry. The youngest of the brothers, though, only tried his bread, winced painfully and put it away, taking only some water. It seemed that Curufin and Maglor hadn't even moved.

The eldest son of Feanor poured half of the decoction into another mug and passed it to Caranthir to give the medicine to Maglor. Then he knelt by Curufin.

"Curvo?" Maedhros leaned over his brother, thinking he was asleep, but Curufin opened his eyes and looked at him lucidly and unhappily.

"Mmm?"

"You need to sit up for a moment."

Celegorm, laying next to him, sat up and helped him up. Maedhros pressed the hot mug to Curufin's lips and he drank greedily, so that Maedhros had to restrain him.

"Slowly, Curvo, or it will harm you instead of helping," he said, but Curufin took the mug from him and emptied it.

"Water?" He glanced at Maedhros, asking for more.

"You can't drink so much, you know that." Maedhros shook his head. Using the fact that Curufin was holding the mug, he touched his forehead. He was burning up, so no wonder he was thirsty, but they couldn't risk to give him too much.

"Nelyo? Water..."

"Later. Try to get some sleep before we move on."

Celegorm solved the problem by taking the mug away from his brother and lying him back on the ground. Before Curufin curled again, he laid down next to him and put his arm around him, so that they would be warmer.

Maedhros picked the mug from the ground when a sudden cramp of the muscles made him drop it. Discontent, he glanced at his left forearm below his elbow. He knew he was wounded, but it had not bothered him too much so he had pushed it aside, as there was a lot to do.

"Show me," demanded Amras from behind his back.

The eldest son of Feanor just nodded He knew he could not neglect any arm injury if he didn't want to end up utterly helpless. He couldn't afford it. He let Amras clean and bandage his arm, then took some food from him to eat something. Perhaps it was raining less under the trees, but he could not straighten there, so he went away.

Amras hesitated whether he should follow him or stay, but finally he just dropped on the ground where he stood, next to Maglor. He dragged his legs closer, then put his good cheek on his knees and closed his eyes. He looked like he wanted to disappear.

"Pityo?" Celegorm's tired voice didn't let him fall asleep like that.

"Mmm?" Amras raised his head with effort and tuned towards his elder brother. He didn't feel like arguing over being called like that. "What?"

"Has someone seen to you?" The hunter propped himself on the elbow and looked at him, trying not to fall asleep.

Amras shook his head and leaned it back on his knees, seeing that his brother didn't need his help.

"Come here, I'll have a look."

"Leave it, Tyelko, there's no need," muttered the youngest son of Feanor towards his own knees. "Let me be..."

"Come here."

"Leave it. We have nothing left to make dressings anyway," said Amras resignedly and laid down next to Maglor. It was plain he didn't want to think about all the cuts his clothes must have stick to. Damp, he snuggled under his cloak covering his brother as much as he could.

"Have you cleaned them at least?" Inquired Celegorm further.

"Yes, yes..." muttered Amras, pressing his face somewhere near Maglor's thigh, searching for warmness.

Celegorm didn't point out the obvious lie, he just moved closer to Curufin and covered him with part of his own cloak, seeing that he was shivering again. Even if he tried again later, Amras wouldn't hear him; he was already asleep.

Caranthir and Celegorm fell asleep as well, Curufin was napping restlessly. Only Maglor tried to, but he was jolting awake over and over again. Each time left him more exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He was half-lying with his eyes closed, and to Maedhros his breathing sounded louder and much worse.

At some point he could not bear it any longer. He needed to think, to decide which way they would go next morning, where they would seek shelter and the only thing he could focus on was listening if Maglor was still breathing, if Curufin was still shaking.

The camp quieted. Aside from the guards, which changed often, most of the elves were asleep, only the wounded moaned quietly. After the second walk around Maedhros finally managed to count how many of them survived. One hundred and forty one elves escaped the slaughter in which the battle he had so carefully planned had changed, including those from Fingon's hosts. Less than he had initially thought.

"Don't shoot." He heard suddenly. "Don't shoot." The voice, elvish for sure, came from the darkness.

Maedhros nodded to the nearest guard and spoke loudly.

"You may come."

A lone elf appeared between the trees and approached them. He recognized the son of Feanor, he noticed the elves around them and sighed in relief. Maedhros could see Fingon's emblem on his tunic.

"We were hoping we would catch up with you, Maedhros. You left a visible trail."

"How many of you? Is Fingon following us?" Asked Maedhros, livening up. If his friend was escaping the same way, they could stand a better chance together. Perhaps he was more fortunate...

"Four." The elf dispelled his hopes. "Our company was slaughtered. King Fingon fell," he said quietly.

He spoke of Turgon then, who was trying to retreat with his warriors and had a chance to save more than a few, but the son of Feanor stopped at the first news. Fin... Suddenly, Maedhros felt all the weariness, every cut, the wound on his arm. He had not even realised till now how much he lived on hope that his cousins managed somehow to be successful where he had failed.

"Maedhros?" Inquired the elf, waiting. He was standing round-shouldered, covered with his cloak.

"Lead your friends here," replied Maedhros. "Thorilon, go with him and show him a place to rest. We will go at dawn."

One hundred and forty five survivors from the hosts of Fingon and the sons of Feanor. How many would not live till morning? Who knew, perhaps they had escaped death in battle only to be caught in a day or two? If Fingon's elves followed their tracks, how long would it take the orcs to catch it too?

Maedhros sat down on a trunk, ignoring the dew; everything was damp already, him included. All the reserves of his hope and energy that had kept him moving seemed to have vanished. Without Fingon they had no chance to gather again, and the brief moment of vain hope that his friend was following him left him in even deeper despair. He had planned the battle that was supposed to crash the Enemy, but it was Fingon who managed to get in touch with his brother. Without him, they had not chance to get to Turgon, even if he had managed to retreat and go back to his hidden city. There was no way to get back on their feet after this defeat.

Weariness was slowly winning over him, but Maedhros knew he would not be able to sleep during a night like this, no matter how drained he was. So he sat there at the edge of their camp, keeping guard and postponing his return to his brothers. He wasn't ready to pass them the news, though he had no doubts everyone would know before morning. And, though he hardly admitted it to himself, he didn't want to go and check if he hadn't lost any of his brothers.

"Maedhros?"

The eldest son of Feanor jerked, hearing his name. Amras was standing before him, a bit confused. In the pale light of the stars Maedhros could see his feverish gaze and his tensed face. He was fiddling with a cloth that served him earlier as a cool poultice.

"Which one?" Asked Maedhros in a choked voice. "Kano or Curvo?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Amras creased his eyebrows, though it looked more like a wince of pain. Then he realised what his brother meant. "No, no! Curufin is finally asleep. Kano is afraid to sleep. And his breathing is still awful," he said grimly.

Maedhros let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when he heard his first thought was wrong.

Amras was standing over him, staring at him with resignation and anxiety.

"Twelve," said Maedhros dimly. "Four did not survive the journey. Eight died here," he explained. "And another twelve may not live till morning."

Amras backed as if he was slapped. He sat down at the tree trunk and embraced himself, still damp and cold. The night was cool, the earth was vaporizing and everything was wet."And you think Maglor and Curufin are among them," he finished. "No! It's bad, but not that bad, do you hear me? What's wrong with you, Maedhros?"

The eldest son of Feanor lowered his head and wiped his tired eyes. He stared at the ground.

"Findekano is dead," he choked finally and glanced at his brother. "His men were slaughtered and he fell. Four elves from his company joined us an hour ago." He could see his every word convinced his brother that he had not yet lost his mind in grief.

Amras made a noise that sounded half like a moan, half like a sob. For a long time he said nothing, staring dimly at the trees. Finally he sighed and rose.

"I need to go back before Kano starts fretting that he's alone, for Moryo is fast asleep. Come, he has asked for you."

What do you think? Please let me know.