Some keywords: gen fic, family, mild angsty feels, first age Beleriand

A/N: Thanks to Tumblr user vardasvapors for the title and thus the inspiration for this. Mild warning for general references to Maedhros' torment at Thangorodrim.


Beneath the moon

Their brothers are arguing again, all four of them that are conscious, about what to do about the fifth who is lost in restless fever dreams. Maglor and Caranthir and Celegorm and Curufin fight about the best course of action loudly and near-violently, just as they argued often while Maedhros was gone. They argued then about whether they should try to save him, about how likely it was that there was anything to be saved anymore. Now that their eldest brother lies in bed in the next tent, barely alive, they argue about whether he will be able to lead them – whether there is enough of him left to do so.

As before, Amrod and Amras take little part in the arguing and because of that, their brothers pay little attention to them. They slip away unnoticed from the large tent where Maglor takes counsel.

'To our horses?' Amrod whispers as soon as they are past the guards.

Amras nods. 'A night hunt beneath the moon.'

The moon is particularly bright tonight, large and silver-white as it rises above the peaks of the Mountains of Mithrim. Reflected by the fresh snow that is yet unspoiled by the ash from campfires, the moonlight almost makes a day out of the night, but Amrod and Amras gather their hunting weapons and saddle their horses in silence that respects the rest of others and soothes their own spirits that were made uneasy by their brothers' seemingly never-ending arguing.

Amrod feels his spirit settle further when they ride along the lakeshore towards the forest at the foot of the mountains. The still water shows the moon and the stars, and finding himself enjoying the simple beauty of the sight is a relief to Amrod. The joy of Maedhros' return and the horror at his state, the way he had been treated, the way he had suffered and endured had shifted his perception of the world more than the new light of the moon and sun did when they first rose, and it is a relief that something at least is still the same, and unspoiled.

He is ashamed of such thoughts but they arrive to him all the same. By the look on Amras' face, Amrod's twin is troubled by similar thoughts.

After a long time, when they are almost at the treeline already, Amrod slows his horse to a trot and asks, 'Do you think he will recover?'

He and Amras haven't spoken of this. There have been so many opinions flying around that they didn't need to voice their own.

'I think he will recover – somewhat. But to what degree? That is what you mean, isn't it?' Amras asks with an ugly twist of his mouth. 'That is what everyone is wondering.'

Amrod's answering nod is no doubt lost among the movement of his horse, but he knows Amras will know of it anyway.

'Only time will tell', Amras says eventually. 'A rather long time, I think. He was… gone a long time.'

'He was.' Amrod scratches his horse's withers. The mare was born years after Maedhros was lost, or thought lost. 'There is nothing for us to do but wait, is there?'

'To wait, and support – or not support – Maglor, and do our part to provide for our people. As we have been doing these long years.' Amras reaches back for his bow. 'Now, brother, I think this is enough talk. Let us go hunt those creatures of the forest that haven't been driven to flee by the sound of our speculations.'

'Let us', Amrod agrees, taking his spear in hand as they ride into the snow-quiet, night-quiet forest.

This is how they found purpose and release of too much energy and too much fear for their brother while he was gone, and as Amras said, this is how they will continue to serve their part. By learning the land and its creatures, doing it as well here as Celegorm did in his youth in Valinor, and by providing meat for the spit and hides for curing and bones for the four-legged hunting beasts.

There had been mist on the plains between the lake and the woodland but here in the forest, the air is clear and crisp. The dusting of snow that has fallen on the ground and frozen on the branches and bushes glitters in the bright cold light like the colourless jewels their father made in his youth.

The blue shadows of the trees are as long as the howls of distant wolves which Amrod and Amras never quite overtake because their thoughts are too preoccupied with their brothers still in the camp, both the whole and the broken.