Just like 'Reconciliation' ended in late Autumn, this story takes place in early Spring one and half a year later. It is not necessary to know 'Reconciliation', though I use OC characters I introduced there (my healer, Alcarino, and Maedhros's friend, Vorindon)

Chapter 1

Metallic sound of steel colliding against steel was something that recently started to please Maedhros again. A year of exercises allowed him to regain his strength, though his brothers claimed he was still too thin and his face was still sharp, even if his cheeks were no longer so hollow. There was not a single thing a son of Feanor could not learn, Curufin had told him once and Maedhros took it for all it was. He did his best to prove to the others, but also to himself that he was indeed able to master everything with his left hand. Now it was all he had, after all.

Vorindon never refused practicing with him whenever his brothers were busy. Right now Caranthir was visiting the Sindar living nearby, Celegorm and Curufin had left for a hunt and were taking their time. Amras was on the eastern hills, patrolling them. They wanted the roads to be safe as they planned to move East with the first signs of Spring. Maglor was paying Finrod a visit at the other side of the lake, keeping the family contacts intact.

Maedhros could not yet say he was content with his abilities, but he was no longer defenceless, like he was the previous Spring, when picking a sword meant learning from start, full of frustration and embarrassment, but also of determination. He was rarely able to disarm his opponent, but then he was facing the best.

Screaming and terror that flooded him caught him off guard. Maedhros let his defences down, completely surprised, and he took a step back as if he was hit, which let Vorindon stop his attack in time. But the eldest son of Feanor did not see his friend standing above him, worried. There was another image before his eyes, there were other sensations than a cramp in his fingers, tight around the sword grip.

Pain. Fear. Blood spilled on the thin layer of snow. Terror. A pull, a moan. Smell of blood, evil and death.

And scream. Blind, terrified scream. 'Maitimo, help!'

"Nelyafinwe? What's going on?"

'Caught. Nelyo, help! Killed. Taking away. Nelyo!'

The image disappeared and the buzzing in his ears stopped. Maedhros shook his head and realised in astonishment that he was kneeling at the yard in front of their house and his sword was lying on the ground next to him. His brothers knew osanwe was a bad idea, that he had been alone for too long and he had withdrawn too deep to accept this form of communication, even with the one closest to him. He was trying to seek for his brothers' feas from time to time, but he didn't expect any of them to invade him so forcefully.

And then he fully realised what he had just seen and he jumped on his feet, his sword in his grasp. Vorindon watched him in alarm; he sheathed his sword, but he remained tensed as he could sense his commander's emotions.

"Pityo has fallen into a trap," Maedhros spat out. "Gather our men, we're leaving at once," he hissed. "I want to have as many riders as you can get in a quarter," he ordered and rushed into the house, without even looking at his second-in-command.

As soon as he was alone, he took a deep breath and reached for his youngest brother; something he had not done in many, many years.

'Pityo, where? Pityo?'

'Maitimo...'

This time his brother's presence was more subtle; less emotions, more images entwined with pain. The fear was lurking at the edges, the whole image reeked of it, but it was not so intense, so Maedhros focused on the scenery.

'I'm coming. Hold on. I'm coming.'

The eldest son of Feanor broke the contact as soon as he could. Osanwe cost him too much and right now he could not waste his time to stand motionless; this way of communication paralysed him. He hurried to prepare for the journey, knowing Vorindon would provide him with a horse.

Just like he ordered, the elves were waiting for him at the yard and on the road, as there was too little place for all of them. Maedhros explained in a few words what had happened and where they were going, then he mounted his horse and led the riders to the gate. They were travelling light as speed was of great importance. Amras had told him plain enough where they were when they fell into a trap. Aside from training and making plans about the future, Maedhros had spent some time studying the nearby terrains, so he knew where to go.

The road by the lakeshore was easy and allowed them to ride fast. Maedhros tangled the reins around the saddlebow and closed his eyes.

'Makalaure. Makalaure. Answer me.'

'Maitimo?' Maglor radiated with surprise and a bit of joy, but mostly with anxiety. Maedhros could sense his awaiting, his questions surrounding him, demanding answers. Suppressing the urge to shut his mind, Maedhros passed the most important news, but when Maglor tried to keep the bond between their minds, he withdrew quickly.

One order and his men urged their horses to gallop.

xxx

The time passed slowly, counted only by constant shaking, but the Enemy's servants were moving fast, terribly fast. Amras could feel the metallic taste of blood, the only liquid in his dried mouth. The inner part of his lip was swollen from constant biting to suppress screams. He tried in vain to protect his broken leg, but every time his boot collided with a stone or a root, a cry threatened to escape his throat. His twisted arms, by which the orcs held him, were blissfully numb, but Amras was too terrified to close his eyes even for a moment. He studied the road they were taking East, trying to memorize it. He knew these lands, but this knowledge was of no use right now. Alone, with a broken leg, and more importantly without any weapon or a horse, he had no chance to escape; even water, where he would be able swim, could not guarantee his success.

Remembering his fallen friends and the fate of Rimpalote, Amras barely managed to fight back nausea. He almost screamed when he hit a stone with his back and then his leg; the orcs paid no attention how they carried him. The only difference was that they changed frequently, as the Noldo was big and heavy for them.

More blood moistened his lips.

Suddenly the orcs stopped and tossed their prisoner on the ground. A violent shake made him let out a sigh, but then an orc moved his arms forward and tied his hands tightly. Amras exhaled deeply, but the relief from changing position was brief; as soon as the blood flowed freely in his veins, his muscles started burning. Don't scream. Dontdontdontdont...

Pulled straight up with one movement, Amras moaned quietly and bit his lips, pressing his elbows to his sides. The dawn was coming, the orcs were surely searching for a shelter to wait through the day, but for a moment Amras feared they would continue dragging him forward.

No such thing happened. An orc pushed some stinky scrap of food into his tied hands and pulled them up to his face. The elf turned away in disgust, but then the creature forced the food down his throat.

There was no force on Arda that would make him swallow it. Amras jerked and pushed the enemy away. His empty stomach cramped and the elf curled in on himself, trying to immobilise his ribs, bruised violently when he was caught.

The first lash fell on his back. Amras froze, only his stomach was still cramping painfully.

"What? Don't you like our food?" growled the orc standing over him. "You've already forgotten, ah? You will beg for a tiniest scrap later."

"Forg..." repeated Amras in a whisper and he froze when he realised who was he taken for. It dawned on him where he was about to be taken. Now he could see the excitement of the orcs, clearly pleased with the prospect of the reward for bringing back the prisoner that had once escaped Angband.

'Maitimo!' Amras closed his eyes, trying to call for his brother, still half surprised he had even managed to connect with him.

Maedhros replied with his steady presence that calmed him down a bit. Amras passed him where they stopped, but the only response he got was a brief reassurance that help was on its way. Amras tried to keep the bond open for longer, but Maedhros backed off, his long forgotten presence disappeared.

A kick in the stomach brought him back to reality. Amras fell heavily on the ground and moved his arms up in an attempt to protect his head; the rotten food slipped from his fingers and the whip that meant to hit his face left a bloody line on his forearm instead.

"You'll regret turning down our hospitality," hissed some other oppressor. "You'll beg us," he mumbled with his mouth full, then bit with delight in the piece of fresh meat he was holding.

All Amras managed to do in response was to throw up and move away a bit. He was trying to crawl as far away from the orcs as he could, but a heavy boot placed on his broken leg pinned him to the ground and left him breathless. Amras's scream echoed far before he bit his teeth in his sleeve in a desperate attempt to compose himself.

Clearly the orcs thought he was trying to free his hands, as they started hitting and kicking him. Amras curled, trying to protect his wounded leg, but once they spotted his weak spot, that was already a lost case. All he could do was to clench his teeth and shut his eyes, not wishing to give them more satisfaction than they already had with an elf at their feet.

At last they left him alone, sore and dirty. His shirt, torn and wet from his sweat and blood, quickly became cold and the ground was chilly. The orcs had taken his cloak and jacket and they had torn his tunic. Amras was glad he had managed to slip his ring from his finger, because otherwise who knew if they would not have cut his finger off, like they had done with beads in his hair. But now that was the smallest of his problems, as he laid with his face mercifully hidden in his arms and prayed for their stop to be as long as possible. Maedhros had promised to get him.

Please let me know what you think.