Impossible choice
"No!"
The terror in the elf's voice drew attention of his companions, at least those who bothered to care for anything else than a few moments of rest before continuing on fleeing.
"I have no choice." The healer, kneeling by the bedding, looked up at the anxious elf, crouching by his unconscious friend.
"What's the matter, Alcarino?" asked Maedhros as he approached them.
The healer sighed and got up. He was weary from endless care of the wounded and the poison running through his own veins marked its existence with dark circles on his greyish face. His clothes were red and stiff from blood of the wounded, but from his own as well.
"I cannot do anything more." Alcarino's voice was calm and collected, but tired. "I can cut off his arm or leave it and wait for him to die."
"Save him." Came the short order. They could not afford any more loses.
Alcarino nodded and rolled up his stiff sleeves. The elf crouching by the wounded froze in disbelief, but dared not to speak.
"I shall require assistance."
Maedhros looked at his elves. His brothers in arms, weathered in many battles, who now would not meet his eyes. The commander could see their terror and shame for their reaction, embarrassment of those who dared to glance at him. There was no good option in the choice Alcarino offered, but no one would say so in front of Maedhros.
"You and you." The eldest son of Feanor pointed at the crouching elf and his companion behind him, who was barely holding himself put.
They both looked at their commander, then at the unconscious wounded, but before any of them managed to say something, another order came.
"You will change the guards by the water," said Maedhros and the elves left hastily; there was a reason why they were being sent as far away as possible. "I will help you. I'll hold him down."
Now the elves around were visibly ill at ease, but Alcarino had no time to think about it. He simply picked another two that seemed most composed. He gave orders without checking if they were followed, as the elves he chose had the nerves to assist him.
"It may still not work," he warned quietly.
"If it worked in my case, with what Fin..." The name of the fallen king stuck in Maedhros's throat. He shook his head and added more calmly. "It will work."
The healer did not say out loud that success depended mostly not on his abilities, but on the fëa of the wounded – whether it would be able to stay in the mutilated hröa or not.
The elves around tried not to look, but they could not pretend they did not hear. Neither Alcarino nor his helpers paid attention to that, focused solely on the wounded.
When Alcarino finally finished, they were all covered with blood and the Noldor assisting him turned indifferent; horror was displaced by emptiness as they followed the last orders and cleaned. None of them noticed how much Alcarino's wounded arm shook when he finally stood up and took upon himself the most ungrateful task. Maedhros was kneeling by the wounded; he owed him that much.
Only the sudden commotion and alarmed cries made him jerk and look to see Alcarino fall suddenly as if someone kicked his legs from beneath him. Maedhros could not help him, as the wounded was still desperately clinging to his arm, but the elves around took care of the healer, helping him sit up and passing some water.
Alcarino sat like that, for a moment not even trying to conceal his weariness. He had been looking after he wounded for the past few days, but this last surgery was simply too much.
Maedhros finally freed himself from the weakening grasp. He caressed the wet cheek of the wounded, trying not to see the emptiness in his eyes, and left him with one of his friends. He approached Alcarino, who had his own bandages being checked.
"How's...?" The healer immediately looked at his patient, but Maedhros's hand prevented him from getting up.
"Leave him to the others," ordered the commander. Unlike his warriors, visibly worried by the healer's weakness, he had to rely solely on cool calculations.
"Nelyafinwe..." Alcarino closed his eyes and sighed, bending and straightening his fingers as if he was trying to improve blood circulation.
"That was not a suggestion." Maedhros reminded him firmly. "We need you, all of us. Your health is more important to me."
Perhaps someone could accuse him for being selfish, taking the best healer away from the elf they had just crippled. Perhaps they could even say Maedhros did it so Alcarino could look after his brothers, but it didn't matter – the overall calculation was cruel and left no place for discussion. Many lives depended on the healer's health.
"Rest. Get some sleep. No wounded will be left alone," promised Maedhros. "And you will not help anyone if you collapse."
"It seems you are using my own arguments against me." A ghost of smile appeared on Alcarino's pale face, but it faded as soon as he glanced at the crippled elf and at the wagon with the wounded he was still not sure whether they would survive. "Wake me if you deem it necessary."
They both knew Maedhros would do no such thing unless there was no other option.
In the falling dusk the refugees welcomed with relief the silence that embraced the camp. Apart from the guards and those watching over the wounded, most of the elves were resting. They still could not be sure if the enemy would not get them to slaughter them all.
Only the mutilated elf could not calm down, and hearing his sobbing, the Noldor looked away in sham; they could not help him. Maedhros went back and sat by him. He spoke quietly, keeping his voice composed and reassuring, explaining and trying to bring some comfort. Finally,the wounded stopped sobbing, but it was long before Maedhros left him.
The crippled elf did not live till morning. His fëa escaped the body before dawn, though it seemed he had fallen into a deep, healing sleep. Before they continued their journey, they hid the body from the devastation; it was all they could do. Maedhros was silent when he was leaving another of his companions behind and later, as he helped Alcarino get on the wagon, so that he could watch over the wounded.