I have made minor rewrites to the earlier chapters (from chapter 15 onwards) which should not detract too much from the original plot.
21. In the Healing Tents
It was no surprise for Mornel that she encountered Maglor in the healing tents. Maglor would often slip unobtrusively into the tents where the recovering thralls and wounded rested, to offer them peace through his music or to assist the healers in their care. The Maiar would tolerate his presence but many of the elven healers would shrink from him as if he were an orc. Maglor did not react when one old elf spat at him and cursed him as a Kinslayer. Perhaps this was Maglor's way of trying to atone for having failed his brother so long ago. Olorin was right about her music being of aid to the thralls, many of whom were beyond even the care of Irmo and Este's Maiar. It was not uncommon for a patient to appear dowsing only for them to later find his fea had slipped off into Mandos. At least with their music, she and Maglor could offer them some solace in their final hours.
The injuries inflicted on the thralls by their torment in the pits were horrendous. Many were disfigured beyond recognition by scars or had lost limbs. Many more were broken in their mind and spirit. Such had been dragged from the pits by their fellows. Who knew how many more perished in the pits from despair or along the wayside, unable to continue? There were a handful of Dwarves among the patients, who proved to be amazingly resilient in comparison. One greybeard had stoically dealt with the loss of his leg by requesting access to a forge, assorted metals, and tools to work them. He surprised the healers by striding into the tents a fortnight later with a fully-articulated steel leg.
Mornel understood that a handful of Men had aided the escape, weary of their enslavement under Morgoth. They claimed descent from the members of Houses of the Edain who had been enslaved by the Easterlings as they rode west. They spoke of secret tales whispered in the dark by their mothers and grandmothers behind closed doors – tales of the Elf-king Finrod Felagund and Beren's quest, of the Battle of Many Tears, and of the romance between Aegnor and Andreth. Many more were rebelling against their Easterling masters, the same masters who now grew tired of Morgoth's lies and broken promises. Only fear held them captive to him still. These Mannish refugees were hurriedly reunited with their free kinsmen to avoid any misunderstanding with Maedhros. After their betrayal by their Easterling allies, the Feanorions were reluctant to have anything to do with the Secondborn.
"I played chess with Caranthir," the greybeard chortled as he oiled and tinkered with his limb. The old dwarf had slipped back into the tents to check on one of his elvish fellow escapees. He now sat chatting with Mornel, having picked up from camp gossip that she was a sister of the Feanorions. "Very bad loser, he was. He broke the board over his knee after the game. I was young and foolish then. It could have been my head instead of his knee. But he was a fair enough business partner. Had a bit of a soft spot for redhead lasses. Makes me wonder if his wife or sweetheart's one…"
"Yes, his wife has red hair," Mornel conceded. The workings of the dwarf's mechanical limb fascinated her. It functioned almost as well as a flesh and blood limb. The Children of Mahal were renowned for their smith-craft. The limb was as functional and intricate as anything the smiths of Formenos could produce. Perhaps they would be able to fashion a hand for Maedhros. A groan from the patient drew their attention.
"There, there, safe now…" the dwarf reassured the patient who murmured unintelligibly. He was so scarred he was barely recognizable as an elf. His ears had been sliced off, his tongue torn out. One eye socket was empty. He clutched the blanket to his chest with his mangled hands. Underneath the blanket, he was almost skeletal. He had been light enough for the old dwarf to carry him as one would a child. The healers had tried to feed him but his hroa seemed to reject any form of sustenance. He could only sip a few spoons of thin gruel before his stomach spewed everything out. Despite the efforts of the healers and the Maiar, he was fading fast. No one knew who he was or whether he had any kin. The orcs had brought him to the pits some years ago, another escaped thrall informed them. His tongue had been torn out before then.
"Listen here, Elf. The Host of the Valar is here to kick Morgoth's sorry ass back to whatever pit he crawled out of. You are going to hang in there to see that, understand?" the dwarf bellowed. The patient shook his head. Mornel sensed the heavy aura of despair which descended on the patient. They were losing him.
"Lady Mornel! We have to speak regarding your brother!" Lord Galdor fumed as he stormed into the tent. On the heels of that incident with the Mannish thrall, Maedhros had caused another diplomatic incident, this time by throwing a spear at a Vanya noble.
At the sound of Galdor's voice, the mutilated elf turned towards him. Mornel saw a flash of recognition in the elf's remaining eye. She heard the mental shout as clearly as if the patient had actually spoken.
Galdor! Mellon nin!
Lord Galdor froze and stared at the elf. "S-Salgant? Oh Elbereth's mercies! We thought you died when Gondolin fell!"
The Lord of the Tree hastened over and enveloped the patient in a fierce hug. The pair could not speak for a while, so choked up with sobs they were. The dwarf dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a hanky and made an excuse to leave the tent. Suddenly, the patient went limp.
"Don't you dare die on us now, you confounded idiot!" Galdor yelled and shook his fellow lord. Mornel hurried over and felt for a pulse. There was none. Salgant's fea had flown for Mandos.
There were no trees for the pyres of Valinor or the grave markers of the Sindar and Silvans. The earth was hard baked and did not yield easily to their shovels. A long shallow pit was dug some distance from the healing tents. Any patients who had passed in the night were laid to rest in it. A small cairn would be raised over the pit, a marker to all that the pit was occupied. Galdor was in a decidedly foul mood when they buried the last of his fellow lords. He would have struck Maglor when he started to play a lament for the dead had his manservant not stayed his hand.
Any conversation Mornel managed to get with Maglor was guarded on his part as if he did not wish to let on how badly their eldest brother's mental state had deteriorated. She did not meet Maedhros apart from fleeting glimpses among the now-thinning Feanorian ranks. Celebrimbor confided that many of her brother's men now feared his uncle and sought to fight under Arafinwe's or Gil-galad's banner. These 'desertions' were covered up by Maglor lest an increasingly erratic Maedhros chose to hunt down the men and put them to the sword. Whispers among the Feanorians still spoke of how the redhead Maedhros had dealt with Celegorm's lieutenant after Doriath upon hearing he had left the sons of Dior to die in the wilds.
The healing tents were far enough from the battlefield to offer some safety to the patients and healers, but they were near enough to the command tents for Mornel to sit in on the occasional war meeting when the Noldoran felt her opinion would add to the discussion. The sanity and trustworthiness of her brothers was a major concern for many of the war leaders. Many felt Maedhros should be locked up for everyone's safety. Mornel felt this would only enrage her brothers and destroy any remaining goodwill between them and the Host of the Valar. Given their distrust of the Valar, there was no point getting Master Olorin or the other Maiar to tend to their deep hurts.
Apart from the sporadic orc incursion and earth-shake, Angband was quiet. Earendil's crew and the Great Eagles kept a wary watch on the dark peaks. Arafinwe wondered if Morgoth was planning a sudden attack on the Host as he had done during the Battle of the Sudden Flame. Gil-galad had no wish to remain waiting for four centuries and suggested they attack Angband. The suggestion was diplomatically ruled out by the Noldoran and Ingwion. They did not know what horrors the pits held and it would be a meaningless loss of life. The young High King of the Noldor grudgingly deferred to his elders' judgement at Mornel's coaxing.
"What do you think he is planning?" a grey-faced Vanya captain asked. After the decades of war and death, his eyes were tired. "My men grow weary with longing for the Blessed Lands…"
"I prefer to think he is cowering from Lords Tulkas and Orome in the deepest hole he can find in his fortress," Mornel replied tartly. "This war is long and hard. It will get harder. Our resolve cannot waver now. Neither can we throw the entire war on a foolhardy move."
"Hear, hear! My herald speaks wisely. We cannot afford any more divisions among ourselves. Neither should we act rashly," Arafinwe spoke. "We will continue to watch Angband and prepare for any battle that comes. We must hold fast to our faith in the Valar. I will seek an audience with them through Lord Eonwe." He needed to know what actions, if any, the Valar and Maiar were taking against the Black Foe. Were they to fight the Balrogs and other terrors still lurking in Angband?
In her free time, Mornel would seek out her nephew at his forge. Orders for armour and blades kept him busy. Celebrimbor longed for a time when he could create things of beauty instead of weapons.
"Will you return to Aman with us?" Mornel asked one night after sharing tales of the glorious beauty of Tirion, the sedate charms of Alqualonde, and the rustic environs of Formenos.
"Nay," Celebrimbor replied as he tapped out a dent in a breastplate. "I was born on these shores and I have no desire to sail as yet. There's so much I wish to learn from the Children of Mahal with regards to my craft." The desire for new knowledge blazed bright in his eyes. "I saw a dwarf with a copper leg which works as well as a real one. You should have seen that knee and ankle…"
"Indeed, if we could have such a hand made for Maedhros if he decides not to sail…" Mornel knew her brothers' stubbornness. She had also noticed that it was beyond the powers of the Maiar and Valar to restore limbs outside the Gardens of Lorien. Many warriors from Valinor had already lost limbs in battle from wounds or poison. Oddly, those who came to terms with their status as amputees looked upon Maedhros as an inspiration. If a cursed Feanorion could fight the forces of Morgoth without a hand, why not a warrior of the Host blessed by the Valar?
"Atto fashioned a prototype for him. We brought it to Himring as a gift. Everything went well until he tried to fit it on Uncle Maedhros. My father came home with a broken jaw. He could not bear to have anything metallic strapped against his skin. Did you not notice his shield's ironwood and not metal?" Maglor would have to strap the shield onto Maedhros' left arm before any battle. Celebrimbor still kept his distance from his uncles although he would agree to fix their armour and weapons if Maglor asked it of him.
"Gildor is riding with a patrol of Lord Amdir's men to meet with the Longbeards. He told me so when I shoed his horse. Legolas is trying to pick up Quenya. Lord Galdor has indicated his desire to sail when this mess is over," Celebrimbor updated his aunt on the news. "No news from Lord Celeborn and the Sindar as yet."
The Sindar and Silvan units were sent into the forests where they excelled in tracking and ambushing orcs. Others were sent to guard refugees fleeing eastwards as Beleriand crumbled. Hence Mornel saw little of her cousin Galadriel and the Sindar lords. Lord Cirdan wrote that he had found an isle left from after the crumbling of the shore which provided some wood and a safe haven for ship-building. A handful of refugees sought shelter there alongside the ship-workers. He added that the isle came with a rundown keep for the elves to shelter in. Celebrimbor wondered aloud if the isle was Himring. Mornel thought it would be fitting that the former Feanorian fortress should have been used to aid the Falmari and the refugees.
Author's Notes:
There was one version of the Fall of Gondolin where Lord Salgant was captured and brought to Angband as a prisoner. None of the other thrall might have recognized him or the link with Gondolin since it was said that he was kept as Morgoth's buffoon for some time before the War.
A question I was considering is how much healing the Valar and the Maiar could offer outside Lorien when even Miriel faded from exhaustion in Lorien. I presume that there is a limit to what can be done and there will be casualties in the war. Basically, Olorin has signed Mornel up for palliative care work and Maglor is volunteering.