I'm writing this story as a part of whumptober2020 event. The list of prompts is available here: post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated

Prompts filled so far:
No.7 I've got you, support
No. 13 Chemical pneumonia
No. 23 Exhaustion

Chapter 1

The scene taking place below was close to the utter chaos. The sea of elves, horses and wagons seemed to fill in every street around the inner fortress. They came all mixed, civilians and warriors alike, Maglor's and his own, who had dwelled away from Himring.

Maedhros watched the commotion from the height of the inner walls, but as the refugees, most without horses now, reached the courtyard, he ran down the stairs. Every set of hands seemed to be needed, even a defective one, he thought with a hint of grim amusement as he helped one of his soldiers down from his mount; his people alone came with the horses. Almost everyone carried a wounded or a child. As one of them reported to Maedhros, those who were not helping in the transportation, stayed behind to protect the column of the refugees.

Alcarino, indispensable Alcarino was there from the very beginning, ordering the worst wounded to be taken to the chambers that would be adapted for healing rooms. Maedhros left these arrangements for him and the other healers, knowing they would know best what they were going to need. He appointed two of his guards to take the sleepy, exhausted children to the refectory and get them warm. A few women went with them, while other, healthier, remained and helped with the wounded or the stock that had to be kept under roof.

Maedhros worked alongside his men, but every time they helped a wounded from horse or a wagon to be taken to the healing ward, he glanced to see if it wasn't Maglor. In all the commotion he had no means to ask about him when there was do much to do. He forced back the gnawing feeling of panic every time he pushed another child towards the warm hall or answered a question of yet another confused refugee.

Maglor was the last to come. They rode in, a small group of soldiers who barely found space in the already crowded yard. Everyone, save for a few Maedhros's men, was dirty and covered with ash and blood, but the eldest son of Feanor spotted the familiar silhouette of his brother. He answered some question without bothering to check who was asking and rushed towards Maglor, who swayed dangerously in his saddle.

"Kano!" Maedhros kept him steady before he fell.

"We couldn't..." Maglor rasped and stopped, coughing violently. He was shaking badly, his good hand clenched on the saddle. His tunic was burned, his trousers torn and his cloak was all but scraps. Moving them aside, Maedhros saw that he was missing a sleeve and a bracer.

"I see," he nodded shortly and put his arms around his waist. "I've got you," he muttered as Maglor all but fell into his arms and went limp.

xxx

Cold. Wet. Hurts.

I fell, Maglor thought. I fell and they left me in the snow.

Terrified, he snapped his eyes open and saw a ceiling. The pain remained, radiating from his burned arm and side, and his cheek stung with barest flinch, but the only wet thing turned out to be a poultice on his throat, which he removed as soon as he sat up.

We managed, he realised and a wave of relief washed over him. He looked around and recognised Maedhros's bedroom. The sorry remains of wood in the fireplace explained the chill in the chamber, but instead of burying himself deeper in the blankets, Maglor rose from the bed to search for some clothes. His own he located on a pile in the corner, but they were all but useless. His shoes alone were still wearable. Cold and exhausted as he was, he would have sunk back in hope to get warmer, but his throat was dry and sore, and his stomach cramped. He had not eaten since their escape from his ruined stronghold. The fumes of the dragon were suffocating and poisonous, and the smoke seemed to have burned their throats, those who had been exposed the longest. Maglor had only managed to swallow some water on their way. In all the confusion he found it hard to count how many days they had been running away.

Shaking even with a blanket tossed over his shoulders, Maglor ventured unsteadily to his brother's wardrobe. He found clean trousers and a belt, a shirt and a thick jacket. Dressing up proved to be a challenge, but at least someone had covered the burns with bandages, which was a considerable improvement. He hadn't had a chance to address his wounds after the burning ceiling beam had fallen on him and almost trapped him, so his torn clothes rubbed against them during the whole way to Himring.

The clothes helped only a little and Maglor was still shaking. Since he could not find any cloak and his own was too ruined to use, he tossed a blanket over his shoulders and left. He intended to see where his people were and if they had been provided with everything, but before he went downstairs, a fit of coughing made him double over. Clutching his blanket and using the nearest wall as support, he reached the great hall, but one glance was enough to ensure him he would not find his warriors there. The hall had been adapted for a temporary shelter for civilians, mostly women and children. There were cauldrons with food on the tables and bedrolls spread on the floor. Maglor recognised one of the sleeping boys, his father was among his guards... Had been, he realised with a pang of remorse and looked away. There, by the wall, one of the Sindar elleths was rocking a noldorin infant. He vaguely remember having seen the child being rescued from a broken, empty wagon. It was a small relief to know that the child had survived the journey. He smiled briefly as the elleth looked up, then winced and stepped back on the corridor.

The kitchens were close. Maglor slipped inside and welcomed the inviting heat with relief. Elves were working tirelessly by the long table, one of its end currently occupied by a few of Maedhros's guards. There were cauldrons with stew boiling over the fire.

"What do you need?" one of the elleths asked, clearly not recognising Maglor as she looked briefly over the bowl she was carrying. "There's warm food in the refectory, I've just brought it," she suggested. "Or is it the healers you're looking for?"

"No," whispered Maglor, unsure he could be heard in the commotion. He came closer to the table. "I can't-" he coughed and placed his good hand on his throat.

"Oh, of course," the elleth nodded in understanding. "Failien, where is that soup?" She called over her shoulder.

"Coming!" One of the elleths working by the fire poured a huge mug with a mushed soup and turned around. "My lord Kanafinwe!" she exclaimed and reached them hastily. "Do you need anything? Shall I send for anyone?"

"No," Maglor rasped and coughed. He took the mug and curled his cold fingers around it. "Thank you. Don't mind me, I'll be gone soon."

His stomach growled, so he took a generous sip and regretted it just as quickly, as it was too warm for his raw throat. Putting the soup aside, he sank miserably on a free bench standing by the wall. It was delightfully warm and Maglor leaned against it, tugging the blanket closely. He had to wait for the soup to cool down anyway...

xxx

The Gap was no more. Maglor's city was burned to the ground, so were the lands. The news Maedhros had managed to gather from Maglor's people was full of despair and bore little hope. The casualties were great, impossible for now to assess. He learned that his brother had sent messengers to Curufin and Celegorm, and south to Caranthir and Amras, but there was no way of knowing whether they had reached their brothers in time to warn them against the upcoming attack. With the dragon roaming freely and destroying everything on his way, and with the hoards of orcs and other nasty creatures of Morgoth, the chances were small. And the sheer force and impact of the attack suggested the enemy was not going to withdraw unless stopped.

Maedhros dearly wished he could gather his warriors and go after the dragon and the orcs that dared destroy their hard-earned peace, but it was impossible for now. The beast the refugees spoke of was greater and stronger than the young lizard Fingon had once chased away. Maedhros knew too little to risk venturing and emptying the fortress of all the soldiers. There were too many wounded among Maglor's people and they needed time to heal before they could aid Himring's crew and reinforce the defences.

For now he settled for sending patrols great in number to check the neighbourhood for any possible survivors. And though his hand itched for a sword, Maedhros decided to remain within his fortress rather than to join his people. There was too much to do to leave it to Vorindon only. The structure of the fortress had to be rearranged to find accommodation for all the refugees, the weakest parts of the stronghold had to be refreshed. Maedhros needed a complex plan, but for now it seemed they were only reacting to the problems at hand, finding temporary solutions to wield the chaos just enough to allow any actual planning to take place.

With all that, a sudden break took Maedhros by surprise. Silence fell on the walls, nobody came with reports or questions. The courtyard seemed almost abandoned, with the wounded transported already to the healing wards. Only the wagons, now almost empty, stood witness to the earlier commotion. Horses had been taken care of, people had been ushered inside. It seemed the whole fortress was resting after a busy night, but it was just an impression. Inside the walls, some were indeed resting and gathering strength after the desperate escape, but others were still working tirelessly - healers, cooks and warriors alike. It seemed though that nobody needed their commander at the moment, so Maedhros decided to use the break while he could. Only now did he realise when was the last time he had eaten. Since the refectory served temporarily as a sleeping place and there was little space for anything, let alone gathering for a meal like they normally would, Maedhros headed directly for the kitchens. He intended to grasp some food and check on his brother. He had not received any alarming news concerning his state, so he assumed Maglor was resting and hoped they could talk soon.

As soon as he entered the kitchens, he spotted his brother's familiar silhouette. Maglor was sleeping, crooked, leaning against the chimney, with a cocoon of a colourful blanket around his arms. Maedhros reached him quickly and almost tripped a mug standing dangerously close to the edge of the bench.

"Kano." Leaning, he placed his hand on Maglor's good shoulder. "Makalaure, wake up."

"Mmmm," the singer muttered incoherently and coughed, grasping the edges of the blanket slipped from his shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" asked Maedhros and brushed away tussled hair from his brother's face, careful not to touch the dried ointment on his cheek. "Kano, do you know where you are?"

"Kitchen," Maglor rasped and opened his eyes reluctantly. "You killed the dragon?"

"What?" Maedhros shook his head in surprise. "No, whatever gave you that idea?"

"Wake me when you're done," Maglor closed his eyes again and curled.

"And meanwhile you will be sleeping in the kitchen?" Maedhros arched an eyebrow. "No way, there is enough space in my rooms for both of us."

Maglor sighed and looked up. "Forgot how bloody cold it is here," he complained so quietly his brother could barely hear him.

Cold. Maedhros cursed when he realised it was the chill that had chased his brother from his rooms, as probably someone had forgotten to fuel the fire. It was hardly surprising in all the mess they were still trying to wield, but the heat was highly desirable, if the way Maglor pressed his back against the chimney was any indication.

"Now that can be fixed," Maedhros promised him. He fished one of guards who had just finished eating and sent him to have the fire lit and the bed warmed. Seeing that Maglor was now a bit more awake, he picked the mug that was a little beyond his reach and took a sip.

"Ugh. It's cold," he made a face and intended to ask someone to add some hot soup, but Maglor snatched the mug from his grasp.

"Good. Maybe I can swallow that."

Maedhros left his brother sipping the soup carefully and ventured for some food. After so many hours of keeping vigil in the cold, he too could feel the chill creeping on him, so he gladly accepted a bowl of hot stew. He sat next to Maglor and having placed the bowl on his knees, ate, glancing at his brother from time to time.

"Any better?" he inquired quietly when Maglor put his mug aside and curled again.

"Cold," he whispered. "Where are my men?"
Maedhros let out an exasperated snort. "Everywhere. Alcarino is taking care of the wounded, the civilians are being accommodated. Vorindon took those who can join my people in defenses," he explained shortly, watching his brother with concern. After a moment in the kitchen he was already sweaty in his robes, yet Maglor was still shaking. His eyes were glassy, his breathing shallow and Maedhros didn't like the unhealthy flush on his cheeks. But the most significant was the fact that Maglor didn't care at all where he had chosen to rest. "We'll talk later, Kano. Now I think Alcarino should take a look at you."

Maglor only nodded and rose slowly. A sharp hiss escaped his lips. Seeing how unsteady he was on his feet, Maedhros put his arm around his back, careful not to touch his brother's right side. Maglor leaned on him heavily as they walked towards the temporary healing ward.

Thank you for reading. Good or bad, please let me know what you think.