I'm sorry it took so long.

Chapter II

The rooms of healing were overcrowded, though Alcarino had had additional chambers adapted for the wounded. In here, the work never stopped. Beds had been brought and put in rows. For some, cots had been prepared directly on the floor. Two or three healers were still working among the wounded, checking on their state, redressing wounds or assisting with the simplest tasks.

Maglor leaned on his brother as they walked in search of Alcarino. He kept glancing to the sides to see those being taken care of and his expression grew sourer as he clearly saw fewer of his people than he expected. Maedhros dearly wished to talk to him in private, but Maglor was too feverish and weakened to be making much sense anyway, so getting him to the healer was his priority.

They found Alcarino sitting by the desk squeezed between the side doors and an operating table. He was preparing some ointments, but stopped as soon as he saw Maedhros heading towards him. He was up on his feet the next moment, motioning the wounded to sit on his chair.

"What's wrong?"

"Fever," Maedhros reported shortly. "I want to take Makalaure back to my rooms if you deem him well enough for that, but I don't know what's wrong."

"Let me see, Kanafinwe." Alcarino leaned over the wounded. "I wasn't the one who treated your injuries." He gently reached to the side the singer favoured.

"'S f'ne," Maglor jerked and tried to take away his arm. "My throat," he rasped and coughed.

"Oh." Alcarino changed his approach at once. He reached for some thick concoction and forced Maglor to swallow a spoonful. The wounded sank deeper on the chair and passively let the healer redress his wounds, but Maedhros listened with growing anxiety as Alcarino spoke of the aftereffects the dragon had on the Eldar. It seemed that those who had been the most exposed to the fumes the creature produced, suffered from some kind of poisoning. Their lungs were hindered the way it made it hard to breathe. Alcarino had the worst cases observed at all times. Many of them, like Maglor, could barely speak or could not at all. That seemed to trouble Maglor the most, but Maedhros was more concerned about the breathing problems. Given circumstances, he wasn't going to let his brother off his sight in the next hours of supposed rest.

Alcarino checked on the burns and administered some powerful drugs that would ease the pain and allow Maglor to rest. He deemed it safe to let the younger of the brothers leave, on the condition that someone was going to keep an eye on him. Maedhros was not going to take any chances anyway, but he assured the healer he would appoint a guard to stay by his brother, should he have to leave. Since there was little else the healer could do and Maglor was already half asleep, Maedhros forced him to get up and they left slowly.

Once they made it back to Maedhros's chambers, Maglor headed straight to the bed and buried himself deep in the blankets, though the room was lit and heated, and the bed itself warmed. Maedhros passed him another blanket, then finally took off his cloak and tossing it on an empty chair, he sat in his armchair.

But Maglor didn't intend to lose himself to the healing sleep just yet. He propped himself against the pillows and whispered. "Can you send for Helwamírie? Didn't see her wounded?"

Maedhros paused before he could pour himself a glass of wine someone had left for them. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he exhaled, then looked at his brother. "Makalaure... Helwamírie didn't make it here."

Maglor stared at him, a blank stare that brought forth an image of a lost child. "What?" he choked. "She led the column, we secured the back-" The rest was lost in a coughing fit and Maglor leaned forwards, wincing as the spasms pulled on his injured side.

"I'm sorry, brother." Maedhros moved and sat at the edge of the bed. He placed his arm around Maglor's shoulders and waited for the fit to pass, then gently helped him lie back down. "I don't know what exactly happened, or rather I know too little and too many details at once to make sense of them. I can send for Naltanáro later. He's doing fine job working with Voro and he should know more about your people. But not now, Kano. Not now," he repeated as Maglor tried to sit back, and held him firmly. Maglor turned away from him, trying to hide his tears.

"We couldn't..."

"No, don't speak, Kano." Maedhros placed his hand on his good cheek and forced him to turn back towards him. "I am glad you made it here. Now rest and we will deal with the situation tomorrow."

"We won't." What left Maglor's throat sounded like a sob. "Not- dragon-"

"We will deal with whatever we have to," Maedhros said firmly. He leaned and placed a kiss on his brother's forehead. "Sleep now while you can, for I won't grant you that luxury forever," he smiled sadly and wiped a treacherous tear with his thumb, earning a ghost of smile in return.

xxx

By the time Maglor woke again, daylight was lurking through the curtains and Maedhros was nowhere in sight. There was an elf, a Noldo from his brother's closest companions, keeping guard by the doors. Knowing how ill he must have looked the previous day, or perhaps how he still looked, and considering what he had heard of Alcarino's concerns, Maglor didn't blame Maedhros for taking extra precautions. Still, he reassured the guard he was feeling well enough to be left alone for a moment and sent him to find Naltanáro, unless he was resting. Once he left, Maglor rose to let more light in. The sun was low on the sky and seemed pale, but it was enough to highlight the crystal patterns the frost had painted on the windows. He let himself admire them for a moment before carefully lowering himself on Maedhros's armchair. He managed to swallow a little bit of soup someone left for him. The guard was swift, though, and returned before he could finish.

"My lord," Naltanáro went in and gave Maglor a curt bow. He was limping and though he did his best to hide it, it was plain he had suffered during the flight and was yet to recover.

"I'm glad to see you alive," whispered Maglor and pointed at the nearest empty chair.

Naltanáro sat gratefully and stretched his leg. "This fortress has far too many steps for me now," he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, but neither of them smiled.

"I need to know what we've got," Maglor noticed with relief that at least Naltanáro wasn't affected by the dragon and his voice, though sounded weary, was almost normal. "Please fill me in."

Naltanáro came prepared and as he began to report, he seemed almost indifferent, no matter how grave the news was. He had not yet managed to prepare a whole list of those who made it to Himring alive, but the rough estimation was enough to make Maglor's heart sink. He listened quietly as Naltanáro spoke of accommodations they made, of support they got from Vorindon and other Maedhros's people. It was easier to estimate how many of the wounded would soon be able to join in with some easier tasks, and how many needed longer to recover. Naltanáro spoke nothing of those whom the enemy could yet best and send to the halls of Mandos and Maglor did not ask, too overwhelmed by the numbers he already got. So few... In the heat of first the fight, then the desperate flight he had had no means nor strength left to estimate anything. But the numbers were cruel and many of his friends and companions were lost, Helwamírie among them. It was like a fresh wound to the heart, for Helwamírie was dear to him, a friend and a steadfast advisor.

"What happened to her?" A lot of gruesome details could wait, but this much he ought to know now.

Naltanáro lowered his head and shut his eyes. "Remember the wagons we found abandoned, my lord? Those with the crying infant? From what I gathered, they were some villagers from the north. They were fleeing the orcs and when Helwamírie saw them in need, she took those closest to her and rushed to their aid. But she had too few around her and she was slain. I don't know who took charge later, but they rushed on to reach Himring. Hence the baby they missed."

"At least we found the child," Maglor whispered and coughed. It was a small mercy to see the infant among those who reached the relative safety of his brother's fortress. Taking a few sips of water to soothe his throat, Maglor allowed himself a moment to regain composure. "Thank you, Naltanáro. Maedhros speaks highly of your work. I'll be up in a few days... khhh... I hope. In the meantime, don't overdo yourself. Get whatever help you need."

"I'll manage, my lord," promised Naltanáro. He seemed uneasy. "If you want someone else... I mean, Helwamírie's position... I apologise, lord Maedhros needed someone and with you out cold and Helwamírie gone, it just..."

Maglor raised his hand to silence him. "I am glad I can rely on you, Naltanáro. You are a good and loyal friend and I welcome you with open heart, though the situation is grave. I want you to try and get a full record who made it here. We need to know who survived. Ask the captains to prepare the lists of their units, appoint someone to count the civilians. Maedhros is going to need that," taking one last sip and putting the mug down, Maglor stood up slowly and winced as the movement jolted his burned side. "I need to talk to my brother."

Naltanáro gave him a scrutinizing look. "And see a healer."

Maglor only sighed. "That too."

xxx

Maedhros's coat was too long and the edge almost swept the floor. Maglor pulled it closer around his shoulders before stepping outside and nodded to the guard who opened the doors for him. The draught the healers had given him dulled the pain in his side, but he preferred to keep his wounded arm immobilised in a sling, which was way more limiting than he would have liked.

The frost bit the moment he stepped outside and Maglor lowered his head to hide his mouth and nose in the scarf. The fabric rubbed against his raw cheek, but it was better than the icy snowflakes. The wind howled and with the snow each blast pulled from the ground and whirled, even elven eyes could not see far. Already so cold as if he had nothing to protect him, Maglor wondered if he was well enough to be up and about, but Vorindon claimed Maedhros was somewhere on the walls, so he only quickened his pace.

The narrow stairs leading to the walls, now covered with treacherous ice under the layer of snow, proved to be a challenge and left Maglor far more exhausted than he would have wished. A violent blow of the wind almost threw him off balance and he would have fallen, save for the wall he was pushed against.

"Lord Maedhros!" someone called behind him.

Maglor needed s moment to understand that it was his brother's scarlet cloak that misled someone in this dreadful weather. As he turned, the Noldo realised which son of Feanor he had before him. Maglor opened his mouth, but what came out was just a violent fit of coughing that made him double over. Before he managed to articulate his question, the guard pointed him the north-east corner of the walls, with a narrow watchtower rising over the battlements.

Maedhros was there indeed, keeping watch among his soldiers like he usually did. Vorindon and the rest of their companions had long since given up insisting that didn't have to join them. They got used to the fact that their commander needed to have everything under control and in face of an attack, he was the one leading them instead of passing orders from the behind. Even the worst weather would not make him change his habit, though he too could not pierce the blizzard.

"What are you doing here?" Maedhros sighed with reproach the moment he saw his younger brother.

"Looking for you," Maglor rasped and pulled the cloak closer. "Feeling better," he lied and coughed. Speaking outside was a poor idea.

Maedhros just glared at him and helped him pull the scarf up. Maglor leaned forwards in a vain attempt to escape the snow that seemed to fall almost horizontally. He let Maedhros push him behind the wall of the tower, which provided some shelter from wind and snow.

"Don't speak, we'll talk inside. I'll just tell them I'm leaving my post." With that, Maedhros opened the doors and exchanged a few words with the guards. He was back with Maglor a moment later and strode towards the stairs. Only there did he realise that his brother was somewhat wobbly and had trouble keeping up with him. He waited for Maglor at the top of the stairs and offered him a steadying hand.

Maedhros's office seemed to be as much a mess as the whole fortress. The desk, usually so neatly organised, was piled with documents and notes and the abandoned plate suggested that the lord of Himring couldn't stop working even for a meal. If Maglor was surprised to see such a change to his brother's habits, he showed it not.

"I need to know what's going on."

Maedhros nodded. There were things he did not wish yet to discuss where anyone could hear him, but in the privacy of his office he could allow himself to speak freely. The news he got was to be shared with the others, but not just yet and the last thing they needed were rumours whispered in the corners, rumours that would only fuel the already nervous atmosphere.

Glancing up, he saw a raven still resting on the shelf. The bird came at dawn despite the blizzard and once fed, it picked the highest spot in the chamber, knowing that no elf would harm it or disturb its sleep. Even now, the raven only glared at the two brothers, as if offended that someone dared spoil the well-earned rest, and hid its beak back between the wings.

"A word came from Tyelkormo," Maedhros spoke at last and passed a note to Maglor. "He and Curvo flee west. From what I gather, they could nor risk cutting their way here. Thank goodness they didn't, I honestly don't know how we could have fit anyone else," he admitted and went on even as Maglor was reading the short message. "They met a few survivors from Dorthonion. It seems it's not just the Gap that has fallen."

Maglor sank deeper into his chair, staring the scrap of paper he was holding, as if willing it to give him more details. "Nothing about their forces," he muttered. "Nothing about casualties..."

"Little news is better than none," Maedhros claimed forcefully. "At least we know they managed to flee, which is more than we can say about Aikanaro and Angarato." This part of Celegorm's note was a blow, for Finrod's younger brothers held an important ground and with their domain gone, and with the Gap turned into ashes, Himring was a lone stand in the lands now controlled by Morgoth. The way to Hithlum was going to be way more dangerous without Angrod and Aegnor securing the pass, and Maedhros wasn't convinced they could speak of a siege anymore.

"I cannot hope to send messengers now from here," he continued. "But perhaps Tyelko had the mind to send warning to Nolofinwe and Findekano too. I can only try to send the raven back and hope it will manage to find Tyelkormo."

Maglor clenched his hand on the note as the realisation sank in. He was shaking, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. "I'm sorry, brother. I have no words," he whispered, the misery of the latest events weighting him down. "No... We had no chance, Nelyo. I tried, we tried, but we couldn't stand a chance."

"I do not doubt it." Maedhros looked from the map he was studying. "Is that what troubles you so? That I think-"

"No." Maglor interrupted him. "You weren't there, didn't see. That dragon... It's nothing like Findekano said when he chased that beast away."

"Nothing like your song?" It was a pale attempt of humour, but Maedhros tried anyway. He knew the only song about this attack was going to be a lament for all those who had fallen.

Maglor seemed not to have heard him at all. "It's bigger. It's stronger. It spat fire and set my city aflame in mere moments," he pushed himself up and joined Maedhros by the desk. "I don't know what ill will that monster possesses, but even with my best cavalry, we were nothing."

Maedhros's hand placed on his shoulder seemed to startle him. Maglor jerked and the raven above them ruffled its wings.

"Know that I would rather have you here with fleeing with as many people as you managed to save, than having you and all your warriors dying heroically. High up here, we stand a better chance than in the open fields," the voice of the eldest son of Feanor was quiet, yet carried a warning and a threat towards anyone who would dare attack his fortress. "We shall have a full council meeting soon, but for now, I need to get all this," he gestured wildly at the pile of notes, "organised. Somehow."

Thank you for reading.