Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Tolkien's wonderful world.
Chapter 3: March On
They all felt Makalaurë's death, but Nelyo felt it the most. Makalaurë had always been his silent support and now he was gone. He wasn't there offering a comforting embrace when Nelyo had to break the news to their other brothers. He didn't swagger over with that goofy smile on his face when Nelyo lit the memorial fire and tell his older brother not to be so morose. He didn't come storming in and demand to know what his brothers were doing when Nelyo and Pityo cleaned out his tent.
Nelyo ended up keeping Makalaurë's harp. His brother had loved that instrument and Nelyo didn't have the heart to give it away. Cleaning out Makalaurë's room was the closest Nelyo let himself get to grieving for their lost brother. He forced himself to go about masking his emotions and pretending it didn't hurt. He couldn't afford to be weak; he owed his people that much.
Tyelko often rode out alone, a whirlwind of destruction slaughtering any Orc he came across. There were seldom times he returned without their black blood staining his blade. Curvo grew more volatile and frequently locked himself in the makeshift forge, refusing to talk to anyone save Tyelpe and occasionally Tyelko. More than once Nelyo heard him screaming at and cursing the Valar, demanding to know why they took their revenge on Makalaurë.
Pityo drifted aimlessly around the camp. With the death of his favorite brother, he had grown listless. His gaze was often far away and his face twisted in grief. Moryo, surprisingly enough, slowly took Makalaurë's place. He wasn't as patient or levelheaded as Makalaurë, but he out of all the others was willing to help with the responsibilities of the camp. He would often sit for hours, sifting through reports and numbers as though he found comfort in the neat lines, monotonous of writing.
A few months after the discovery of the slaughter, a messenger from Morgoth appeared outside the camp, carrying a message for Nelyo. The Orc was let into the camp under heavy guard. Nelyo gathered his remaining brothers before greeting the emissary.
Nelyo looked around at them, feeling the hole in his heart. Moryo was trying his best to emulate Nelyo's stoic demeanor, but was failing miserably. Tyelko stood protectively between his brothers and the door while Pityo slouched in the corner a pale and miserable wreak. Curvo arrived late, per usual, still dirty from the forge with Tyelpe trailing behind him like a shadow.
"Why are you letting it into the camp?" Curvo demanded without preamble, marching over to Nelyo, "It could be a spy or assassin."
Before Nelyo could answer, the Orc was led into the tent. The creature was large and more intelligent looking than most other Orcs. It reminded Nelyo of the Orc who had delivered Morgoth's terms for a treaty just months before
"I have a message for the 'king' of the Noldor," the creature's voice was raspy and grating, thick with sarcasm when he named Nelyo's title. Nelyo wearily gestured for him to continue.
"My master, Lord Morgoth has no wish for open war, yet you sent an armed escort to a talk of peace. However, my lord is merciful. He is willing to put aside your warmongering and forget past grievances if you abide by his terms: you are to relinquish any claim to the Silmarils and you will come no farther East, dwelling either here, turning south or returning to Aman."
"My answer is no," Nelyo responded without even thinking about it. The Orc smirked.
"My master suspected as much. If you were resistant, I was commanded to tell you that if you do not comply, your brother will suffer."
"My brother?" Nelyo's voice was dangerously low. He dreaded the answer, but wanted to know it all the same. The other Elves in the tent shifted uneasily. The Orc's smile widened as he saw the discomfort he was causing.
"The sad, dark-haired one; Kanafinwë I believe he said his name was."
"Kanafinwë is dead. Morgoth slaughter him and his guards at the peace treaty," Moryo snarled back before Nelyo could answer. Orc simply held out a lock of hair for Nelyo to look at. It was dark in color and bound with a leather thong, but besides that had no distinguishing elements. The Elves started at it unimpressed.
"And what is that supposed to be?" Nelyo demanded, arching an eyebrow.
"Proof that your precious brother is still alive," the Orc shrugged, "I see why he's known as the Singer. His voice is so beautiful when he is screaming in agony. How long do you think he'll survive before he's begging for the mercy of death?"
The momentary silence that followed was poisonous. Then it erupted into frenzied action. Tyelko and Tyelpe lunged forward to each take one of Moryo's arms as the red-faced Elf went to draw his sword. Moryo struggled and growled like a feral animal, but they didn't let go. Nelyo reminded impassive for a long after his brothers had somewhat calmed. A look of resolve slowly settled on his face as he came to a decision. Valar forgive him for what he was about to do.
"This proves nothing!" Nelyo threw the lock of hair down onto his desk, his eyes burning bright, "Go back to your master and tell him this: the sons of Fëanor will not relinquish their Oath nor will they turn tail and flee. We will have our own."
The tent seemed to darken as Nelyo spoke. The Orc shrunk back in fear before fleeing the tent. The Elves in the tent watched the flap swish after his hasty retreat.
"So when do we go?" Tyelko's face was grim and there was a fell light in his eyes. His hand rested on his sword hilt as he stood poised by the tent flap like a hunting dog awaiting the command to track its prey.
"We're not," Nelyo ground out. His brothers turned to stare at him. Their expression ranged from horrified in the case of Pityo to furious in the case of Tyelko to disbelief in the case of the others.
"What do you mean?" Tyelko took a threatening step towards his older brother.
"I mean, no one is going after him, for rescue or parley. I will not have you sacrifice yourselves on a fool's errand. We do nothing. As your king, that's an order," Nelyo glared at his younger brothers to drive home the point. His cold demeanor was one they had never seen turned on them nor had Nelyo ever resorted to rank pulling. There was a stunned silence in the tent.
"But Maitimo, what if Kano is still alive?" Pityo's voice was hoarse as he gently fingered the lock of hair he had picked up from Nelyo's desk.
"I doubt he is," Nelyo clenched his jaw, hating himself, "And even if he was, there is no way Morgoth would have returned him to us alive. More likely than not he would have returned us a corpse."
"But supposing he is, we just sentenced him to a fate worse than death," Pityo protested.
"If he was somehow still alive," Nelyo's voice was soft as he massaged his temples in hopes of alleviating his growing migraine, "Then I wish a quick and painless death upon him for that will be his only escape."
"How can you be so callus?" Tyelko snarled.
"You think I want him to suffer? You think I want him dead? He's my little brother. Do you think I want him gone?" Nelyo choked out. The tumult of emotions in his body was squeezing his throat making it hard to swallow.
"Well, you're ready to just leave him-"
"I don't have a choice."
"You're wrong! Like Amë said, there is always a choice! We could-"
"We could what Tyelko?" Nelyo demanded, "Knock on the gates of Angband and demand that Morgoth release our brother, IF he's still alive? Or maybe you would rather challenge the Dark Lord to single combat with out brother's life as the prize?"
Tyelko fidgeted guiltily, clearly that was exactly what he was thinking of.
"My point is there's nothing we can do to get him back. He's… gone," Nelyo's voice broke.