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Chapter 3: Of Ghost
Nelyo looked around frantically, unsure of where he was. He was in a dungeon of sorts, but that was all he could tell. The torches hanging on the walls barely seemed to penetrate the suffocating darkness. Looking around he could see instruments of torture hanging on the wall. The sight sickened him. One solitary door led out of the room. After hesitating a moment, Nelyo pushed it open.
The scene on the other side was horrific. Morgoth towered over a body suspended from the ceiling, whipping it mercilessly. Nelyo froze, but the Dark Lord took no notice of him, solely focused on his victim.
"Give up," the Vala hissed, "They're not coming for you."
"I... *cough* ...I don't believe you," gasped a voice Nelyo had not heard in years. Disregarding the danger at hand, Nelyo crept around to look at the front of Morgoth's victim. His heart stopped as the face came into view and his fears were confirmed. It was Makalaurë. The whip lashed out again and Makalaurë's face contorted in pain.
"You're brother's abandoned you to my devices. They don't care about you; they only care about the Silmarils and their own safety. You were the expendable one," Morgoth taunted, staring off into the shadows where Nelyo stood concealed as though he knew Nelyo stood there. Nelyo ashamed at how deep those words cut him. The whip was replaced by red-hot brands. Makalaurë screamed and writhed every time the iron was press onto his mutilated skin. His voice soon became hoarse.
"I don't-"
"You don't believe me? So you've said before," Morgoth drawled, coming around to Makalaurë's front, he grabbed the Elf's chin and forced his head up, "But tell me Kanafinwë, when did you stop believing it?"
Makalaurë didn't answer, but his face had gone a shade paler than it already had been. Morgoth smirked as his accusation was affirmed.
"The best part is seeing your own doubts tear you apart, bit by bit. You are broken Kanafinwë. You are mine," the Vala spat, drawing away and letting Makalaurë's head drop limply back against his chest.
"Not broken… Not yours…. They never forgot me…. You would never understand….You are…. You are all alone…." Makalaurë's voice was so faint that Nelyo barely heard it. The look on Morgoth's face was evident that he heard as well. Morgoth made his way over to the far wall.
"As much I've enjoyed our time together, I'm afraid it's drawing to a close," Morgoth turned around holding a silver blade that Nelyo recognized, "This was your father's, you know. He would be so proud that it finally is being put to good use."
Makalaurë's face twisted in an odd look of relief and horror. Without preamble, Morgoth thrust the blade through Makalaurë's chest where his heart lay. Makalaurë's body shuddered once, twice, three times, before going still as his fëa fled. Morgoth ripped the sword back out of Makalaurë's body and watched with amusement as blood flowed unhindered to the floor, collecting in a pool around Makalaurë's feet. Then he turned and left the cell, leaving Nelyo alone with his brother's corpse.
Nelyo stood there in shock for several long minutes before he tentatively approached his brother's body. He reached out and touched Makalaurë's cooling cheek, lifting his head gently. Makalaurë grey eyes stared sightlessly ahead while a trickle of blood meandered out of the corner of his mouth. Nelyo's vision blurred with tears.
"Nelyo, why didn't you rescue me?" Makalaurë's voice asked. Nelyo jerked back, unsure where the voice was coming from.
"I didn't know you were alive," Nelyo protested, looking around wildly to find the source of the voice, but he saw no one. A wet, choked laugh echoed around the dark room.
"You knew! Deep in your heart, you always knew," the voice accused, "Why Nelyo? Why?"
When Nelyo awoke with a start, the sun was just coming up over the mountains. He discovered that he was shaking and covered in cold sweat. Throwing off the covers, Nelyo staggered to his office. Hand fumbling, he grabbed the decanter off the decorative side table and poured himself a glass of the strong liquor. The glass shook violently in his hand, sloshing some of the alcohol over the rim. Downing the whole shot in one gulp, he spluttered as it burned the back of his throat and made his eyes water. The alcohol did nothing to help his nerves, the dream still haunted his waking eyes. Still shaking, he poured himself another round. He stared deep into the colorless liquid, debating whether or not the migraine later was worth it. He shrugged and lifted the glass to his lips. Before he could drink it however, someone spoke from behind him.
"Are you drinking?" Tyelko's voice startled Nelyo badly enough that he dropped the glass in his hand. It hit the floor and shattered, scattering glass and alcohol. They both stared at the mess for a moment.
"I though you swore off alcohol after… I mean, I know Curvo drinks pretty heavily sometimes, but I never thought…. What happened Maitimo?" Tyelko's gaze was full of worry, something was clearly wrong with the eldest Fëanorion. He side stepped the mess on the floor and steered Nelyo to a chair. Nelyo sunk down limply, eye somewhat glazed. Tyelko crouched in front of him. He looked like he wanted to beg for information, but he held his tongue and waited for Nelyo to speak.
"He's still alive," Nelyo finally rasped.
"Who's still alive?"
"Makalaurë," Nelyo said. Tyelko stiffened, his face became very guarded.
"How do you know that?" He demanded, voice stilted.
"I dreamed about him last night," Nelyo admitted, running a hand through his mussed hair. Tyelko's posture relaxed slightly. He put a hand on Nelyo's shoulder and squeezed gently. His eyes were sad.
"Nelyo, it's been over thirty years. You need to let go. He's gone," Tyelko's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, almost like when he was trying to talk down an injured animal. Nelyo hated how condescending the tone was; he wasn't a child. He irritably shrugged off his brother's hand.
"No! I saw him, he's still alive. He wanted to know why we never rescued him."
"Curse Nolofinwë and Findekáno," Tyelko growled, drawing back from his brother and pacing agitatedly, "This is all their fault, isn't it? They brought this about asking after Makalaurë. They had no right to pry for information."
"They didn't know," Nelyo pointed out.
"They still had no right!" Tyelko slammed a fist down onto the table to emphasize his point, "I'll kill them."
"Tyelko! Tyelkormo! Calm down!" Nelyo drew a hand across his face, "Slaying out kin was bad enough the first time. Doing it a second time will gain us nothing but further damnation."
"Like you even care," Tyelko's voice raised to a point that made Nelyo's head throb, "You were all for following Atto's orders and keeping Atto's Oath. May I point out that you were the first to swear his Oath. And don't tell me it's immoral to kill because you never had anymore aversion to killing than the rest of us. Why the benevolent change of heart? Is it because Findekáno might get killed? You don't want your best friend's blood on our hands? Or are you afraid that it will cause you more nightmares?"
"That's enough Tyelkormo Turkafinwë!" Nelyo snapped. Tyelko looked somewhat chastened, but he still scowled.
"Can't you keep it down?" a sleepy Moryo growled, poking his head in through the open door, "The sun's not ever fully up yet and I already have to listen to the two of you… Nelyo, were you drinking?"
"Yes, he was," Tyelko answered for Nelyo, then before Moryo could ask why he continued, "Nightmare about Maka. Thank Nolofinwë and Findekáno."
Moryo's face darkened as his brows drew together and he turned to the oldest brother.
"Nelyo? Is that true?" he asked as he fully came into the room. Nelyo sighed, there was no getting out of the intervention now. He didn't want to dwell on the nightmare any more, but he might as well suck it up and get it over with.
"Yes, I had a nightmare about Makalaurë," he avoided looking at both his brothers, "It was…. I think he's still alive."
Moryo and Tyelko shared a look they thought Nelyo couldn't see. It was the same look he and Makalaurë had shared whenever Curvo ran to them convinced there was a monster under his bed.
"Nelyo, you don't have prophetic dreams. Its just the result of your mind trying to deal with the trauma of thinking about Makalaurë again," Moryo meant to be comforting, but Nelyo didn't find it so. He slumped back farther in his chair feeling ages older than he was.
"Russandol?" In Nelyo's exhausted gaze, Moryo's face morphed into Makalaurë's face. Nelyo's composure finally crumpled.
"It's all my fault," Nelyo's voice was barely a whisper. Someone embraced him.
"No! That's not true and you know it! All of this is Morgoth's fault," Moryo's voice came in his ear.
"I miss him," Nelyo admitted. Another pair of arms encircled him.
"Us too," Tyelko murmured.
A quick lst of character's Quenyan names:
Nelyo/Nelyafinwë/Maitimo/Russandol = Maedhros
Makalaurë/Laurë/Kano/Kanafinwë = Maglor
Tyelko/Tyelkormo/Turkafinwë = Celegorm
Carnister/Moryo/Morifinwë = Caranthir
Curvo = Curufin
Pityo/Pitafinwë = Amras
Tyelpe/Telperinquar = Celebrimbor
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Findekáno = Fingon