Blood of Innocents

By Glorfindel's Girl

Day Three: Maedhros

          He found their trail.  It was chance more than anything that he did so.  Somehow, he had gotten turned around in the woods, an easy thing to do.  While trying to find his way back to the false trail, Maedhros had tripped over a snow-covered root and fallen.  It was then, as he was getting up, that he saw the shred of fabric caught on a dead branch. 

It seemed a small, insignificant thing, that he would have undoubtedly overlooked had he not fallen.  But it was nothing short of miraculous.  He leaned forward, and plucked the scrap from its nest of thorns.  It was soft, moss-green, shot through with strands of silver.  A piece of one of the boys' cloaks.  He stood, hope renewed in his heart.  The trail.  He had found it. 

As he followed their path, he began to notice things that troubled him.  Blood.  Every so often, he would pass places where the pure white of the snow was cruelly interrupted by smatterings of blood.  Elbereth Gilthoniel.  What had his brother's servants done to those children?

Grimly, he wondered how great his chances of finding them alive were.  He was a full grown, strong adult, and they were only children, injured and lost.  But they'd had a full two days head start, and he knew better than to underestimate how far they could have traveled. 

"I have to find them," he muttered, picking up his pace.  It became his mantra, whispered over and over again, until he hardly realized he was doing it.  He called to them every now and again.  "Eluréd!  Elurín!  Sons of Dior, can you hear my voice?"  But always, there were answers naught.

It was when the sun set that Maedhros seriously began to doubt whether he was going to find them, and it was with heavy heart that he set up camp.  He wanted to continue his search, but as the night before, did not dare risking it in the dark.  So he lit a fire, and settled back to rest.

He fell into waking dreams as he stared into the dancing flames. He saw his father, laughing as he chased Maglor and himself.  Innocence.  They had once had innocence.  But no longer.  He saw his mother, eyes red from weeping, reaching out to him.  "Matimo," she whispered to him, "What have you done?"  The flames dancing over the dry fire wood became a roaring blaze, consuming white ships in a fair harbor.  Darkness swept over him.  "Murderer," someone hissed in his ear.  "You are a murderer, Maedhros, son of Fëanor."

"No!" Maedhros cried out, sitting up, suddenly very much awake.  And like that the visions were gone.  There was only he and the crackling fire. 

Or was there?

He felt it again, the prickling sensation on the back of his neck.  He was being watched once more.  He jumped to his feet, and turned in a slow circle, eyes searching the flickering shadows. 

"What do you want?!" he yelled into the darkness.  "What do you want of me?!"

There was no reply, but whatever was watching him had not left.  He could still feel it, somewhere out there beyond the grasp of the firelight.  Strangely, he did not sense any threat, only a vast patience.  He settled down once more, sitting with his back against a massive tree.  He vowed that he would not sleep, not while being watched.  But eventually, he did drift off, and when he did awaken, the morning was had grown old, and the sun high in the sky.