Something I should add...bit of descent into uncanonical territory here :-P I wanted Maglor's men with Caranthir for a little while so I would have an excuse for having him come alone.

"And what of your people?"

"What few remain are in Thargelion, with Caranthir. The orcs hadn't yet taken over those lands, but now that the Gap is forced"

Maglor seemed smaller than usual, half swallowed by the fur coverlets spread liberally over his bed. If it were not for the blackness of the sky and the telltale clanking of armor, this could be any one of the times Maglor had come to visit his brother on Himring.

Maedhros sighed, looking down at him. Maglor was reasonably good with a sword, and much better even than Maedhros with a spearbut he lacked the cold-heartedness necessary to kill without thinking. In the past, when the Siege held and all was quiet, it was Maedhros who planned out all the military movements, Maedhros who fought at the front lines, Maedhros whose sword always hung, polished and ready, over the mantle in his study.

"Now that the Gap is forced," Maedhros said, knowing what Maglor was thinking, "all is lost. Thargelion will fall."

"Have a little hope. Caranthir won't give in."

Maedhros gave a short, tired smile. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Maglor watched his brother in silence for a moment: outside, the slow swell of marching feet increased. "Maedhros, you need to sit down and get your arm tended to. You can't afford being weak in the left hand."

Maedhros shook his head. He was afraid of sitting down—he knew that, if he did, all motivation to fight would leave him. He had been like this before, in days long ago when they had come over the seas from Elvenhome. He feared for his own courage. He did not want to look weak, especially not in front of Maglor, who had comforted him so many times.

"I'm fine. Try to get some rest, brother. Morgoth's host will be here soon, and then"

And then, brother, none of us shall have rest.

"it might be a little too noisy to sleep."

Maglor sank back on the pillows. Maedhros stayed in the room until his breathing became even—how thin he was, how pale the veins of blue in his eyelids! He reached down, touched his brother's cheek briefly. So much hope in that still, thin face

"My lord?"

"Yes, Celeblas."

Celeblas paused by the door, blinking. He had not been expecting the quiet acknowledgement in that statement, nor the look on his lord's face.

"We think they'll be here by nightfall. Everything that could be repaired has been repaired, but we're short on men."

Maedhros closed his eyes against another wave of dizziness. "How many are left?"

"Five hundred, eight hundred if you count the wounded."

"If we're valiant, we can hold out perhaps three days."

"It isn't enough."

Maedhros thought of Maglor, whose horsemen had perished in fire. He thought of Angrod and Aegnor, Finarfin's warrior sons, now little more than ashes on some foreign field. "It has to be."

Celeblas looked as if he was about to touch his lord's shoulder, but stopped. Outside, a shower of ash fell from one of the few trees growing, moved by the freezing winds. "So grim," he muttered at last. "My lord--?"

"I am grim because the situation is grim, Celeblas. If you wouldn't mind, go down to the kitchens and tell the few cooks who remain there to prepare a feast. We have time to eat before nightfall."

Celeblas's eyes widened, and he looked at Maedhros as if he were mad. Which, Maedhros supposed dryly, he was—if he was sane, he never would have left Valinor.

"Yes, we'll feast. All of us. If we're to die in three days, provisions for a siege do not matter—and I at least would rather die with a full stomach."

"You won't die. I won't let you." Then, awkwardly: "my lord, at least bind your arm. The blood is drying. It looks like it hurts."

Maedhros closed his eyes again. "The kitchens, Celeblas."

"I won't—"

"The kitchens!"

Celeblas turned and fled the room, pushing aside one of the elves ascending the stairwell. Maedhros checked to make sure his brother still slept and pulled the coverlet tighter about his body. He looked out the window, watched the glint of mail on the walls. Closed the shutters. Made sure the fire was at a comfortable level for a wounded elf wrapped in fur.

Left.