Maedhros awoke to the shrill blast of distant trumpets and Maglor shaking him. "Brother, wake! A host of Morgoth advances upon the Thalos village!" he said urgently. Maedhros's attention was brought fully to his brother's words and he as wide-awake. He stood up and grabbed his robes.
"What beasts?" he asked, slipping off his night-ware and readying his battle garb.
"Just Orcs, thank the Valar," answered Maglor. He watched his brother work for a moment before brushing his hand aside. "There is no time, brother." Maedhros sighed in frustration but yielded and allowed Maglor to help him get dressed and ready. He was correct: there was no time for Maedhros to struggle with one hand, so he swallowed his pride for the time being. Grabbing his sword, Maedhros and Maglor walked out of his tent.
"Get our brothers and make sure they can fight," he said. Maglor nodded, turning to carry out his elder brother's orders. But Maedhros grabbed his arm and he looked back. "No servants. Only the Seven of us." He said. Maglor narrowed his eyes, puzzled. But he had a feeling he knew what was playing through Maedhros's head. "We hold the river."
Maglor nodded again and left. Within moments the Sons of Feanor were together and ready to ride. Curufin challenged Maedhros's orders as he mounted his horse. "Brother, we have strong followers. They will aid us!" he said. But Maedhros shook his red head.
"Yesterday we, the seven Sons of Feanor, rampaged through a town innocent of the crime we accused it of," he said. "Now we pay them back for the damage we have caused our fellow Eldar. And aside from that the river must hold, or Morgoth will have access to this entire region."
Not another word was spoken to defy Maedhros, and the Sons of Feanor rode as swiftly as they could to the Thalos River. Huan, the hound of Valinor, tread lithely on the heels of his master's steed. The seven riders passed over the bridge and without warning flew into the town. Screams were heard as the already-panicked people saw their return, fearing their slaughter had not ended. But they spoke not nor halted, and their horses bore them through the town and past it to the south. And on the village boarders they halted, seeing the dark host approach from the distance, coming up from the South. The soldiers of Thalos drew back in shock as Feanor's sons silently rode up through their ranks and stood ahead of them, silent sentinels upon their mighty horses. They stood as a wall, protecting the already ravaged city. Caranthir and Celegorm shot unnerved glances at Maedhros, doubting his course of action. But as always Maglor stood firmly at his side, trusting him.
And eerie silence fell, broken only by the distant trembling of the earth under the feet of the approaching Orcs. The sky was bleak and grey, and the green grasses rippled in the breeze.
Thrandolhir rode up parallel to Maedhros, but at a safe distance. The new King stared in disbelief at Maedhros, silently questioning his presence. But Turanthir's hoof stamped the soft earth, and Maedhros met the King's gaze without wavering. Thrandolhir gave a respectful dip of his head, knowing he would need aid to defeat the approaching foe and understanding why Maedhros had come. Then the two leaders turned their gaze back to the enemy, which was slowly making its way to them. The women of the city collected in safe spots, and they all waited in silence as the dark foes advanced.
Perhaps in another tale the story of the battle at Thalos River is told, but for the telling of Maecelofin's story, the details are unimportant. But it shall be said that the Sons of Feanor fought with the Sindar Elves and drove back the Orc host that had issued forth from Angband long ago and made its way far South. Maedhros's skills and prowess in the battle were terrible indeed, for in the swing of his sword was all the bitterness and memory of his torment at Thangorodrim, and the hatred for the creatures that had mocked him in his misery. Huan also was fierce in his fighting, and he tore at the Orcs and they trembled at the howl of the wolf of Valinor. The brothers were mighty in their acts and the host was shattered ere it reached its destination, and its remnant fled into the mountains.
And so while the Sindar would not so swiftly forgive the brothers for their fell deeds and the pain they had inflicted upon them, they were at least repaid for what they had lost, and Maedhros and Thrandolhir had a silent understanding of one another.
"Are you leaving?"
Maedhros turned at the familiar voice to see Tinuthiel. He had ventured to the shores of the River Gelion, between the branching rivers of Ascar and Thalos. Maedhros was surprised to see her, and even more surprised that she had come over to speak with him.
"Yes," he answered her, looking back over the river. It gleamed like a silk ribbon as it lay under the spring sunlight. Tinuthiel came to stand next to him. Her scrapes and cuts were healed, and she was a vision. Her golden hair caught the sunlight magnificently, and her gentle blue eyes looked as though they had been crafted from the oceans.
It was a week and two days since the raid of the city by Thalos. Maedhros had not spoken to or seen Tinuthiel since, and he had dismissed her in his mind as just a beautiful figure that had walked into and out of his life-an acquaintance . Yet here she was again, speaking with him.
"When?" she asked, her voice much sweeter than the grieved, angry tone she had used when they first met. It was more like when she spoke to him when he returned her to her home.
He answered, "In the morning. At the sun's rising." Tinuthiel nodded and sat down, her knees drawn to her chest. She looked up and watched Maedhros for a moment. He was silent, and then she gave a soft smile.
"Well, sit, son of Feanor," she said. "Or was your father above sitting upon the grass?" Maedhros could tell by the tone of her voice that she meant the words lightly and not as an insult. He considered her offer for a moment, and then slowly sat beside her.
Tinuthiel reached down and picked a flower from the emerald sea of grass. It was a soft white flower, tiny and delicate. "You helped my people. We would be dead or captive by now had you and your brothers not arrived..." She turned her clear gaze to Maedhros, who watched and listened to her quietly. "Why?"
Maedhros turned his attention back to the river, considering his answer. He reached to pull his long hair away from his back and over his shoulder. "Had Morgoth taken the rivers it would have been trouble for all of Beleriand," he said. Then he admitted, "and it was my way of atoning for what we did..." He cast his dark eyes out to the river, watching its waters flow over the large, smooth rocks and run against its shoreline. "It cannot bring your king back, nor the others that we slew. But it is the only way I know how."
Tinuthiel examined the flower in her hand, holding it gingerly in her delicate fingers. She listened to his answer and nodded. "I thought you a ruthless killer. Your ferocity in battle suggests so. Yet when I speak to you, you do not seem as dark as some say."
"Perhaps you are naïve."
"Perhaps I am not."
Maedhros once more turned his gaze to her. "What did you come her for?"
"To speak," she said lightly. "Why, do you not speak with others?"
Maedhros replied, "I speak with my brothers and anyone else that I must converse with."
Tinuthiel continued to examine the flower, studying its powder-soft petals. "It must be lonely...living the way you and your brothers do."
"I do not think of companionship. I do not need it."
Tinuthiel ventured further, brushing back a few strands of hair. "You said to me that night that you did not want for this to happen. Why do you and your brothers keep to this...this Oath if you hate doing it? Why do you risk your life to find these Silmarils?"
Maedhros sighed, lacing his fingers through the grass at his side. "You do not understand," he said. Tinuthiel did not press the matter of the Oath. She knew the stories. "Your people are safe now?"
Tinuthiel nodded. "We will recover. What will you do after you leave?" she asked. Maedhros was silent for a while.
He shook his head. "I do not know. I will keep fighting, I suppose."
Tinuthiel closed her eyes and nodded again. "I thought you would say that." She stood up, smiling down at Maedhros softly. Her dainty hand reached out and took his own, and she gently placed the white flower in the palm of his hand. "The darkness cannot last forever. Farewell, Maedhros. Perhaps we shall meet again someday." And then the golden-haired Tinuthiel turned and left Maedhros by the waters of Gelion. He sat in silence and watched her leave, and then looked down at the flower in his hand.
"I hope...I hope we do, Tinuthiel," he said softly. He closed his hand carefully over the flower.