A/N: I edited this chapter because as the last comment pointed out, I used the wrong form of "stake" (Yes, I was aware of it.Bashful smile . I realized it after I uploaded it but have been too lazy tofix it till now)and I wanted to separate some parts with more spaces. And since I heard some bitching, here I shall state the obvious: DISCLAIMER- Nothing fromTolkiens books belong to me. Duh. The only things/characters that ARE mine are the river Elves (the kings, Tinuthiel, Namariel, Ciranthos) Wow.

Chapter 3 Second Meetings

Years passed before Maedhros and Tinuthiel chanced to meet again. The river Elves of Thalos had been driven forth from their home by the forces of Melkor, and they sought refuge at the base of the Mountains near the territories of the Sons of Feanor, after they had wandered to separate locations. They settled near the Blue Mountains, just east of Maglor's lands. The Darkness of Morgoth was spreading through Beleriand like a plague. Great Kings had fallen. Fingon had long since taken up the throne of his father, and was now the High King of the Noldor. Yet despite the wrath of the Sons of Feanor and the might of Fingon Morgoth pressed on and now no lands were safe.

It was late spring, six years before Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, in which Fingon would fall and Maedhros's forces would be utterly defeated, betrayed by the weaknesses of Men.

Maedhros had not slept. His dreams were troubled, and he dared not attempt to rest again lest the horrors of Thangorodrim return to him in sleep. He was visiting Maglor and he decided to explore the sparse woods at his brother's boarders. The night was quiet and calm, and he wished that Maglor was awake so that he could speak with someone. But he would not wake his brother just because he was once again having nightmares. Maglor had done enough for Maedhros after his rescue from Thangorodrim. For months Maglor and their brothers had kept Maedhros under a careful eye, and they took care of him until he grew hale. Feanor's heir knew that he must have been a heavy burden during those times. And so he would not wake his brother now.

He walked with his sword at his side-he never went anywhere without it, for he usually needed it. But the eerie serenity of the night did nothing to quell his troubled thoughts. Only Fingon or Maglor could have done that for him, and neither were with him at this moment. But the calm was soon broken.

Maedhros halted as he caught a sound from among the trees. His keen dark eyes scanned his surroundings. Something troubled the warm night, and he thought he knew what it was. The foul scent of Orc reached him, a scent he knew far too well and detested. He narrowed his eyes and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. His battle-skilled mind worked swiftly to analyze his situation. How many were there? Did they know he was there? Yes, surely they did. He could feel their eyes upon him. Could he defeat them alone? If not, did he have a chance to search for aid?

But his questions were answered when an arrow flew past him, just barely missing his head and it sank into the soft bark of a tree nearby. Maedhros's sword was drawn in a flash and he turned to meet the attack of an Orc that sprang from the shadows. His aim was true and his sword cut the foul creature's throat, and it fell dead. Its fellows joined the attack. There were six of them, hulking in the shadows of the trees with their crude weapons in hand. Maedhros poised himself, waiting for the first strike. It came swiftly as an Orc to his left rushed at him. He quickly felled the beast as the others attacked. He fought them, his lithe feet and agility combining with the wrath of his sword to create a deadly assault. The screeches of the Orcs rang into the air, breaking the quiet of the cloudless night. The blade of Maedhros sang and he slew four Orcs before one managed to land a hit on the Elf. The beast struck Maedhros with his black shield, catching him across the face. Maedhros fell to the ground, bleeding from his nose and mouth. But he did not hesitate, and he looked up to see the Orc swinging at him with its ax. Maedhros quickly rolled onto his side, and the rudely crafted blade hit nothing but grass and soil. Maedhros lashed with his sword and the blade sank into the Orc's stomach. It screeched, revealing its yellow teeth, and it collapsed. Maedhros was on his feet quicker than a hunted deer, and he was met by the fifth attacker, blocking a blow from its sword with his own. But he turned to block the attack from the other Orc, preventing it form gutting him with its knife. But as he did so the first Orc struck once more, and this time his blade cut deep into Maedhros's leg, leaving a six-inch wound on his thigh. The Elf cried out and fell again, but he managed to strike down on of the two remaining enemies as he did. The Orc corpse fell with him, and the last one raised his blade to deliver a final blow to the fallen Elf. But Maedhros saw his opening and took it. He struck and stabbed the Orc through its breastplate, and the blade fell from its hand. Maedhros withdrew his sword and the Orc fell dead.

Maedhros lay for a moment, catching his breath. The black blood of the Orcs stained the grass around him, but the night was silent and calm again. The stars shone above, peeking through the trees and the crickets chirped, unaware of the bloodshed that had just ended.

The Elf sat up, spitting out the blood in his mouth. He wiped the ebony Orc blood from his sword and sheathed it. Maedhros pulled himself to his feet and stumbled, pain shooting from the gash in his left thigh. He bit back a shout before it could finish escaping from his throat and he leaned back against a tree, examining the wound. It was deep and bleeding badly. Crimson was spilled down his leg, staining his robes and boot. It stood out brightly against the smeared black blood of the Orcs that had splashed him.

He grimaced, standing up straight again. He had to get back to Maglor. He listened carefully in case there were any other Orcs nearby, but the small patrolling party had been taken care of. They had just been unlucky enough to run into a Son of Feanor as they scouted. Maedhros took a careful step, testing his leg. He managed a limping gait, and he wandered out of the woods and into the open grassy knolls just beyond his brother's lands. The Blue Mountains rose high into the air, their dark forms standing majestically in the distance. Maedhros looked around, but his tired mind failed to recall how to get back. He cursed himself for wandering off, but he was too tired to dwell on it. He thought he had an idea of where he was. If the mountains were before him, he was facing east, and he must turn south. So he did so, limping as he went.

"Good night, Tinuthiel," said Nimariel. Tinuthiel smiled at her sister and gave a farewell bow of her head.

"Good night, sister," she said, and turned to leave for the night. Nimariel smiled and closed the door behind her. Tinuthiel walked through the encampment, heading back to her little home. It was a nice night: the air was still and not too warm, but not cool. A few clouds were scattered in the sky, and the stars shone here and there. She smiled to herself, enjoying the calm weather and peace of the camp. Most of her people were asleep, but she had dined with her sister and brother-in-law that evening, and now she was ready to retire for the night.

But as she neared her little house by the camp boarders, something caught her eye out in the fields. She paused, heart pounding. For a moment she thought it one of Morgoth's beasts, but then she realized it was either a Man or an Elf. She watched it move in the moonlight, and it stumbled weakly as it walked. Tinuthiel's clear eyes narrowed, trying to determine who it may be. As she watched she became sure that it was an Elf, and she began to walk to it. The Elf looked up as she neared, clutching his leg. Some of his fiery hair fell in his face.

"Please, I mean no harm..." he said wearily. Tinuthiel gasped as she saw that his robes on his left side were soaked in scarlet, and his face was bloodied as well. She rushed to him and caught him by the shoulder as he stumbled.

"Come, you need help," she said urgently and then she paused. He was familiar...he turned his scarred face to look at her and she gasped. "Maedhros!" The injured Elf blinked.

"Tinuthiel?" he said. The Sindar Elf nodded. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could say the same for you, Son of Feanor," replied Tinuthiel. "But we can speak later. Come, you need help." She slung his arm over her shoulder, and Maedhros tensed as he felt her other arm drape across his back, supporting him. But he followed her lead gratefully as she brought him across the field and to her house. She led him inside and released him to hurriedly light the candles. The light of the little flames brought the small house to life. It was not large, as Tinuthiel lived by herself. It was one wide room, similar to the tent Maedhros had resided in while camped at Ascar River. There was a low bed against the back wall and a desk, and lovely fabrics were draped about. Candles sat along small shelves and on the nightstand and the desk. When she had completed bringing light to the place Tinuthiel filled a large bowl of water and went to Maedhros.

"Let me see your wound," she said, sitting on her knees next to him. They sat on the floor, and she had him extend his leg so she could get a better look at it. Maedhros barely had time to protest before Tinuthiel carefully cut the fabric of his outfit, exposing the bleeding wound. She daintily took a cloth and soaked it in the water from the bowl. Then she proceeded to rinse the blood from his leg and clean the gash. Maedhros flinched as the water touched the wound, for it stung mightily but he calmly set his jaw against the pain, used to warfare.

"What happened?" asked Tinuthiel as she worked.

"I encountered a band of Orcs in the forest," he explained.

Tinuthiel looked up suddenly, her face urgent. "Are they still there?" Maedhros shook his head.

"I defeated them."

Tinuthiel paused and looked up at him. His nose and mouth were still bloody from being struck with the shield. She rinsed the cloth and then reached to wipe away the blood. Maedhros flinched again, drawing back and meeting her gaze. Her hand paused for a moment and then reached again, more slowly this time. Maedhros was too weary to resist, and he relaxed a little as she gently dabbed away the blood. She offered a small smile.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Maedhros. Tinuthiel put the cloth back in the bowl. The water now had a dark pink tint to it from the blood.

"Because you were kind to me," she said.

"I slew your people."

The golden-haired Elf nodded. "Aye, but you were still kind to me, and so I owe you a favor."

"You owe me nothing," said Maedhros, and he was stating a fact rather than being humble. Tinuthiel shrugged her slender shoulders and took his arm again, helping him up. He was weak from loss of blood and his side was bruised. She sat him on the low bed now that he was cleaned somewhat. He did not question her, and Tinuthiel went to her desk and rummaged around for a moment, returning with a needle and thread to stitch his wound with. She once again sat on her knees at his side and had Maedhros lay back, propped upon his left elbow. She set to work, carefully proceeding to stitch his thigh. He watched tiredly as her graceful hands wielded the needle and thread precisely. The deep orange light of the candles played upon her golden hair and it shimmered with the dancing of the flames. His own fiery red hair gleamed and the soft flush of light softened his face. He felt drowsy, and had the constant sensation of the needle threading through his skin ceased he may have dozed off. But he patiently watched Tinuthiel, and the fair creature seemed absorbed in her careful work. Maedhros broke the silence with a question of his own.

"You do not live here," he asked.

"Neither do you," pointed out the maid, eyes still on the needle.

"I mean why are your people here and not at Thalos?" He winced as the needle went a little deeper into his skin.

"Apologies," said Tinuthiel, and she continued. "We were driven North. Orcs and Balrogs came, and we have not the strength to face them." Maedhros was silent, thinking this over. He fought off sleep. After a while, Tinuthiel finished and bandaged his leg. She stood up, going to wash her hands.

"Thank you for your assistance," Maedhros said, and he weakly sat upright again. He felt drained but he wanted to go home. Tinuthiel, however walked back over and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, she made him lay back down.

"You need rest. You cannot be traveling after loosing that much blood. That wound is deep and it needs to heal," she said softly. "I can send for your brother Maglor in the morning. He lives near here, does he not?"

Maedhros nodded, giving in and lying back. "Yes, thank you." Tinuthiel smiled and gave a nod. She handed him a glass filled with something.

"Drink this and rest."

Maedhros looked at her and then the glass, considering. Then he did as he was requested and drank the liquid. It was a tonic, and after drinking it he felt himself drift off to sleep.

The air smelled thickly of smoke and burning flesh. It was suffocating. The sun bore down mercilessly through a hazed, brown sky. Maedhros trembled and the laughter of Orcs was around him. He looked up as the Orcs held his arm firmly above his head. Pain shot through his arm and shoulder, radiating from his wrist. He was too weak to struggle and the hammer of Morgoth was raised, ready to drive the stake into the side of Thangorodrim and anchor Maedhros to it. Terror filled Maedhros as he awaited the blow.

CHING.

Hammer struck metal, and the stake broke through the rock. Pain splintered through Maedhros's wrist and the hell-wrought band cut into his flesh. The hammer was lifted up and brought down against the metal once more.

CHING.

Maedhros cried out in agony, jerked closer to the rock wall. The Orcs laughed as the hammer rose again.

CHING.

It had to stop! This pain had to stop! Maedhros watched in despair. Again the hammer rose.

CHING.

The stake was almost completely in the rock now. Not again, Maedhros prayed, not another strike. The metal seared against his skin and every stroke of the dark hammer sent a terrible shock through his body.

CHING.

Maedhros screamed, clutching his arm. He felt as though he would suffocate as his rib cage was strained. An Orc struck the Elf across his already bruised and cut face, and the armor put a long gash in Maedhros's flesh, raked across his eye.

CHING.

The hammer-stroke rang in his head and agony surged through him. Again and again it struck, and that awful sound made him want to tear his mind out. Each hit was more unbearable than the last, and that sound kept ringing and ringing. He looked up as the hammer was raised a final time and it struck again, and the stake was driven fully into the mountainside. It was done and the Orcs released Maedhros and he did not fall. The band held him firmly to the mountainside, and the ground was so far below him—

Maedhros sat bolt upright with a shout. He sat wide-eyed in a cold sweat, breathing hard. He was in Tinuthiel's house, not hanging from Thangorodrim. The soft, dim light of dying candles was a gentle contrast to the horrible waste of Angband. It was still dark outside. Upon his cry, Tinuthiel stood from where she was sitting and dozing, startled. She went over to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently, kneeling by the bedside. Maedhros tried to calm himself. He knew it was only a nightmare, and he had them frequently, but they were always so real...He lifted his shaky hand to his face, brushing his fingers along the scar that had been left by the Orc's armor. Tinuthiel looked at him, concerned. She softly brushed back a strand of red hair, examining his face. He felt himself calming down.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "It was just...just a dream."

Tinuthiel nodded. "It is alright. That must have been some dream. A nightmare." Now Maedhros nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

"Yes. A nightmare."

Tinuthiel rested her chin on her hands, still kneeling at the bed. "What did you see?" she asked quietly. Maedhros's eyes left hers, and he thought for a moment. He never spoke to anyone save Maglor and Fingon when asked about his nightmares. But Tinuthiel's clear blue eyes watched him, and he opened his mouth to say something but closed it. Then he found his voice.

"I was back...at Thangorodrim."

"Where you were hung?"

Maedhros nodded. Tinuthiel was quiet for a moment. "That must have been horrible...what he did to you." Maedhros said nothing. But the sound of the hammer still rang in his mind. Tinuthiel stood after a moment, pulling back her wavy hair.

"Try and rest until morning. Then I will send for your brother," she said gently.

Maglor came just before noon, leading Maedhros's horse. Maedhros carefully stood at the entrance to Tinuthiel's house, leaning against the doorway, and gave a helpless smile to Maglor as he approached. Tinuthiel stood next to him. Maglor dismounted and walked over to them, looking annoyed.

"Good morrow, little brother," said Maedhros.

"You dub me 'little' yet it appears I have more wit than you, brother," replied Maglor. But they both knew he was glad to see Maedhros was safe. "I was worried sick when I awoke and you weren't in your quarters. And you went and got yourself injured."

"I know, forgive me, Maglor," said Maedhros. He turned his gaze to Tinuthiel. "Maglor, you know Tinuthiel, even if you do not remember her. She is the maiden our pleasant brother caught and left in my tent at Thalos River."

Maglor narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, looking Tinuthiel over. Then he nodded with a smile. "Aye, I do remember her." He took Tinuthiel's hand and kissed it in greeting. She smiled and bowed her head.

"And you are Lord Maglor, then. Your brother seems to think quite highly of you," she said, smiling at Maedhros.

Maglor gave a laugh. "Well I should hope so. I'm the one who ends up taking care of him when he is injured. Now I see you took up the job, milady." He eyed Maedhros's leg. "Are you alright?" Maedhros nodded.

"There were six Orcs. One caught me with his blade, but the lady here was kind enough to aid me."

Maglor smiled again and nodded. He turned to Tinuthiel. "I cannot thank you enough, milady. You and your people are always welcome in my lands."

"And mine," added Maedhros. Tinuthiel smiled and gave another bow of her head.

"It was no trouble," she replied pleasantly. They stood quietly for a moment, Maglor and Tinuthiel smiling.

"Well my brother and I should be off," said Maglor. "Thank you once more, milady." Maedhros nodded in agreement.

"Yes," he said, looking at Tinuthiel. "You have my unending gratitude."

"Just take care of yourself, Son of Feanor," she said. "Be careful on that leg."

Maedhros nodded and Maglor aided him on to Turanthir. Maedhros grimaced, but he knew that Turanthir would bare him smoothly. Maglor had put a saddle on Turanthir to make it easier for Maedhros to ride him. This way he did not have to do as much work.

"Farewell," said Tinuthiel. Maedhros and Maglor said good-bye, and the Elves that passed by in the village watched in curiosity as the two elder Sons of Feanor rode off at an easy pace. Maedhros glanced back over his shoulder a last time, watching as Tinuthiel's form sank into the distance.

Maglor had Maedhros give an account of everything that had happened as they rode. Maedhros told him everything except about his nightmare. The dark-haired Elf nodded, listening quietly, interrupting his brother only to ask a question or two here and there. Maedhros finished his story and Maglor nodded, thinking quietly.

"Sounds like you had an interesting night," he mused. "By Telperion, that Tinuthiel is a vision, is she not?" Maedhros nodded quietly and Maglor studied his brother. "You say she is one of the Sindar who lived by Thalos River? And she helped you after what we did?" Maedhros nodded again.

"I questioned her on that as well. She said that she helped me because I had been kind to her after Caranthir had her taken." Maglor nodded thoughtfully.

"She seemed very kind."

"She was."

They arrived at Maglor's home and Maedhros remained there for a few weeks until he was healed enough to ride. Then he returned to his own quiet lands and took to his usual solitude. But where once the quiet stillness of his home had suited him justly now he found he longed for company, and his mind strayed ever to Tinuthiel. He sat for long hours in his study, pondering. He still could not understand why she had helped him. He thought back to when his father had died. Feanor had been a harsh, fell soul, even towards his sons, but he was still Maedhros's father, and he had loved him. He remembered everything. Amrod and Amras's loss for understanding at why that had to happen. He remembered Caranthir facing North towards Angband and screaming in rage, cursing Morgoth and all of his dark creations from Orc to Balrog. His own bitterness and the overwhelming feeling of responsibility he felt at the thought of having to take his father's place as High King of the Noldor.

And he remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach upon seeing that even to his death his father's obsession with the Silmarils had not waned. With his dying breath he could not even think to say anything to his faithful sons except to remember their Oath and reclaim the jewels.

Maedhros sighed and took a sip of his ale, sitting at the desk in his study. It was dark out but he did not sleep. Instead he sat quietly, pouring over maps of Beleriand. He sighed and stood up, going to his room. He opened a drawer in his bureau where he kept his weapons-his sword and his knives, and a sleek bow that he could, unfortunately, no longer use. Each was carefully and neatly placed in the drawer, but he did not reach for any of them. Instead he lifted aside the soft velvet that his weapons rested upon and revealed the little white flower Tinuthiel had given him long ago. He took it in his hand, examining it must like Tinuthiel herself had done when she had picked it.

"Why did you help me?" he wondered aloud. He and his brothers had lived their lives being hated. For all the terrible deeds they had done. Why had Tinuthiel helped him? Just a warrior. Just a vagabond.

"Just a killer..."

Nimariel took three strands of Tinuthiel's hair and had begun to braid them. Tinuthiel was once again staying with her sister and brother-in-law. They were in Nimariel's room, and Tinuthiel sat in a chair facing the mirror while her sister did her hair.

"Feanor's son," said Nimariel in disbelief. Tinuthiel nodded.

"Yes, Feanor's son," she confirmed.

"His eldest son."

Again, Tinuthiel nodded. Nimariel shook her head in wonder. "Was he not the one who had taken you captive?"

Tinuthiel gazed at her sister in the mirror. "It was not he, but his brother. He gave me to Maedhros, but Maedhros brought me back."

"Ah. What is he like?" asked Nimariel. She finished one braid. Tinuthiel thought for a moment.

"Well," she said. "He is definitely a son of Feanor." Nimariel gave a small laugh. "But he does not seem to take any pleasure in the things they have done. He seems...bitter about it. Yes, he is very bitter. And you recall the story of Maedhros's capture? When King Fingon rescued him?"

"Yes, of course," said Nimariel.

"While I cared for him he had a nightmare. About when he was at Thangorodrim."

Nimariel shook her head, and her wavy hair shimmered. "That must have been a dreadful thing to go through."

"Yes. I asked him about it," said Tinuthiel.

"And what did he say?" inquired her sister.

Tinuthiel looked at herself in the mirror, watching as Nimariel's fingers worked on the braids in her gold hair. "He said nothing. But his eyes grew distant. He still carries the scars on his faces."

"I pray that this war sees an end soon," said Nimariel. "Too many have suffered at Melkor's hands...But anyway." She offered a smile at her sister, finishing the braids. Tinuthiel smiled back.

"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," she mused. Nimariel raised her eyebrows, watching her sister with clever green eyes.

"You may yet. Would you like to?"

"Yes, he was kind."

Nimariel smiled and nodded. They gazed in the mirror quietly for a moment until the quiet was broken by Ciranthos, Nimariel's husband. He knocked softly on the door, and the sisters bid him to enter.

The light haired, handsome Ciranthos opened the door and smiled at his wife and sister-in-law. "Dinner is ready, my dears," he said. Nimariel stood up, grinning and went to wrap her arms around Ciranthos neck. She kissed her husband as Tinuthiel stood up, smiling.

"We shall be there momentarily, darling," said Nimariel. Ciranthos nodded.

"Alright then. I shall wait for you," he said and grinned at them. Then he left and Nimariel went back to Tinuthiel.

"The Sons of Feanor are fell souls," she said. "But if you say that this Maedhros was kind to you then I have no quarrel with him." She smiled, and Tinuthiel smiled back.

"Then come, let us away to dinner," she said. Nimariel smiled and nodded, and the sisters left her quarters to join Ciranthos and eat.

A/N: Wooo end of chapter three. I actually have a LOT more written for this story but its on this ANCIENT laptop I was using (like, my dad was using it in Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Storm...thats how old) and its so old I cant get the documents off of it. I dont want to have to retype over 20,000 words > So have patient, my wonderful readers. I 3 you. Im workin as best I can to get it up. . Thanks to all the people who made nice comments...no thanks to the...one? who didnt. Dont be stingy. This is fanFICTION. Dur. I can make up what I want.