A/N: And here it is, folks. This is the final chapter of Part I. So...
DISCLAIMER: None of the Silmarilion stuff/ cahracters belong to me. The only characters that do are the Thalos River Elves, the misc Elves,...and Maedhros' horse, Turanthir. . So enjoy! Read/Review, my lovlies. XD Oh, and there are supposed to be like, double spaces between some paragraphs to break them up but I cant figure out how to make that show up on the format. It just sticks it all together. xx If anyone can tell me how to fix that I'd REALLY appreciate it! .

Chapter 5

Duty Calls

Winter waned to spring, yielding to its gentle warmth and soft breezes. Morgoth's forces had withdrawn form Maglor's Gap, and it seemed, for the time being, safe once more. It was now five years until Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Maedhros and Tinuthiel spoke often now, as Fingon's forces drew back to their homes and the lands quieted again. They spent many long walks together, discussing the differences in their people's culture, and yet finding that they were not so different-the Noldor and the Sindar. As the snows melted, the green fields returned and the waters flowed eagerly from the Blue Mountains as the caps melted away. Tinuthiel enjoyed the change, and delighted in the seeing the green grass and the colorful flowers in the lands once more, though they were not as brilliant as they likely once were ere Morgoth settled in the North. Yet she loved them in nevertheless.

And Maedhros watched her in all her light-hearted ways. She had a bright soul that reminded him at times of his beloved cousin Fingon, and she managed to break his stoic face into a small smile now and again. She would reach down to pick flowers as they walked, and while they conversed she would craftily weave them in a crown or a simple chain. Once she made a particularly complex piece of art, and she placed it upon Maedhros' head. The Noldor prince had flinched at her sudden movement towards him, and quickly but carefully removed the blossoms from his head. But Tinuthiel had laughed, a sweet and gentle sound as the creeks in the forest.

Normally their conversations were slightly one-sided, as Maedhros' sternly quiet disposition was not easily mastered, and he took to listening to Tinuthiel's voice as she spoke of the old customs of her village as they had been in happier times.

And yet the Oath boiled through Maedhros' veins. He enjoyed being with Tinuthiel and close to his brother Maglor. Yet Beren, lover of the fair Luthien, was on the move in distant regions, and ever he came closer to possessing a Silmaril. While Maedhros did not know exactly what events were taking place at the time, something stirred within him. It kept him awake at night and tense during the day. He could feel it, feel that a light soul was so very close to obtaining the fair jewel. Tinuthiel sensed the terseness within Maedhros, and while he was never harsh to those around him he knew that something bothered him, like an unreachable itch in the back of his mind. Yet he remained in Maglor's lands, keeping his forces there as a caution in case Morgoth indeed decided to attack in the coming seasons. And he continued to walk with Tinuthiel as spring drew close to summer, and the days grew longer and warmer.

On one such warm evening he and Tinuthiel were once again walking, and made their way through the encampment. The spirits of the soldiers had lightened, and they now seemed at ease with the winter's passing. They came to Maedhros' tent and stepped in.

Maedhros' face seemed drawn and his eyes weary. Tinuthiel worried for him, and gently pressed what was on his mind. But when she did so he leaned heavily against the dresser in his tent and turned away from her with his head in his hand.

"I cannot do this on my own," he said in a worn tone. Tinuthiel narrowed her eyes.

"Do what, Maedhros?" she asked.

"Fight him. I cannot face Angband alone."

Tinuthiel shook her head. "But you are not alone. You brothers fight with you. King Fingon fights with you."

"Yes, Manwe bless them." replied Maedhros, lifting his head slightly. "But no others fight. No one fights near the Sons of Feanor." His voice turned bitter, and his eyes were narrowed in frustration. Tinuthiel looked at him and suddenly saw years of war and strife in his eyes, and a deep pity welled in her.

"The rest of my kin-my cousins…they hold the grudge for my father and Thingol sits idle while Morgoth's victory draws closer…And that-that mortal seeks my father's treasure that belongs to the House of Feanor and no other," he growled. He was suddenly pouring out everything he had stressed over for months now. Tinuthiel listened sympathetically, seeing the pained expression on Maedhros' face. He shook his head, lifting it to look blankly in front of him. "People look at warriors and they see the scars and the stories of how they were acquired but they fail to see the soul behind them…." Here his voice grew distant, and his eloquent form seemed darkened somehow. Tinuthiel's gaze did not falter. She ventured to speak to the despairing warrior.

"Maedhros, when I saw you in the fields that night I recognized you by your face, not your missing hand," she said compassionately.

Maedhros stopped suddenly, gripped by her words. He slowly turned his head to look at her. Their eyes met and in that moment Tinuthiel seemed far too fair for this world-Arda was not worthy of her grace. Maedhros' heart seemed to break and pull itself together again at the words.

Then Maedhros turned, stepping forward, and kissed her.

Tinuthiel returned the kiss, slow and sweet. Thus the battle-scarred heart of Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, was softened. They stood, kissing gently, and the world was left behind until they slowly broke away, faces still close. The held each other's gaze in silence for a moment, but no sooner had they done so a soldier of Maedhros' army pulled back the fabric draped over the doorway and poked his head in.

"My lord?" he called. Maedhros blinked, but he and Tinuthiel did not take their gazes from each other's eyes, and the prince's back was to the messenger. "Lord Maglor requests and audience." The soldier left, and Maedhros' gaze fell suddenly before looking back up at Tinuthiel.

The maiden smiled. "Go to your brother, Son of Feanor," she said charmingly. "I can find my way home on my own." Maedhros gave a sigh, not wanting to leave. But he nodded and turned around, looking back at Tinuthiel as he departed. She just wanted him to go with that gentle, sweet smile of hers.

The month drew to a close, and Maedhros and Maglor would leave their lands soon to gather their forces elsewhere. The Silmaril was on the move, and so they must be as well. Beren was so close to his goal, and the Hounds of Angband and Valinor would soon meet in mortal combat.

These events finally came to pass while Maedhros sat in his study in his quiet abode, having returned home for the time being. So the Silmaril had at lat come to the hands of the human Beren. He and his brothers had fought, shed blood, and slain kin to attempt to reclaim those jewels…and now a single Man had brought about its return to the forces of light.

It was inspiring…it was a sign of hope…that the impossible could be done…

But it was maddening.

Maedhros found himself pacing furiously, his heart longing to Tinuthiel and her gentle touch, her soft, soothing voice. He had remained in the encampment in Maglor's lands for another two weeks since they had first kissed. It had been barely a week since he left and he already found himself missing her.

He was leaving in the early afternoon the following day. Leaving once more for war and battle, and the dreaded darkness of Morgoth. Some good had come from Beren: he had been valiant, to be sure. And he had inspired hope.

In his hand Maedhros clasped the flower from long ago, and as he studied the careful, delicate form he knew he could not leave without seeing her again. He had seen too many fall in battle and seen far too many grieving widows left behind them, wishing for just one more chance to see their lovers….

Maedhros stood, going to his bureau and grabbed his sword. He managed with some difficulty to tie the belt and secure his sword to his side. It was a task that, skilled as he may have become with using only his left hand, remained to be and always would be difficult. It took him several minutes but he would not dare venture outside without a weapon.

It was late afternoon when he set out and he took Turanthir out of the stables himself. He walked the sturdy stallion out to the grasses and mounted him. With a quick word the horse was off in a flash, swift as the wind. Turanthir bore him smoothly through the March of Maedhros and Maglor's Gap, and just after sunset he reached Tinuthiel's house. But he came from the north, around the back of the quaint village. He dismounted, stroking Turanthir's flank and leaving him hidden from the eyes of the rest of the village at the corner of the house.

The constant chirping of crickets sang into the warm, young night. Maedhros quietly crept around to the front of Tinuthiel's house. He lifted his hand and hesitated, but then he knocked on the door, knuckles rapping gently. After a moment Tinuthiel answered. The door opened smoothly and her fair face appeared as she peered through the newly-made gap. She opened the door wider, her eyes brightening as she saw who had knocked.

"Maedhros!" she said softly, but obviously glad to see him. She quickly beckoned him inside, glancing around the quiet village before closing the door. Fortunately no one was out and about.

Maedhros stepped in as she closed the door quietly and then turned to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace, and he returned it warmly. Her house was filled, as usual, with the warm and inviting glow of candles. Maedhros would miss that soft glow, as well as the sweet, fresh scent that was always about Tinuthiel's house.

Tinuthiel took one look at Maedhros and knew that something was on his mind. She could always tell. A clever smiled spread across her face. "What troubles you, Son of Feanor?" she asked, going to her sink to finish putting away a few dishes. Maedhros sank down to sit on the foot of her bed, but was quiet. After a few moments Tinuthiel came and sat next to him, knees drawn under her. She tilted her head, her face looking concerned. Gently, she lifted a delicate hand and brushed back a few strands of fiery hair from Maedhros' face. She did this a few times, watching him as he stared blankly ahead.

"Beren," he said.

Tinuthiel's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Beren," repeated Maedhros. "He is the human who found the Silmaril." A small, defeated smile crept over his fair features, and he turned his head to look at her. "A mortal Man found it."

Tinuthiel sigh, but offered an equally small smile. "Is that what you came all the way to say to me, Feanor's Son?" she asked. Maedhros shook his head, giving a weak little laugh. They sat silently for a moment, and Tinuthiel's smile faded. A question tugged at her heart, and her usually light spirit fell.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked.

Maedhros studied the floor and hesitated before nodding gravely.

"When?"

"In the morning."

Tinuthiel closed her eyes. Her dread had come true, and she felt her heart be caught in its grip. She slowly stood up, taking a few steps away and thinking hard.

"Maglor and I are traveling towards Fingon's lands. Morgoth's forces are pressing in hard," Maedhros said quietly. He felt Tinuthiel grip his arm. She buried her face in his shoulder sadly. She did not want him to go. She hated the through of Maedhros going off to fight again. He had already fought for so long…what if something happened to him? Or if he remained safe, how long would it be until they saw one another again? Surely months…Valar forbid years…

Maedhros remained in a somber silence, taking in her presence. Tinuthiel gently gripped his arms again, and then lifted her head. She kissed his cheek shifted to move behind him. Maedhros felt her arms wrap around his shoulders and chest, and her head lean against the back of his neck.

"Maedhros…" came her soft voice, and in response he turned his head ever so slightly. She reached around to the belt that held his sword, and her crafty hands worked and removed the weapon. Tinuthiel took the sword and set it on the floor. Maedhros watched and then she returned to her seat behind him. It was almost liberating to have her take away that weapon, that tool in the art of killing. Maedhros felt lighter as it was set upon the floor, as though assuring him that while he was here he would not need to think of the burden that it brought.

Tinuthiel ran her hand to the collar of his robes. Maedhros cast a quick glance down but did not pull away from her. Tinuthiel then slid the top part of his robes off, the fabric slipping over the finely toned muscles of his arms and chest. The scars of Thangorodrim and various battles were revealed, but they did nothing to demean the fair and handsome appearance of the Noldor prince. Maedhros slid his arms out of the sleeves, and turned his form to gaze at Tinuthiel behind him. Their eyes met first and then their lips, and Tinuthiel took Maedhros' chin gently in her hands. Maedhros brought his own to stroke her cheek as they kissed, and Tinuthiel drew him closer. The world ceased. There was only each other- no battles, no Silmarils, no oaths, no Noldor and Sindar, no Dark Lord on a Dark Throne in the North. And as Tinuthiel drew Maedhros closer to her and he laid her back there was no Valar, no sea between them and the heaven of Valinor. There was no death, but also no immortality. It was just them and that night-that one night.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...(A/N: Thats my makeshift line break..xx)

Maedhros laced his fingers through Tinuthiel's hair-soft and silken as the gentle brush of a spring breeze. Her arms were folded before her, and she and Maedhros gazed into each other's eyes. They lay close together, and the warm golden flush of the candlelight made their skin appear a gorgeous bronze color.

Maedhros was at a strange, rare peace as he worked his fingers through Tinuthiel's hair, and then moved his hand down to softly run his fingertips along her spine. She flashed a sweet smile at him and he smiled back.

"What is going through your head, Son of Feanor?" she asked, her voice a clever purr.

Maedhros shook his head. "The regret that I have but one hand to hold you with," he said, but a genuine smile showed the good nature in his words and Tinuthiel gave a soft, gentle laugh. But her smile faded thoughtfully as she ran her hand over his chest and arm, feeling the iron-strong muscles that had been toned acutely through many battles. She reached up to trace the scars on his face, her fingertips brushing lightly against his skin. He closed his eyes as her finger traced along the long scar that reached past his left eye-the one left by the Orc who struck him at Thangorodrim.

He watched as she did so and saw Tinuthiel's face grow sad, and tears filled her eyes. Maedhros furrowed his brow and shifted. "Tinuthiel….what is wrong?" he asked gently. Tinuthiel fought tears and shook her head, looking into his eyes.

"I do not want you to leave tomorrow," she said. "I am afraid…I shall never see you again…" Her voice broke. She could not bare the thought of Maedhros leaving once more to face death or worse…

"Oooh…." Maedhros said thoughtfully. He drew Tinuthiel closer, holding her head to his chest. As he smoothed her hair, her shoulders shuddered with a silent sob. "I shall come back to you."

"How do you know?" asked Tinuthiel. "What if something should happen to you?"

Maedhros pulled her away slightly to look at her face. He wiped the tears from her eyes. "Shh, do not cry, love," he soothed. "I cannot just sit idle while Morgoth's forces creep across Beleriand. No one is safe while he reigns."

Tinuthiel nodded, calming herself. "Yes…yes, I know..."

"I have to go," he said. "If anything, to protect you…."

Tinuthiel gazed up at him. She took a strand of fiery hair, running it through her fingers. "When will you return?"

Maedhros was quiet for a moment. In truth he did not know. But he knew it would be a long time-far longer than he was willing to tell Tinuthiel. Perhaps not before the war was over, whatever the outcome may be. "I shall be back as soon as I can, I promise."

Tinuthiel nodded and they were silent. It was still dark out, and there were a few hours before the sun would begin to rise. She seemed comforted, which in turn calmed Maedhros.

Then she said, "Tell me about you."

Maedhros narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "What do you mean? You know about me."

"I mean your whole story."

"Everything?"

Tinuthiel nodded. So Maedhros told her everything. He told her of his childhood in Valinor. How he and Fingon had met and of his days of watching his little brothers and working with his father, trying to take up his trade. But Maedhros never really enjoyed working in the forge and he much preferred listening to Maglor practice his music. He told her of the unrest of the Noldor and when Melkor fled. The slaying of his grandfather, King Finwe, and the rage of his father. How the Silmarils had been crafted and later stolen. How Feanor and his sons too that dreaded Oath-the Oath that now tormented the Seven Sons. He told her of the great journey back to Middle-Earth, and the Kinslaying at Alqualonde ad the burning of the ships at Losgar. How Maedhros stood aside helplessly as his father stranded their kin across the waters, and for days he could only think of Fingon on the far shores, betrayed. He wove his tale on to the slaying of his father and how he had become High King of the Noldor upon Feanor's death. Then he reached the point in his tale of his capture, how his forces had been ambushed. He told her every detail she desired, how the iron band was welded about his wrist and of the hammer-stroke, how it drove the iron deeper and deeper into the mountain. Maedhros told her how the sun bore down upon him and the air was foul enough to strangle any Elf. How when it was not stifling hot it was bone-shattering cold. How the dark devices of Morgoth gave him just enough nourishment to keep him alive, and they mocked him and laughed at his torment and misery. He had heard the trumpets of Fingolfin his uncle, and he had cried out but his voice had gone unheeded. But at long last Fingon had come, and Maedhros told Tinuthiel of his rescue. When he spoke of the horrors of Morgoth and the suffering he had endured at Angband he trembled, and Tinuthiel saw that distant look return to his eyes, though he was not aware of either. At such times Tinuthiel pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead as he spoke on. He continued to tell of his recovery and his surrender of the title of High King to his uncle, and his brothers' shock at his actions, all the way to that day when he and his brothers had attacked the village of Thalos River.

Tinuthiel listened quietly, asking few questions as he spoke. By the end of his tale the spell that had come over him as he spoke of Thangorodrim had passed.

"Sometimes I wonder what my brothers think we shall gain from this crusade," he said, regarding the Silmarils. He shook his head. "I know I do not know. But most of them seem far more eager to fight for the jewels."

Tinuthiel smiled. "But you love them all."

Maedhros returned the smile. "Of course I do."

"Even Caranthir?" she asked knowingly, and Maedhros gave a small laugh.

"Yes, even Caranthir." Tinuthiel laughed as well and snuggled closer to him, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes. Maedhros closed his as well. "Tell me about you."

Tinuthiel smiled, keeping her eyes closed. "My story is not very long, and not nearly as interesting as yours."

"That is fine."

So Tinuthiel told him that she had been born in the village by Thalos. Nimariel was her twin, as Maedhros already knew. He had met her and Ciranthos a few times while he remained at the camp in Maglor's lands. Tinuthiel and Nimariel lived with their parents until they were grown. Their parents had long since gone to other regions to help kin, but the sisters remained at the river. They had a relatively peaceful life, and had grown up very close. Nimariel had been married for about seven years now, and Ciranthos had become as a brother to Tinuthiel. Often she stayed with them, and she saw them everyday, as they had always lived just across the paths from each other. They had been fortunate enough to have avoided the worst of Morgoth until recent years. And now she was here lying next to Maedhros with a few hours remaining before dawn.

"You have been blessed, it seems," said Maedhros. "I envy such a life." Tinuthiel opened her eyes and looked at him. A smile spread across her lips and she stroked his face.

"Yes. I have been," she said.

Maedhros and Tinuthiel fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms and everything was perfect until morning.

Maedhros awoke as the sun rose. As he opened his eyes he saw Tinuthiel, her eyes even with his, but she was still sleeping soundly. Dread came over Maedhros in full force as he realized it was time for him to leave. His heart felt like it would shatter as he looked at Tinuthiel, sleeping serenely like some angle in the pale light. Her eyes had that peaceful, distant look to them that Elves got when sleeping. The candles had long since burnt out. Reluctantly, Maedhros gently shook her away. Tinuthiel slowly focused her eyes, looking at him.

"My love?" said Maedhros.

"Yes?"

"It is dawn."

They stood at the back corner of her house, and Maedhros was checking Turanthir over. Tinuthiel watched, hands on her arms. The morning was cool and young, and the eastern sky was pale. The western sky was still faintly dark.

Maedhros finished checking his horse and he stood to face Tinuthiel, sighing heavily. This was it. The time had come for him to leave. Tinuthiel's lovely sapphire eyes glittered with tears. "Do not cry," said Maedhros softly, and he took her in his arms. She wrapped hers around him, as though if she held him close enough he would never have to leave. "Please smile….for me." Tinuthiel bit back her tears, trying to smile. Maedhros also held back his urge to sink to the ground with her and weep. But he was used to masking thoughts and he did it now and tried to comfort Tinuthiel.

She looked up at him and managed a small smile. Maedhros returned it and kissed her deeply. Tinuthiel locked her arms around his neck, holding him closer and she kissed back. Maedhros wanted to hold her in his arms forever, but he knew he could not. The ache that they both felt in their hearts and stomachs doubled as they broke apart, and Maedhros gave her one last kiss on her brow before mounting his horse.

"Be careful," said Tinuthiel tearfully. "Come back to me."

Maedhros looked down at her. "I will not say farewell. For the moment I can be here I shall return," promised Maedhros. "You have my word." Tinuthiel forced a smile and nodded, her gaze falling.

"Tinuthiel."

She looked up at Maedhros' regal form.

"I keep my oaths," he said, and turned his horse to ride off to the west.

Tinuthiel's heart ached and she thought she might be sick as she watched Turanthir bear her love swiftly away from her. Maedhros' figure soon grew small in the distance. He could not bear to look back.

"I know," whispered Tinuthiel as she watched him go. "Take care, my love."

They never saw each other again.

A/N: And that's it! The End. Of Part I, that is. This has basically been all exposition Oo Eeeeeew...I'll get Part II up as fast as I can! Its going to be a separate story, so look for it in my profile. Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it.