A/N: OMB Its been way too long, I know. > I apologize for the long wait. I have suffered a HUGE writer's block lately and am just emerging. I started this chapter ages ago and finally picked it up again. So here is chapter two of Part two. Hopefully the chapters will come a bit faster. Enjoy! And comment! I love nice comments : ) Oh and I realized that in my last chapter I was consistantly misspelling the name of one of my characters Oo For some unknown reason I continued to type "Thandolthir" instead of "Thrandolhir". It is fixed in this chapter though! -- Falls over

DISCLAIMER: Holy cow 7 chapters into a Silmarillion fanfic and I STILL dont own it Snaps fingers Damn.
CLAIMER: However I DO own Maecelofin and all the Thalos Elves. W00t! Go me. No stealing my babies!

This day you go forth…
Exodus 13:4

Chapter 2: Exodus

Maecelofin packed his things quickly. It had been less than a full day since they had received news of Ciranthos' death. Tinuthiel and Nimariel were busy packing what things they knew they could carry. The village was evacuating and heading southeast. In the time since the news had arrived, Tinuthiel wondered if Ciranthos had ever spoken with Maedhros.

What had happened was: Ciranthos had actually seen Maedhros, and tried to call out to the Noldor prince. Ciranthos had desperately wanted to tell Maedhros of his lover and son. But Maedhros had not heard him over the noise of the readying army, and the carpenter had lost the prince in the crowd. Maedhros had never known that his friend was there, and remained unaware that he had a son.

Maecelofin missed his uncle terribly. In his dream that night he had heard Ciranthos working in his shop down the hall. The little Elf had eagerly climbed out of bed to go see his uncle, but he had woken up just as he was about to turn into the doorway.

The red-haired child had his clothes packed, and he was now gathering together his most precious belongings: a soft blanket that he slept with every night and some of his toys. He paused when he picked up a tiny wooden horse that Ciranthos had carved for him. The little Elf examined it now as though he had never seen it before, though it was one of his favorite possessions. He ran his delicate young fingers over the work of art, feeling the smooth wood. He felt the intricate designs of the horse's mane and tail and its face. It was a simple yet beautiful object, and Maecelofin had always treasured it. Carefully, he put it in his bag, against his blanket. He was ready to go now.

Tinuthiel hurriedly scanned their house for anything else that they might need on their travels. Stress was gripping her; stress about the battle's outcome, the death of her brother-in-law, stress for her family, and stress over the journey that lay ahead and how they would survive. She was satisfied with their packing so far and she made her way to the kitchen to check there. The maiden halted, however, seeing her sister standing there silently. Nimariel had gone to check there as well, and she had paused. Now the brown-haired Sindar Elf stood with tears in her eyes as she ran her hand along the wooden cabinets that Ciranthos had made long ago. The grief for her fallen husband was still fresh and it stung anew now when she looked at the cabinets. Her hand was shaking and her jaw trembled.

"Nimariel…" said Tinuthiel gently. She slowly went to her sister and put a hand on her shoulder. "We must hurry…"

Nimariel shook her head, loosing her composure. "How can I go on without him, Tinuthiel?" she asked in a frail voice.

Tinuthiel choked back a lump in her throat. "The same way I have gone on without Maedhros," she replied softly. "Everything will be alright, but please, now we must hurry…"

Nimariel took a deep breath to steady herself and nodded. Maecelofin came into the kitchen, dragging his bag of belongings. He no longer had that eager spring to his step. Tinuthiel forced a smile, walking over to him. "There's my Maecelofin," she said softly. Her son looked up at her, his adorable face saddened.

"Are we leaving now?" he asked softly. Tinuthiel kissed his brow.

"In a moment. Come." She picked up her son, taking his bag, and walked outside. Maecelofin did not want to leave. The whole village was frantic, and everyone was packing up to leave as soon as possible. It had been three days since the survivors of Nirnaeth Arnoediad had returned. The sky to the west grew ever darker.

Horses were being hitched to carriages and packed up. The men of the village were bringing as many weapons as they could carry. At the head of it all was King Thrandolhir, seated upon his chestnut mare and surveying everything and occasionally urging for more speed. His eyes constantly shifted to the black clouds that were quickly moving overhead or scanning over the village that had been their home. Soon it would no doubt be leveled and burned by the servants of Morgoth. One by one the houses were being emptied. Some Elves were going to walk, some were going to ride in carriages or on their horses. The Thalos Rivers were going to head south as fast as they could, and then perhaps cross the mountains-Anything they could do to put boundaries between themselves and Morgoth's armies.

"Come on," called Celeriel, beckoning to the trio as the Elves started moving out. She was seated in one of the carriages. Tinuthiel, Nimariel, and Maecelofin went over to her, loading their things into the carriage. Tinuthiel lifted Maecelofin up and in, and he went to take a seat. "Hurry, dears, in you come," Celeriel said. She reached out and took Nimariel's hands, helping her climb in, and then Tinuthiel's. The carriage started moving just as they had seated themselves. Maecelofin miserably nuzzled against his mother, who held him close and stroked his hair. He had said many times that he did not wish to leave, but he tried not to give his mother much trouble. Celeriel had an arm around Nimariel's shoulders and a hand on the younger Elf maiden's arm.

The small remnant of a family each had memories that made them reluctant to leave their little village. Nimariel was distraught leaving the home she and Ciranthos had lived in together-a house that was filled with his final carpentry works. At the thought of Orcs destroying her beloved husband's crafts she felt tears burning in her eyes again and she leaned over and put her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. Celeriel comforted her with strengthening words. Maecelofin was nervous leaving the only home he had ever known. He had never had any desire to leave the village, and he would miss it. He was fearful and awe-inspiringly apprehensive to see the rest of Arda. Tinuthiel's heart reached out as they rolled past her old house….the house in which she and Maedhros had shared brief but potent times of love and intimacy. She let go of the attachments to that house with a sigh and looked down. Maecelofin held onto her arm and watched as the village slowly got smaller and smaller. He had never been outside of it's boundaries, and here he was watching it creep and fade into mere memory. He sat silently, listening to the creak of the carriage wheels as it rode smoothly along the earth. Here and there he would hear the whinny of a horse. But the Elves were silent.

And after an hour the village could no longer be seen.

Maecelofin was as quiet as the adults were, sensing the tension that was radiating off of them. He again replayed his mother's reasons for leaving. She had told him that the armies of Morgoth were approaching and their home was in danger. Maecelofin had thought that the men would stand and fight to keep them away from their village. But Tinuthiel said that their numbers were too few, and Morgoth's were too great, and so they had to leave.

The darkness of night approached, made darker by the clouds that kept rolling in. Celeriel had scoffed unpleasantly, saying that this was no ordinary storm; these were the clouds of Morgoth. Maecelofin snuggled closer to Tinuthiel and fear filled him as the clouds crept over the band of fleeing Elves. They had come up so fast….and had bested the Elves in their haste. But the caravan met no trouble as they ventured south. They halted an hour after nightfall, and Maecelofin and his family slowly spilled out of the carriage. Now that he was out from under its canopy, Maecelofin had a vast 380-degree line of vision. He could see the entire open landscape around him. There was nothing but flat, open land to the north, south, and west. To the east, the mountains rose up, climbing high into the night sky. But those looming giants were miles off of the Eldar's path.

The Elves were beginning to make a sad little camp. Slowly but surely small fires flickered to life, meager tents were raised, and stored food was brought out to be cooked. Maecelofin was hungry, but there would be some time before something would be ready. The bright young lad was eager to stretch his legs and so he got permission from Tinuthiel to wander the camp. The little Elf walked, passing by scanty fires and all around him was the disheartening aura of depressed Elves. Since the battle at Angband, the Thalos River Elves had been on edge, nervous like horses that smell wolves nearby. But when the time came to leave their village the discomfort had ebbed into fear and anguish. The Thalos Elves had been forced to flee once, leaving their homes to rot and ruin, and the second time had been no easier to bear. Maecelofin, though he was the youngest Elf in the camp, could feel the weary sadness that hung over his people.

In his mother he sensed exceptional grief, though the red-haired youth was unsure of the precise cause. He turned this thought over in his head as he walked among the Thalos Elves. The deep bond of mother and child allowed Maecelofin a more profuse connection to his mother's feelings. He could tell that she was experiencing some other form of distress. This he knew and nothing more, for his youth would not allow him to understand the love between his mother and his sire, which he had never known. So he did not understand the ache in his mother's heart nor did he understand that her worry was for Maedhros.

Maecelofin paused as he noticed that some of the other Elves were watching him. Skepticism shone in their eyes, and Maecelofin did not know why. When he lifted his head to look back at them they glanced away. Here and there the boy caught a whisper or two that was being passed between them. It confused him, and it made him uncomfortable. Turning away, he heard a song arise from some of the Elves of the camp. It was a slow, mournful song-sweet to the ears, but sad to the heart. It washed over Maecelofin like a breeze, and the young Elf closed his bright blue eyes, listening for a moment.

He did not like it.

These were the people he had known all his life and he had always known them to be cheerful and jovial, seeking peace in wartime. Naturally there was always the air of worry, but as far as a child like Maecelofin knew, there was nothing but uplifting song and dance and smiles. The Elven boy sighed, brushing back a long tendril of crimson hair as he opened his eyes once more. The skies above were dark, and the camp was lit only by the small fires that were seen here and there. Maecelofin walked away from the main body of the camp, unnerved by the eyes that watched him with scrutiny, his little boots traversing the soft grasses below his feet. He sat down at the edge of the camp-not far enough away from adults so as to worry his mother but putting enough distance between himself and the other Elves. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, gazing out into the empty vastness of the night. The boy ached to return home to the village…he wanted to crawl into his bed and draw the blankets around him tightly or venture down the hall into the workshop and crawl into his uncle's lap. He wanted Ciranthos to teach him how to carve things and shape wood, and he wanted to eat Nimariel and Tinuthiel's home-cooked meals….

But all of that was in the past now. And he could not return to it.

"See you anything in the night?" The voice broke Maecelofin from his melancholy reverie, and the little Elf jumped in surprise. Looking up he was even more shocked to see the young King Thrandolhir standing beside him. He had not even heard the lord approach…. Normally the son of Tinuthiel would have bowed his head as he saw the other Elves do, obeying his mother's wishes for him to be polite and respectful. But tonight….he did not much feel like it.

"No…my lord…." He murmured, looking back at the midnight expanse before his eyes. Nothing but plains and mountains in the distance. He shifted slightly, tense from the presence of the lord. He had never spoken to the King before.

Yet now the young ruler sat down beside him as though they had spoken many times before, following Maecelofin's gaze into the pitch of the wilderness. He sat with his feet crossed before him and his knees up, elbows resting on them and hands interlocked. Maecelofin looked at him, not sure what the lord wanted or what he himself was supposed to say. The king looked old…far older than Maecelofin knew he really was. There was a certain shamed weariness about Thrandolhir-again, it was more than one as young as Maecelofin could understand. He was a lord who felt as though he had failed his people in some way. Twice they had been forced to flee under his command, and he worried now for their survival. Presently, the lord pointed out what Maecelofin had already thought of.

"We have not spoken before, you and I," he said. Maecelofin shook his head.

"Mother and Aunt Nimariel seem to like you…," he ventured. The king smiled a bit, his dark brown eyes still searching the panorama.

"They are very strong women," he replied softly. "I have great respect for them both." Maecelofin thought on this, looking down at his tightly-drawn knees. The king spoke again. "I am very sorry for the loss your family has suffered. Ciranthos was another I greatly respected."

At this the red-haired child looked up. "You knew my Uncle?" The king nodded.

"And your father," he replied.

"Mother never speaks of my father…"

Thrandolhir's lips thinned and his brow came together slightly. "You uncle and your father were both very brave, and very noble." He mentioned nothing to the youth of Maedhros' numerous trespasses against Elvenkind. He spoke a simpler truth. Maecelofin nodded and looked at his feet again. After a silent moment he glanced over his shoulder back at the camp. He could not shake the feeling of being watched by the other Elves.

Thrandolhir raised one eyebrow and smoothly turned his head to follow the child's gaze-curious. Maecelofin seemed to sense the King's wonder because he said, "They were watching me. Like I was doing something wrong…"

"You have done naught to earn such looks."

"Then why do they look at me so?"

Thrandolhir sighed, a movement which caused his chest to expand with a slow intake of breath, and then sagged his shoulders. He looked forward again and spoke slowly, as though weighing each word. "I…do not believe I am within right to tell you why, little one."

Maecelofin frowned curiously. "Why?"

"For that answer you should seek your mother," replied Thrandolhir. Maecelofin nodded, recognizing when an adult was not going to elaborate. He mirrored the king's sigh.

For a few silent moments they sat, the elder looking out into the night and the younger staring at his boots. Then Thrandolhir rose to his impressive height, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back a bit. Maecelofin glanced up and watched him as he lowered his arms and offered a smile. "We shall speak again sometime, little one," he said gently. Then he softly placed a hand on the crown of Maecelofin's hair in a gesture of mild fondness, and walked back into the depths of the camp-leaving Maecelofin to watch the silence of the Arda night alone.

A/N: All done. Im workin on chapter 3 so hang tight, my lovelies.