((A/N: Well its finally here--Chapter 4. Took me long enough, eh? So sorry for that, folks Oo I had a lapse in LotR-Muse. But I just watched FotR and Im back! I hope you all enjoy it. We're getting along now. Oh and read my note at the bottom. Got sort of a poll for you guys haha. Read/review!))
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or the Silmarillion or any related themes, names, characters, etc.

From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone-
And all I loved- I loved alone-

-Edgar Allen Poe, "Alone"

Chapter 4: Ostracized

The rain continued for another day and a half, and it made the Elves' travel slow. Twice carriages had been caught in the mud and the caravan had to stop and free the wheels; one of these had been the wagon that Maecelofin and his family stayed in. The torn canvas of the wagon went through makeshift repairs-just enough to keep the rain out. Since the attack on the caravan, Maecelofin did not ask to walk outside again, even on the fifth day when the rain ceased. There was a quiet tension about the group that remained in the carriage. Nimariel spoke little, and Tinuthiel not at all. Maecelofin passed the agonizing time by sleeping against his mother or sitting quietly by the opening of the carriage, gazing out at the plains that slowly crept away from them as they journeyed on.

The caravan made its way slowly through Talath Rhunen, beginning at dawn every morning, pausing for lunch just after midday, and then finally setting up a camp after dusk. While the majority of the lands they traversed were open and bare, they chanced upon a mountain stream on the sixth day. The caravan halted and Lord Thrandolhir issued a day of rest for both horse and Elf. Water was gathered for storage and the horses were allowed to graze and drink. The women gathered clothes and washed them in the mountain water. Some of the soldiers wandered downstream to rinse their blades and clean them.

Nimariel began to cook, and Celeriel aided her. Tinuthiel volunteered to take their clothes to the stream. She was glad to at last have a task to complete, for the long days of being shut up in the carriage were wearing down on all the Elves who rode in them. Now she could at last be out and breathe fresh air. Tinuthiel had not been cleaning long when a group of Elven women came to the stream-the same purpose in their minds as Tinuthiel's. But after a glance they strode a few more paces upstream to work. Tinuthiel's stomach churned as she watched them. Here were women she had lived with for time out of mind by Thalos and at Maglor's Gap. Now they shunned her.

Anger flared in Tinuthiel. They looked at her and remembered the son of Feanor, but they had not loathed Maedhros while he protected their lands near Maglor's Gap. But they seemed to have forgotten the alliance with Feanor's eldest, and of their own Lord Thrandolhir's trust in him. Now they only remembered his attack on the village at Thalos and his crusade into the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Perhaps they even blamed Maedhros for their forced departure from their second home. Tinuthiel would not doubt it. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she turned her gaze back to the shimmering waters before her. She knew there was nothing to be done about this.

Tinuthiel's blue eyes trailed over the wet fabric she held in her hands-one of her son's tunics. It was a clear day with a gentle sun and the clean air of the plains and the mountains was carried on silken breezes. It was a day very much like those when Tinuthiel and Maedhros would go on walks with one another, before they had been so completely ensnared by the events around them. Tinuthiel closed her eyes. Oh how she missed him now…she would have given anything she had to see him again. She would have taken her warrior lover in her arms and would not have cared who in her village saw.

Maedhros' dark eyes drifted to Tinuthiel's hands as she weaved the flower stems together, a steely reserve hiding the mild interest and amusement that lurked in the Noldor prince's mind.

It was a bright spring day-the weather seemed completely oblivious to the growing threat of Morgoth, and it audaciously flaunted clear blue skies and warm baths of sunlight so very near to the northern realm of Angband. The two Elves walked side-by-side, painted by the dappled light that was peering through the trees. Tinuthiel was doing what she always did on their walks: picking flowers and weaving them into dainty necklaces or crowns, or whatever suited her fancy. As they spoke, Maedhros watched her repeatedly lower to pick a flower, examining its stem beforehand. Each blossom was carefully selected; Tinuthiel made sure they would be suitable for her craft. Presently, the maiden had coaxed Maedhros into telling a story from his childhood, and he spoke of a misadventure that he and Fingon had taken part in.

"But obviously you found him," Tinuthiel was saying, delicately lacing the stem of a yellow flower into the crown she was making. She paused to smile at the prince beside her, her sapphire eyes gleaming. "Otherwise your people would be boasting a different king these days."

Maedhros nodded, brow furrowed as he watched her fingers work. "Yes…" he mused. "I found him--and that stubborn horse of his, held fast in the mud of the riverbank."

"Oh dear," said Tinuthiel with a smile, shaking her head as her eyes returned to her task. "I would venture to guess your parents were quite pleased to hear this. Noldor princes getting lost and trapped in the mud…."

"It was he who had the foolishness to get stuck, not I," Maedhros pointed out.

"But you said it was you who chose to cross the creek," countered Tinuthiel, noting an earlier event of her companion's tale. The Noldor prince's frown deepened, and Tinuthiel saw that look on his face that meant he was turning thoughts over in his head, choosing his words with utmost care and precision.

He seemed unable to parry this, and so he settled for a simple, "I did," before continuing. "In any case, I pulled him out and together we managed to free his mount as well. And yes, our parents were very cross, though more so over our theft of the horses than us getting our clothes and boots muddy."

The pair emerged from the tree line, stepping out into the brightly lit meadow beyond. The birdsongs could still be faintly heard, echoing from the woods out to the lea. Maedhros scanned the area, taking in the peaceful sight. He was poised, as always, standing tall and proud with his fiery hair spilling down his back and his dark eyes keenly aware of everything around him. His left hand rested habitually on the hilt of his sword, while his mangled right forearm was hidden, lost amid the folds of the long sleeves of his robes. More often than not, Tinuthiel noticed, he hid his rent limb from casual sight. Usually the only time his handless forearm was exposed was when he was in battle garb.

"I can imagine…" Tinuthiel replied to the end of Maedhros' tale. Her blue eyes shifted from the meadow to him as she smiled. "A troublemaker even in your early days, I see."

At this the Noldor prince cracked a rare smile, and even a soft laugh, turning to face her. "I fear so, my lady." Tinuthiel shook her head.

"It only proves my initial suspicions about you," she teased, brushing back a strand of her golden hair. "You seemed quite the barbarian when you entered your tent that night." She arched one brow to him, grinning. The prince's own brow furrowed once more and his scarred face etched itself into that all-too-familiar frown. The maiden shook her head and smiled in an exasperated way, abruptly reaching out and placing the now-complete crown of flowers upon his noble head.

The result was fascinating. The steely prince's emotional vanguard was immediately wiped away as Maedhros blinked, bashfully surprised at this gesture and feeling quite silly with flowers on his head. He hurriedly reached up and removed the crown almost as soon as Tinuthiel had placed it there. Tinuthiel chuckled as she watched him and he shifted, handing the piece of natural art back to her, and she took it.

The bittersweet memory passed before Tinuthiel's closed eyes as though she were living it again. The sound of one of the other women upstream broke her from her reverie, for the woman's voice had risen a bit as they conversed. Tinuthiel opened her blue eyes and glanced over before sighing and returning dutifully to her work.

Once she had successfully washed the clothes, Tinuthiel rose to her feet and carried them back to their makeshift campsite, hanging the clothes against the wagon to dry. Celeriel and Nimariel were working over a fire, making a stew from the rations of meat and vegetables they had to work with. The smell was warm and inviting, and it brought a smile to Tinuthiel's face as she glanced around. The smile quickly dissipated into a frown, for her son was not among them.

"Where is Maecelofin?" she asked. Nimariel looked up at her sister.

"Do not fret, he is with Gilthalen," said the brunette.

Celeriel nodded to their right. "Over there." Tinuthiel followed the elder woman's gaze and sure enough, saw old Gilthalen and Maecelofin standing by Gilthalen's great grey warhorse. A sigh of relief escaped Tinuthiel's lips as she watched them. Gilthalen was grinning down at the lad, teaching him how to properly brush a horse. The great steed seemed more than happy to accommodate the brushing, and Maecelofin seemed positively delighted at the interaction with the powerful beast. Tinuthiel was glad he was preoccupied with Gilthalen.

At least he wasn't conscious of the whispers and looks of malcontent that surrounded him.

Celeriel's strong voice drew her attention back. "Sit down, child, you fill me with stress by simply watching you." As always, the easy power to Celeriel's voice left no room for argument or veto. The golden-haired Tinuthiel resigned and sat down between Celeriel and Nimariel, watching blankly as the two worked. Dinner was soon ready and Tinuthiel called Maecelofin over to her. Gilthalen and his sons came also, and the companionable group sat quietly as they ate, small conversation filling in gaps of silence. Only Tinuthiel remained completely tacit. Nimariel and Celeriel noticed this, of course, and called her on it.

"Sister," said Nimariel gently. Tinuthiel's sapphire eyes turned to her sister as Celeriel watched with a hard look. "You are quiet."

"I am sorry," said Tinuthiel softly.

Celeriel intervened. "Your thoughts turn to the Noldor prince, do they not?"

There was a flicker of hesitation that fluttered across Tinuthiel's face. Resenting the fact that she was now on the spot, she gave a small nod. Celeriel's fierce eyes narrowed slightly with thought. "Think of him," instructed the older she-Elf. "Remember him. Love him, if you must. But mourn him not." Tinuthiel gave another nod, and by her side Maecelofin twisted his head to look up at his mother. Concern was written on his face, and curiosity, but before he could ask anything Tinuthiel stroked his hair, quieting him.

But despite Tinuthiel's best efforts, Maecelofin did begin to notice oddities about him as the weeks of traveling progressed. He would notice an adult watch him with a sideways glance, or give a small shake of their head and mutter under their breath, "Hên en-ernil in-Golodhrim." The Elven lad knew not why they said this, but he did not speak on it, for he received from their tones that it was something shameful. He grew shy whenever he heard this, and he would turn away from those who said it and move away from the masses. Occasionally he would go to his mother when he heard the whispers and saw the disdainful looks, but more often than not he would withdraw himself even from her, out of shame which was anonymous to him. Yet the little child knew not what he had done to earn such disgrace.

Soon Maecelofin had given up speaking to any of the other Elves save for his mother, aunt, and their close friends (Celeriel and Gilthalen, namely). Yet after some time he would hardly speak to even them. Tinuthiel grew increasingly concerned with the behavior of her son, who was generally a bright and optimistic child, knowing not whether his more timid nature was due to the journey or that he may have indeed begun to realize the opinion of the adults, or perhaps an unfortunate combination of the two. The last of these was most likely. Thus out of protective, motherly instinct she began to make more of an effort to keep Maecelofin involved in activities that kept him close to her and Nimariel. Her son appreciated this whether he realized it or not, and for a time Maecelofin's disposition brightened as he helped his family and close friends with chores and accompanied them on the journey.

But as they drew nearer a mountain pass, Maecelofin would find it difficult to ignore the murmurs and cold looks any further. One day the Elven child was gathering water from a mountain stream as the caravan halted to take rest. A small group of Elves approached, and an old soldier scowled down at the child.

"The spawn of Kinslayers drinks with us," he said disapprovingly, and Maecelofin turned his blue eyes up. "Stand aside! Traitors' blood runs through your veins!" And with a wave of his hand, he shooed Maecelofin away from the stream. Maecelofin quickly scrambled to his feet and moved aside, hurt and confused. The elder Elves frowned upon him before going about their business.

This angered the boy. For the life of him, he did not understand these accusations, and had endured them for far too long. He had never committed any crime that he was aware of—he had never even touched a weapon, and he had never spoken ill of any Elf he knew.

The sun was low in the western sky, painting the sky deep orange and red as Maecelofin ran to his mother. Fair Tinuthiel was seated at their campfire, mending a hole in one of Maecelofin's shirts. She heard her son approach and looked up, frowning when she saw the distress upon his face. She set her work aside as the small child ran to her, throwing his arms around her and crying into her chest.

"What is this, tears? Tears from my little Maecelofin?" asked Tinuthiel softly. She wrapped her arms warmly around her son, stroking his fiery hair. The boy drew back to look up at her, a fierce look in his bright, teary eyes that matched his father's spirit.

"Why does everyone speak to me like this? What did I do, Mother? What did I do wrong?"

Tinuthiel was silent for a moment, grief filling her at her child's words. "Oh, my son…" She put her arms around him once more, holding him to her chest and rocking him gently. "Those are the words of ignorant people. You must pay them no heed, for you have done nothing wrong."

"Then why do they hate me?" asked Maecelofin through his tears. His mother sighed, lacing her fingers through his hair.

"They do not hate you….rest, my little one."

And though his questions were unanswered, his mother's touch soothed Maecelofin, and he felt safe enough to cry in her arms. Tinuthiel rocked him gently, holding him close and comforting him. She began to sing a melancholy song, and as her soft, sweet voice lulled him to sleep, Maecelofin quieted. And from that day, whenever Maecelofin was upset, his mother would sing to him, and he would forever remember the words.

When you are all alone and lost your way

And the night goes on forever

Come back to me, my little one

And we shall find another day

When the night is dark and so alone

And you feel your strength is lost

Come back to me, my little one

And we shall find our way back home

((A/N: Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than this one was. So anyways, I know I had one or two remarks about the no love scene thing, and I wanted to know if you guys would want on in flashback form? Comment.))