This story directly follows Hard Choices. You don't have to read that first, but the story will probably make more sense if you do.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's lovely world, I am just playing with it...


Prologue: The nightmare continues

The first thing that truly registered with Makalaurë was the stench. He gagged in revulsion at the horrid odor of rotting flesh and his own filth. The next thing that he noticed was the cold, unyielding restraint of heavy iron chains. His eyes flew open in panic. To his dismay, Makalaurë recognized the familiar room. He was back in his cell in Angband. He struggled against his bonds in denial. He had been rescued, he couldn't be back here. It wasn't possible. The room blurred in and out of focus as the panic set in.

Over the noise of his struggles and pounding heart, he heard heavy tread in hallway and then the door clanged open as Morgoth stormed in, every inch as terrible as Makalaurë remembered. Makalaurë's breath caught in his throat. The Vala was grinning maniacally and holding a glowing brand. He marched over and grabbed Makalaurë's right wrist in a bruising grip, flipping it so that the palm was face up. Morgoth held the hot metal teasingly just above Makalaurë's hand. Makalaurë could feel the intense heat and tried to squirm away. Morgoth leaned into Makalaurë's face.

"Did you truly think you could escape Kanafinwë?" He sneered, "Your brothers grew tired of your weakness and gave you back to me. Begged me to take you back. It was sweet, the oldest one, Nelyafinwë, is that his name? I guess that is matters not. He fell on his knees and wept at my initial refusal. I finally gave in just to make him shut up. The rest of them looked so pleased to be rid of you."

Makalaurë shook his head in denial. His brothers would never do that, would they? Before he could protest, insist that it wasn't true, the brand moved up his arm to his shoulder then it moved to hover next to his throat. Makalaurë's mouth was dry from fear, his spit felt like paste in his mouth. He froze in terror, unable to move. The searing heat of the metal blistered his skin. Then without warning, the brand went back to his hand. Makalaurë watched with detached horror as the brand was pressed against the palm of his right hand. The pain was white hot and instantaneous. He writhed and gasped in agony, unable to pull his hand away from the burning metal. The brand was lifted for a moment.

"Your father named you 'strong voiced', will you fail him yet again? Scream, Song Bird and I will release you to the everlasting darkness you condemned yourself to," Morgoth commanded. Makalaurë panted harshly and blinked tears from his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't make a sound. His voice was gone, ripped from his throat. When he failed to comply to the command, the brand was back and pressed down harder than before.

"Scream and it will stop," Morgoth's tone was almost board. In desperation, Makalaurë opened his mouth, but once again no sound came out. The pain intensified to the point were Makalaurë felt like he was being consumed by the feeling. Black encroached on the edges of his sight. All his tunnel vision could see was his flesh melting off under the white-hot metal. Then the brand vanished from sight leaving Makalaurë with a nauseating view of his ruined hand. He was taken by surprise as Morgoth reached over and shook him by the shoulders.

"Makalaurë, wake up!" Morgoth exclaimed, the Vala's voice was warped now like he was talking underwater. Slowly Morgoth's irate face twisted and morphed into Moryo's concerned one. Makalaurë blinked several times, but to his relief, Moryo didn't disappear. He reached out and tentatively touched Moryo's cheek. Though his brother felt solid enough, Makalaurë's fear did not disappear. Likewise, the lines of worry on Moryo's face didn't smooth away either.

"Are you alright?" Moryo awkwardly asked, catching Makalaurë's hand and absentmindedly stroking it like he was trying to impart his own nervous energy into his brother's frail form. Makalaurë pulled his hand away with a shrug. He felt far from 'alright', but there was no point in answering truthfully, it would only make his brothers worry more. Moryo gave him a scrutinizing look, but didn't press. Makalaurë looked away, focusing instead on the aching stump of his right arm. It had been just over a year since Findekáno had cut him free from the front face of Thangorodrim. The wound had closed over, but the skin was grotesquely puckered and scared, and, much to the healers' concern, retained an unhealthy white tinge. Makalaurë slowly massaged it, but fiery pain that flowed from his non-existent hand did not abate. It was strange thing, he decided, that one could feel pain from a limb that was no longer there.

Moryo noticed the rubbing motion. He turned with a sigh and grabbed a cup from the bedside table which he held to Makalaurë's mouth. Makalaurë pursed his lips and refused to open his mouth. He knew what was in the cup. The pain medication was bitter and while it worked for a little while, when it wore off, it left him battling a massive migraine and stomach-roiling nausea for hours. Unfortunately for all involved, Moryo was unaware of the effect that the potion had on his older brother.

"Drink, Makalaurë," Moryo commanded, his voice full of exasperation as Makalaurë tried to turn his head a way like a finicky child, "I know it tastes bad, but it will help you."

Makalaurë grimaced. If only the taste was the worst part. In a moment of forgetfulness, Makalaurë opened his mouth to tell his brother why he didn't want to take it. Moryo saw his chance and pour the liquid into Makalaurë's mouth. Unprepared, Makalaurë choked on the sudden appearance of the potion and he reflexively swallowed before he thought better of it. He closed his eyes briefly, already feeling his stomach gurgle traitorously before the numbing effects of the drugs began to take hold. He sunk deeper into the bed, wishing for this whole nightmare that was now his life to be over. Moryo took his relaxation as a good sign and looked pleased that Makalaurë was going to be free from pain for the time being. He looked so content that Makalaurë didn't have the heart to tell him the medication made him feel worse after a wile.

The next few hours were passed in a drug-induced haze that forced Makalaurë to dwell somewhere between the bleak reality of the waking world and his never-ending nightmares. He was alone when the drugs finally wore off, but maybe that was just as well. He didn't want anyone to see how weak he still was. The blood of the Eldar from Aman flowed through his veins, it shouldn't be taking this long for him to heal. Then, just like clockwork, Makalaurë's head began to throb as his stomach did a flip and threatened to make an appearance. Makalaurë curled up with a silent whimper. He knew from experience that drawing his knees up to his chest helped the nausea a bit, though the position made him even more dizzy.

As he lay there breathing heavily through his nose in an attempt to keep himself from becoming aquatinted with the meager contents of his stomach, Makalaurë overheard the low murmur of angry voices. In an effort to take his mind off of his misery, Makalaurë strained to hear what was being said. He quickly identified the speakers as Neylo and Tyelko.

"-stupid idea!"

"Ow! That hurt Tyelko!"

"Oh, stop it. You'll be fine. I didn't even hit you that hard."

"It still hurt."

"Yeah, well, you deserved it. What are you thinking?"

"I'm at the end of my rope, I don't know what else to do. What would you propose I do instead, O Tyelkormo the Wise?"

There was a pause before Tyelko answered.

"Let us take care of Maka so that you can focus on the duties of the Crown. Curvo, Moryo and I are more than capable of handling him."

"No, I'm not going to pawn off my responsibilities. I'm the oldest brother, I'm supposed to keep you safe. I failed Laurë once before, I have no intentions of repeating my mistakes. I need to be here for him."

"He'll be fine even if you aren't there every second, can't you see that. Is there anything I can say Neylo that will convince you otherwise?"

"No…. My mind is made up. I'm giving the crown to Nolofinwë. I can't leave Makalaurë so vulnerable, not after what he went through."

The voices grew quite as their speakers walked out of hearing range. Makalaurë swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know if he should feel honored that Neylo was giving up the Crown for him or ashamed that he was holding his brother back from his birthright. He though back over the past year. Neylo had already sacrificed so much for him. With shame wining over all other emotions, he vowed that he would no longer be a burden to his family.


Quenyan names:

Nelyo/Nelyafinwë/Maitimo = Maedhros

Makaluarë/Maka/Kano/Kanafinwë = Maglor

Tyelko/Teylkormo/Turkafinwë = Celegorm

Carnister/Moryo/Morifinwë = Caranthir

Curvo = Curufin