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Ch 3: Standing on a knife edge

Despite Curvo's pessimistic grumbling, the feast went off without a hitch. Autumn passed into winter and winter again into spring before summer once again returned. Makalaurë's strength slowly returned. He walked with a slight limp, and sitting without his back supported for any amount of time quickly taxed his strength. His right shoulder still continued to bother him. The healers assured him that the pain was normal, given what he had gone through, and that it would fade with time. Nelyo's face always draw into a frown whenever his little brother's pain was mentioned, so Makalaurë quit complaining about the pain in his arm and the twisted, useless angle it hung at. His throat had healed as much as it could, the scar standing out starkly on his skin. He could occasionally make soft rasping and whining noises, but his voice did not return. He's nightmares had decreased, though they still haunted him. However, small the improvements were, they were encouraging. It was enough that when the world came crashing down around him, Makalaurë didn't immediately cower in fear.

It was high summer. Makalaurë was in Nelyo's office with both his older brother and Curvo. The smith had been working on a new brace design for Makalaurë's shoulder. Makalaurë didn't particularly like to wear a brace. It was uncomfortable, heavy and impossible to put on by himself. He preferred to rest the useless limb in his sling. Nelyo, however, wouldn't have it. For reasons only he knew, Nelyo insisted on Makalaurë wearing the brace. Enter Curvo.

Curvo had seen the way Makalaurë fussed and grimaced about the brace, so the smith had decided to create his own design. His design, he promised, would not only be lighter and smaller, it would also be crafted in such a way that Makalaurë would be able to put it on by himself. However, before he could reveal his design, the door banged open and Moryo stormed in. He looked like he had challenged a pack of Orcs to a wrestling match and lost. His face was a bright crimson making his gloriously swollen black eye and the patchwork of bruises on his cheek and jaw stand out starkly. His clothes were dirty and ripped in places. His hair, usually meticulously pulled back, hung in a tangled mess. He had one arm hugging in his ribs in such a way that it was obvious they were hurting. Nelyo furrowed his brow in confusion while Curvo and Makalaurë looked on in unconcealed surprise.

"Mory-?"

"Thingol has imposed a ban; no one will be allowed to speak Quenya any longer and the Noldor are forbidden to enter Doriath," Moryo announced loudly, though there really was no need. The room was quiet small.

"I am aware of this. I don't see-" Nelyo was once again cut off.

"High King Orc-face agreed to the ban," Moryo spat, so furious he could barely form words, "And I was assaulted by both a Moriquendi and Arakáno. The first because I didn't know of the ban when I tried talking with him and the second because I called Nolofinwë out on his ridiculous behavior."

The other Elves sat there in stunned silence for various reasons. Once again, Nelyo was the first to speak.

"Firstly, Morifinwë, you will not refer to our uncle by such names, especially since he is King and could have you executed for treason," Nelyo's deadly quiet voice, coupled with his use of Moryo's full ataressë, indicated just how angry the oldest was, "Secondly, as I already stated, I am aware of this development. I talked with Nolofinwë about it. The reason Thingol banned Quenya is in retaliation for Alqualondë. In honor of those we slew, we will abide by the ban."

"I will do no such thing!" Moryo snarled, pride smarting, "It's petty and ridiculous. I have no intentions of abandoning the tongue of my youth simply because Thingol's whims."

"He threatened to do more!" Nelyo exploded, "He threatened to cease trade and arm for war."

"Then let him! We've handled worse," Moryo shot back, still livid. He was pacing in agitation, arms waving wildly.

"We can't afford to quarrel amongst ourselves, not with Morgoth on our doorstep!" Nelyo lectured, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Moryo has a point," Curvo argued back, his eyes aflame, "If we allow Thingol win here, where will it stop? When he's forced us back to the Helcaraxë or down south to the Unknown Lands? Or maybe when he's enslaved us all and feeds us as fodder to Morgoth?"

"Enslaving us?! Feeding us to Morgoth?!" Nelyo spluttered, "Where on Arda did you get those ideas?"

"Everyone knows it, so don't try to feign ignorance. You know I'm right," Curvo responded smugly. The way Nelyo clenched his jaw told Makalaurë that he should leave now if he wanted to avoid the impending fight. He limped to the door as quickly as possible, closing it firmly behind him as Nelyo began his rebuttal. Makalaurë waited outside the door and wondered what to do. He finally decided to wait for them to settled their differences. Even with the heavy wood, Makalaurë could hear their raised voices, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. The arguing continued for quiet sometime. Whatever was said, the only results were even higher tempers and more yelling. Makalaurë flinched as there was an unmistakable thump from a body knocking over furniture and a yelp of pain.

He was beginning to doubt his choice to stay when the door opened with bang as Moryo and Curvo stormed out. Their faces drawn were in identical scowls and Moryo was limping now as well as supporting his torso. Makalaurë waited a few minutes before re-entering the room where Nelyo still sat. Nelyo's office was in complete disarray, chairs knocked over, desk pushed askew, papers strewn on the floor. The redhead had buried his face in his hands, but he looked up as Makalaurë approached.

"Hey Laurë, sorry about that," he said tiredly, giving his younger brother a small smile. Makalaurë gave him a questioning look, eyes darting between Nelyo's weary face and the doorway where their brothers had stormed out. Nelyo seemed to get what he was wanting to know.

"In summary, they want me to confront our uncle about the ban," Nelyo sighed, "I said that I wouldn't commit such a treason. They accused me of being a coward and a traitor. I forbade them from leaving the camp, but I am still fearful they may attempt something rash."

And do something rash, they did. Through out the rest of the day, Moryo and Curvo were on a warpath, swaying many Noldor to their stand on the issue and whipping them into a frenzy. Their blood thirsty, revenge driven mob quickly grew restless. Nelyo and Pityo spent most of their time, trying to calm the crowds, but they weren't making much progress. The next day was worse as Tyelko came back from his hunting trip to promptly join Moryo and Curvo in their crusade. Nelyo was doing everything in his power to prevent them from marching on Doriath, Nolofinwë's camp or both.

Makalaurë watched the developments with worry. There was only one way this ended: war. Unless, that is, someone managed to talk with Thingol and Nolofinwë to reach a compromise. Nelyo was already planning a meeting with their uncle, the King. That just left Thingol. Makalaurë tried to think of someone trustworthy and willing to go. He continually came up empty-handed. Drawing a deep breath, he knew what he had to do.

It was late in the evening when he approached the stables. He had a small bag of provisions, one of Tyelko's knives strapped to his waist and a second cloak slung over his shoulder. The only Elf in the building was the horse-master. He looked more than a little surprised when Makalaurë requested that his horse be saddled.

"Might I inquire as to where are you going?"

'Official business that requires as much secrecy as possible.' Makalaurë wrote quickly in response, praying that the Elf would buy his response. The horse-master gave a brief nod before saddling Makalaurë' horse with efficient speed. When he was done, Makalaurë mounted with difficulty. He hadn't ridden by himself on a horse since before his capture almost 35 years ago. He sat stiffly, muscles already protesting sitting atop the horse. He quickly hid his grimace when the other Elf looked at him in concern. With a quick nod, Makalaurë rode off into the gathering dusk.


Quenyan names and words:

Nelyo/Nelyafinwë/Maitimo = Maedhros

Makalaurë/Laurë/Kano/Kanafinwë = Maglor

Tyelko/Tyelkormo/Turkafinwë = Celegorm

Carnister/Moryo/Morifinwë = Caranthir

Curvo = Curufin

Pityo/Pitafinwë = Amras

Tyelpe/Telperinquar = Celebrimbor

Ataressë = Father name