Sorry all, went on an impromptu camping trip and forgot to post beforehand

Disclaimer: Middle Earth, its characters and history, are not mine in any form or fashion...


Ch.4 Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

The choking smoke grew thicker over the next few days as scattered bands of civilians and even smaller groups of cavalry horsemen slowly tricked into Himring from Maglor's Gap. All in all the survivors numbered less than one hundred. Even with such a small number, the infirmary was soon overflowing with wounded. Soon the inhabitants of Himring began open their own dwellings to the injured. Maedhros split his time between securing the defenses and talking with the refugees about what had happened.

Their stories were grim and all followed along the same lines. From what Maedhros could gather, the thick smoke had crept down from Angband and enveloped their settlements and strongholds. It was then Morgoth had struck with legions of Orcs and fire-breathing drakes of the North. The defenders had tried to hold them off, but the number of the attacking host was too great. Maglor had finally ordered a retreat. They had tried to go towards Thargelion as it was closer, but they had been cut off by more Orcs. Seeing that his people were being slaughtered, Maglor had rallied his best horsemen as a last desperate attempt to provide a defense for the fleeing civilians. That was the last he had been seen.

Maedhros refused to believe that his brother was dead, but deep down he knew that chances of seeing Maglor alive again were slim to none. Still, the eldest son of Fëanor refused to give up hope, even after refugees stopped trickling in. He would spend hours on the freezing battlements gazing out towards the Gap, hoping against hope that Maglor would appear on the horizon. He didn't.

Maedhros' frantic despair was made worse when a lone rider from the Pass of Aglon appeared. The messenger bore grim tidings. Celegorm and Curufin had been forced to flee the Pass. Furthering Maedhros' worry was the news that Celegorm, at least, was injured. However, Maedhros didn't have the luxury of moping around in grief and missed possibilities. He had a stronghold to manage and though the survivors from the Gap were few in number, they were already putting a strain on the winter stores.

Maedhros was busy organizing housing for the less injured when a shout went up and the gate creaked open to let an exhausted horse and his rider in. It took Maedhros a while to recognize who the rider was. When he did, he gasped and rushed over.

Maglor was barely remaining in the saddle, head so low that his chin was almost resting on his chest, one of the few places that his dented armor remained. Maedhros could see that he was coated in ash and that his right side was horribly burned. His tunic was singed away to show raw and badly blistered skin that was painful to look at. The arm on that side hung limp and weaponless. Both of his scabbards hung empty and his swords were no where to be seen. He had part of a broken spear shaft sticking out of his right hip; his leg and the saddle were slick with blood from the wound. His half-open eyes were glazed and unseeing.

In front of him he clutched a small body with his left arm. Maedhros immediately recognized Erulissë. Maglor had clearly taken the brunt of the fight in an effort to shield his daughter, though it didn't look to have done much good. The little girl was limp in his grasp and Maedhros couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

Maedhros dash in front of the horse and caught hold of the trailing reigns, halting it. Maedhros' felt cold worry grip his heart as Maglor didn't even recognize the fact that his horse wasn't moving anymore.

"Maglor!" He exclaimed. He got no response, so he tried a bit louder. It took a moment for the Elf in question to respond, blinking blearily down at him, his eyes somewhat focused on Maedhros' face. He drew himself up slightly, drawing on what little energy he still possessed.

"Mae… Maedh…. 'Timo…" Maglor croaked as he swayed, listing dangerously to the side, "Attack'd…dragon f-fire….tried to …. c-couldn't stop….'m sorr-NO!"

A soldier had come over and attempted to lift Erulissë from Maglor's lap. Maglor weakly tried to fend him off, not realizing the poor soldier wasn't an Orc.

"Makalaurë! Stop! Makalaurë!" Maedhros barked. He felt a little bad for yelling at his brother when his mental state was so fragile, but he had to get through to him. Maglor stilled at his Quenyan name.

"Makalaurë," Maedhros' voice was gentle this time, though he continued in Quenyan, "You're safe in Himring. Let my soldier help. Let him take Erulissë."

Maglor's shoulders slumped slightly at the command, trusting his brother's steady voice as the world slowly slid out of focus again. The motion set loose a deep, hacking cough that was torn from his chest. Maglor hunched over with the effort of drawing air back into his abused lungs. Hoping that he was no longer viewed as a threat, the soldier reached for the little girl once more. This time Maglor let him take his precious burden without a fight. Maedhros watched as Erulissë was whisked away to received medical attention.

Finally Maedhros turned back to his younger brother. He noted with worry that the exhausted Elf had made no move to dismount after Erulissë had been taken from him. His eyes had glazed back over again and he was continuing to slip sideways off the saddle as his last reserves of energy left him. He had pushed himself to his limits and now that he had gotten his daughter to safety, he was quickly succumbing to exhaustion.

"Comon, little brother, let's get you to a healer," Maedhros prompted from where he held the bridle. Maglor jerked back awake when he was addressed.

"No! 'M fine!" Maglor's raspy voice broke with poorly disguised pain as his left hand clutched at the pommel of the saddle in attempt to keep himself from sliding off his horse, " 'lissë …'lissë….needs h-help…."

Before Maedhros could argue that Maglor in fact was far from 'fine', Maglor lapsed into a violent coughing fit that had him clutching at his chest with his good hand. Maedhros rushed to catch his brother as he pitch forward out of saddle. He only managed to catch Maglor's torso, the musician's lower body slammed into the ground with vicious force. Maedhros winced in sympathy as Maglor's injured side connected with the unforgiving ground. Maglor cried out in between coughs, his voice hoarse and raw.

Maedhros eased Maglor into a seated position against his chest in attempt to alleviate the coughing that had only grown worse. Tears of pain streamed down the younger Elf's face as he slumped bonelessly against his older brother, shuddering as the spasms that gripped his chest left him breathless. To busy his fingers while his brother gasped for breath, Maedhros swept Maglor's singed hair out of his face, noting the peeling skin under the burnt locks. During the action, the redhead cringed as he felt the unnatural heat rolling off his younger brother. Maedhros had then set about loosing what remained of Maglor's armor. The metal was hot to the touch. Maedhros decided that it was a miracle that Maglor hadn't cooked alive.

By the time the coughing fit somewhat subsided, Maglor had lost grip on reality. He was still conscious, but he was far from lucid as Maedhros lifted him in his arms. He whimpered pitifully as the spear in his side shifted with the change of position. His head rolled on Maedhros' shoulder until his forehead came to rest in the crook of Maedhros' neck. As he walked, Maedhros grimaced at the tacky feeling of blood that coated Maglor's leg and the heat from the fevered forehead resting on his neck. For once he was grateful for Maglor's smaller stature and not in a mocking way.

With Maglor's desperate wheezing in his ear, Maedhros hurried towards the overflowing infirmary.


Translations, names and what-not:

Maitimo - Maedhros' mother name (Quenyan)

Makalaurë - Maglor's mother name (Quenyan)