I have no excuse for not posting last week...
Disclaimer: This is Tolkien's world, I am merely playing in the sandbox
Ch.6 The Wait
Maedhros ran his hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught in the tangled mess. Yanking them out sharply, he briefly wondered when the last time was that he brushed his hair or even bathed. Probably before the smog from Angband crept south. Maedhros gave his shirt a cursory sniff, his nose wrinkling. His garments stank of strongly smoke and blood, but it was no worse than the rest of Himring's inhabitants. Maedhros had to hold back a snort. If only his brothers could see him now. He would bet good money that more than half of them would call him vainly conceited to be caring about his appearance in such a time as this.
The mirth quickly disappeared as his thoughts turned once more to his brothers. Maglor's condition hadn't changed much save that he woken and, in a moment of briefly fragmented lucidity, he had panicked about being tied down. To his still fever-addled mind, Maedhros had him restrained because his had failed to hold the Gap. Maedhros had ordered his brother to be untied, unable to take Maglor's broken pleading. The healers had grumbled, but obeyed his snapped orders.
Maedhros had received no word from Caranthir or the twins. The silence was disconcerting. He had, however, just received a letter from his other two brothers. It had arrived not an hour ago, attached to the leg of a bird. The message within was grim indeed. It was written by Curufin; short and to the point.
The letter simply stated that Celegorm, Curufin and their people had been over run in the attack. Severely out numbered, they had fled the pass. In chaos, Celegorm had taken a sword to the thigh and Celebrimbor had taken a knife to the chest. Though the details were scant, it sound like Celebrimbor was in critical condition, barely clinging to life, and Celegorm wasn't much better. Their retreat was slow, hindered by the many wounded. Thus far they had been turned away at the boards of Doraith and Turgon had refused them sanctuary in his hidden city. Though he didn't say it, it was clear that Curufin was near his wit's end and badly wanted Maedhros' advice.
Maedhros quickly wrote back advising them to turn south and seek out Finrod. True, Hithlum was closer, but Maedhros didn't want to send his already injured and weary brothers back into a war zone if he could help it. Initial reports indicated that the situation was far from pleasant anywhere on the font lines. News had arrived that Angrod, at least, had perished in the flames. At this time, Aegnor's condition was unknown, but Maedhros though that it was likely he shared his brother's fate. There were also unconfirmed rumors floating about that Hithlum had fallen and that the High King and his heir were dead. Maedhros refused to dwell on those possibilities. If Fingolfin and Fingon were dead-
"M'Lord?" a voice broke Maedhros' train of though. The eldest son of Fëanor looked up to his seneschal standing in the doorway. Erestor looked out of place in with the grim of war smeared on his usually meticulous robes.
"Hmmm, yes Erestor?" Maedhros looked at him with concern. He had left an order not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary.
"I... um... well..." It was unusual for the brash and somewhat short-tempered Elf to be so hesitant.
"Yes?" Maedhros rubbed his sump out of habit while he waited for his seneschal to continue.
"Erulissë is dead. She passed peacefully a little while ago," Erestor finally explained. He looked sick as he delivered this news. Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment. He had known this was coming, but that didn't make the news any less depressing.
"Has my brother been informed yet?" Maedhros finally asked.
"No, he has not regained consciousness since his last panic attack," Erestor nervously admitted, "I was on my way to inform his attendants, but I though you would like to know first."
"If you have not told him, then don't. I would like to be the one to tell him," Maehdros decided.
"M'Lord, do you think that's wise? Isn't it likely that he take his grief out on you?" Erestor pointed out.
"It will be well deserved," Maedhros' voice was soft and full of regret, "I should've ridden out to help, or at least sent aid to him. It's my fault he has to burry his whole family, mortal though they were."
Erestor looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind, choosing instead to hold his tongue. With a heavy heart, Maedhros made his way to the room where Maglor was. The minstrel was deeply asleep, finally drugged to unconsciousness by the healers when he became too panicked to settle. Maedhros sat by the bed and waited for Maglor to waken. The longer he sat there, the less he wanted to tell his brother the news about his daughter. Three hours pasts and still Maglor did not waken. Maedhros too to pacing circles around the room
The redhead had completed his four hundred and seventh circuit when something changed. Maglor, who had been drawing increasingly shallow breaths, made a desperate, strangled noise in the back of his throat. His chest heaved once before it went completely still. Maedhros felt his heart drop to his boots. He had seen this happen too many times in the victims from the Gap; a seizing of the lungs followed by a quick death by suffocation. Sometimes they could be made to breath again, most time the afflicted perished. Meadhros panicked. He couldn't loose his brother too.
"No, no, no! Please no!" He pleaded with his brother's still form. Maglor remained still as death.
Maedhros' wails got the attention of a passing healer in the hall. With practiced ease, the healer raced over to Maglor's bedside and quickly turned the choking Elf on his side. Careful to avoid burned areas, the healer gently, but firmly pounded on Maglor's back in between his shoulder blades. After several tense moments, Maglor began to breath again, hacking up sticky, black phlegm on to the pillow. He curled inward as his body tried to expel the stuff from his lungs. When the coughing had died down, Maglor's breathing eased a bit though it still remained raspy and strained. The healer wiped up the mess off of the pillow.
Maedhros felt shaky with adrenaline. That had been too close.
"The worst is now passing," the healer re-assured Maedhros, "He should begin to heal in earnest now."
Maedhros nodded wordlessly. Before the healer left, he turned to Maedhros, brows drawn.
"I know why you came here, " the other Elf sighed, "I warn you, don't lay that news on him yet. If he learns about his daughter's death in his weakened state, the grief will kill him."
