Maedhros came to awareness slowly, blinking bleary eyes open to see his room in Formenos. It was lit by the gentle silver twilight of Telperien. Surely he must be dreaming… but then he remembered his strange conversation with Eru. His head hurt, and he felt strange. He raised a hand to his head, wondering what had happened to it.

"Oh, thank Eru, you're awake," said Maglor's voice.

Maedhros turned his head to see his younger brother, the only one who had remained with him to the end. And stared in shock. Maglor looked so young and innocent. No sorrow past the edge of bearing darkened his eyes. Makalaure. He wasn't Maglor yet. And perhaps, Makalaure never would be. Assuming Maedhros didn't manage to wreck this chance, too.

Makalaure shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, saying "I'd better tell Healer Carniel you're awake. We've all been worried stiff about you."

"What happened?" croaked Maedhros, reaching out his hand to reassure himself his brother was actually there before he could disappear in search of the healer. Makalaure took it, looking worried and a little perplexed.

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us what happened," Makalaure said. "Curufinwe found you lying on the floor in the library three hours ago. You've been unconscious ever since."

"I don't know," said Maedhros. "I must have hit my head."

"It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?" asked Carniel, standing in the doorway.

Maedhros blinked at her. "Headache, but I'm fine," he said slowly, releasing Makalaure's hand to push himself up on one arm. The world swam.

"Don't lie to the healer, you silly fool," said Makalaure, poking him. "Your eyes are out of focus, and you can't even sit up properly."

Maedhros glared at his brother, but gave it up as a bad job when his elbow gave out, and he landed flat on the bed again. His right arm… he had two hands! He lifted his hands and stared at his right in shock. Two hands. Gingerly, he touched his right with his left. It was really there.

He looked up to find his brother and the healer staring at him like he'd grown an extra head. No, just a decidedly not-extra hand. He'd presumably lost all his scars, too, and was back to being Maitimo, the well-formed-one, again. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to take it all in, all too aware he was behaving strangely.

"Stay with us, child," said Carniel.

Maedhros opened his eyes and glared at her, thinking child indeed. He'd bet she'd never killed anyone in her life. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she demanded.

"Two," said Maedhros. He wasn't that badly hurt. He'd been hurt far worse more than once, and he had the usual interrogation down pat.

"What is your name?"

"Maedh-timo," he said, realizing that he'd better pay attention or he could mess up royally.

"Ok. What is the date?"

Maedhros had no idea, beyond 'after Father got exiled, but before the Trees died'. He started to shake his head, then stopped, wincing at the sudden pain spike. Maybe he'd better play up this injury, rather than playing it down. Better that they think him concussed than mad. He squeezed his eyes shut, and let his head rest against the pillow.

"You've a headache, I take it?"

Maedhros said nothing, letting his body relax, and the voices recede a little.

"I don't like how he keeps blurring in and out," said Carniel. "I wish Master Tatnis was here. This could be more than a simple concussion. Did he tell you how he came to fall?"

"He said he thinks he hit his head, but I don't think he knows on what or why."

"Has he ever had any unexplained falls, fits, or losses of consciousness before?"

"Not that I know of, although I heard that he got pretty clumsy when he was growing fastest." said Makalaure. "It's too bad that father isn't here to ask. You could try asking grandfather Finwe." Makalaure took Maedhros' hand and squeezed it gently.

Father is gone, we're already at Formenos... that means the Trees haven't got much longer to live. Can I prevent that? How? When am I, exactly? Not having people think I'm mad be hanged, I need to know! Maedhros opened his eyes. "How long has father been gone?" he asked.

"You don't remember."

"No."

"He's been gone for nine days."

"Oh." No way to catch up with him. "How long until the festival?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Maedhros was silent a moment, trying to remember back the required centuries. "Manwe's messenger coming to summon Father to the festival?"

"That was months ago!" yelped Makalaure in dismay.

Maedhros winced at the high pitch his brother had hit, and closed his eyes again.

"Some memory loss is common with a concussion like this," said Carniel. "It should improve in the days ahead."

"Will he be all right?" asked Makalaure.

"Provided this is no worse than it seems. Someone should stay with him at all times, and we need to wake him at intervals of at least every half hour. There is nothing wrong with his skull, but we need to make sure he's merely asleep rather than unconscious. He's probably going to be sleeping a lot over the next few days."

His brothers insisted on sitting up with him for the rest of the hours of Telperien. Maedhros put up with it because they were worried, and because it meant he would get to see them as they were before everything fell apart. It had been so long… only a few yeni, but it felt like a lifetime. He kept seeing their faces overlain with them as they had been, dead. Feeling overwhelmed and embarrassingly over-emotional, Maedhros hid his face in the pillow. Hopefully he'd be better able to cope in the morning. He fell asleep.

The light was blinding, and the pain overwhelming. Maedhros stumbled forward, his hand clenched around the silmaril, glowing blood-red as the light and heat seared right through it. He'd failed. Even the silmaril hated him now. He began to run. Not any direction in particular. Just away, away from pain, away from failure, away from those who hated him, away from himself.

Suddenly, a great fissure in the earth opened before him. He stopped, panting. The pain was still with him, and all his many failures, the despicable thing he'd become. He looked down. Far below, molten rock glowed dimly. Two more steps, and it would all be over. He jumped.

The wind was shaking his shoulder, and he could hear Maglor screaming his name. Wait a minute, that's not Maglor, that's Caranthir. What's he doing here? Maedhros jerked awake, flinching and raising his arm to protect his head, as he opened his eyes. What the… treelight?

"Oh good, you're awake," said Carnistir's shade – no, no, it was live Carnistir. His brother was still alive, as witnessed by his firm grip on Maedhros' shoulder.

"Thanks for waking me," said Maedhros, as his heart rate began to slow back down. "Nightmare."

"That was one hell of a nightmare." said Carnistir.

"Yes," said Maedhros.

His brother looked at him oddly, but shrugged and left it at that.