Alright. I'm back. I've been so busy that I've been neglecting this story! I promise you, I have no intention of abandoning it. It's just been so hectic these past couple of weeks with so many things going on... I've literally been dead on my feet, but it's given me plenty of time to think over what I want to write next for this story. I know the last chapter was more of a glimpse into Maglor's past, but this chapter obviously deals with Caranthir's return to the past.
Again, reviews are most welcome. Especially constructive criticism. Much appreciated!
Anyways, I thank everyone of you who reviewed! I'm so glad you guys like my story! I hope you continue to like it!
~Duplicity~
Maglor laid awake that night, unable to catch a wink of sleep. It was impossible to with everything that was going on. Thank the Valar they had found everyone meant to carry on the task of destroying the Silmarils, but curse the Valar for speeding up time. Maglor could've sworn that all he'd done was blink and then, all of a sudden, the Silmarils were being created.
Thinking over their small group, Maglor worried. How would they do this? How could they keep Fëanaro from making the jewels?
It was a difficult question. One Maglor didn't have the answer to. They couldn't approach Fëanaro and kindly ask him to drop the project. The thought made Maglor cringe. Fëanaro would only double his efforts to prove that their worries and fears were misplaced.
Sighing heavily, troubled by the sudden turn of events, Maglor carefully shifted so that he was in a more comfortable position. Aredhel and Turgon had left only three hours before, an hour after Thuringwethil's unexpected arrival. The time had flown by, he realized, seeing as it was already nearing dawn. Thuringwethil had taken refuge outside of his room, within a tree. He had offered to find her a better place, but Thuringwethil wished to be outside. Only Caranthir remained, and the cursed Elf had fallen asleep with his head on Maglor's chest, leaving Maglor with no choice but to remain as still as possible so as to not awaken him. He didn't truly mind, thankful to have someone with him. Someone who understood him. Caranthir may have struck everyone as a dark and brooding Ellon, but Maglor knew that deep within, he did care. At least, for his brothers. He'd proven that many times before. Maglor would forever be grateful to Caranthir for helping him deal with Fëanaro's death and the immense amount of guilt he'd carried on his shoulders ever since the Teleri Ships. Caranthir may not have known it, but the silent comfort he'd given Maglor had helped him to carry on. He never regretted following his brothers, but he did regret everything they'd done, and he knew Caranthir felt the same.
Maglor turned his head to the side, staring out the window. He could see the sun starting to make an appearance on the horizon and stifled the urge to groan. He hadn't slept at all. He was certain someone would catch onto that and pester him about it.
Mostly his mother. She always knew when her children weren't doing well. She could sense any small change in them and was quick to observe any odd behavior. When Maglor had first accompanied her to the marketplace, then to her workshop, Nerdanel had tried questioning her son about what had been troubling him, but Maglor only assured his Ammë that he was fine and that she had no need to worry.
That had been the biggest lie he'd ever told and Maglor regretted ever allowing those traitorous words to flee past his lips. He knew Nerdanel caught it too, but she had chosen not to say anything. He was still trying to work in reestablishing the frail Father-son relationship between himself and Fëanaro. A taxing thing to do. It was hard, since Maglor kept thinking about his Father as Fëanor. No matter what they did, he would always be reminded of something Fëanor had done and it would cause Maglor to drift away from Fëanaro.
It was as clear as day that his...discomfort around Fëanaro hurt his Father greatly. At first, Fëanaro had been able to hide some of the hurt, but now, it showed. Maglor and his brothers could tell that Fëanaro was starting to give in to the fact that Maglor probably didn't want anything to do with him and he had been seen less and less in their home.
Maglor couldn't express how guilty that made him feel. He would constantly beat himself up over the matter, yet every time he felt motivated to repair their relationship, it fell through. It pained him to know that he was hurting his Father, and no matter how hard he tried, he always made matters worse.
This didn't surprise him at all. He had always been terrible at fixing his own problems. He could give troubled people good advice and aid them in their own problems, but whenever Maglor came across something problematic...
He didn't understand it. This was why he was glad to have an elder brother to turn to.
Well, he used to. Now, he didn't know how Nelyo could help him. He probably could, but could he do it without telling Nelyo about everything that was going on? He wasn't too sure he could. He knew that if he even tried to vaguely touch on the subject, he'd end up spilling everything to his brother. That was something he couldn't risk. Nelyo, for whatever reason, could always get Maglor to tell him everything. He never had to say anything or urge him to admit to him what was wrong... All he had to do was give him a look, and Maglor would tell him every secret he held.
If he were to do that, what were the chances that Nelyo would believe him? Even if he were to have Caranthir, Aredhel, Turgon, and Thuringwethil vouch for him? By Varda, he supposed he could have Elrond help him...
He could even show him the burn of the Silmaril.
Speaking of Elrond, he did need to check on the...Elfling.
It was odd to think about. He'd gotten used to seeing Elrond as the grown-up Elf Lord he'd become and now, he was back to being an Elfling. Or was he? From what Elrond had told him, he was only six summers old and had been with Maedhros whenever he slipped into the past.
The past...
Maglor curiously eyed Caranthir. What was his story? How did he find his way back to the past? Aredhel had fallen off her horse, Turgon had a training incident, Maglor had been given a chance, and Elrond apparently fell into a river. What had Caranthir done?
Chewing on his lower lip, Maglor debated whether or not he wanted to wake his brother and ask him that question. It had been nagging at him ever since he discovered that Caranthir was one of them.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Maglor shook his brother awake. Better to ask him now than later, since they had a Feast going on tonight, he reasoned.
Caranthir made a disgruntled face, a scowl upon his lips, showing Maglor that he didn't appreciate being woken up and had no intention of waking up. His eyes didn't lose the haze of sleep, letting Maglor know he had failed in waking him up.
Well, he wouldn't fail again.
Maglor shook him again, uncaring that he was being a bothersome pest to his brother. Caranthir batted at his hand, mumbling something like 'pesky insects' under his breath and snuggling closer to Maglor, striking the minstrel's chin with his head.
Maglor winced, having bitten his tongue and hit Caranthir, lightly, on the head.
That seemed to wake him.
"Maglor..." Caranthir's voice, heavy with sleep, growled, "Quit it."
"Caranthir,"
"No."
"But-"
"No."
Maglor huffed, and Caranthir opened one eye to glare at him. "Go to sleep." The dark Elf mumbled. "It's late." He yawned and shifted closer to Maglor, willing himself back to sleep.
Maglor quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "You mean it's early."
"...What?" Was the tired response.
"It's almost dawn."
"...Already?" Caranthir grumbled, peeking from under his arm to see if Maglor was telling the truth. He was, sadly. The sun rising up in the distance attested to that. "I'm certain that I just fell asleep..." He muttered, covering his eyes with his forearm, blocking out the little light leaking through the windows of Maglor's room.
"Must feel that way." Maglor nodded. "It has only been a couple of hours."
"Truly?" Caranthir yawned again, removing his forearm and rubbing his eyes.
"Aye."
"Eru should've made the night last longer..." Caranthir groaned, burrowing deeper into Maglor's covers, hiding his face so that only his mussed dark hair was visible. "I don't want to get up."
"You never do." Maglor deadpanned, and Caranthir shrugged as best he could. "Anyways," Maglor started to say, "I was wondering, Caranthir..."
Caranthir hummed questioningly, sleepily trying to remain awake.
"How did you get here?"
Caranthir was silent for a moment, then...
"Maglor." He murmured, his tone low and calm.
"Hm?" Came the innocent response.
"Please tell me you didn't wake me up because you wanted to ask me a question."
"Well..." Maglor grinned, prolonging the word 'well.'
"I really do hate you, Maglor."
"I know." Maglor sympathetically patted Caranthir's head. "You never fail to remind me of how much you hate me."
"Honestly...I wanted to sleep in." Caranthir complained, his voice muffled from the fabric of Maglor's covers.
"I know that too, but I've been wanting to ask you that for a while now."
"...A few hours, idiot."
"That's a long while." Maglor reasoned and Caranthir growled again, rolling onto his back and casting his arm out to the side. Figuring that he wasn't comfortable enough, Caranthir dropped his head back onto Maglor's chest, causing the minstrel to release a grunt of discomfort. "So, when'd you return?" Maglor asked, hoping Caranthir would satiate his curiosity. Caranthir muttered incoherent things under his breath, words Maglor was sure were insults towards him for waking him up.
Finally, after Caranthir was done, he answered, "Five years ago."
Maglor blinked in shock. "Five years ago?" He repeated, a little incredulously. "Truly?"
Caranthir nodded against his shoulder. "Trust me, I couldn't believe it either."
"Five years? Aredhel and Turgon both arrived only two years past, and Elrond only a day. I have no idea about Thuringwethil, but five years?" Maglor confusedly said, speaking mostly to himself. "That is a long time."
Caranthir tiredly agreed, still trying to wake up.
"What happened?" Maglor pressed. He was still curious, and only after Caranthir had answered his question, would he allow him to sleep.
Here, Caranthir drew his brows together. "I'm not quite sure." He groggily admitted. "I don't remember much. It was shortly after my death, I remember that."
Maglor flinched, hating what Caranthir had said. Almost immediately, Caranthir's death was fresh in his mind and Maglor felt suffocated by the sharp surge of pain that he had felt on that day. The pain had dulled considerably during the next few thousand years, but it was still there.
Caranthir drew his eyes up to meet Maglor's pained ones, silently apologizing for bringing such a sensitive subject up.
Maglor shook his head, managing a small smile while subconsciously squeezing the life out of the poor Elf. Caranthir said nothing in complaint, knowing Maglor was only reminding himself that Caranthir was very much alive and well. He understood.
It was the same thing he'd done when he first looked to his Grandfather when he'd arrived.
"I thought it was a nightmare..." Caranthir whispered, eyes far away as he recalled the day he had arrived to the past. "Or a strange dream. Then I thought I was still dying and was merely hallucinating everything...But that dream kept going on and on, never ending...It took a while for me to realize I was here, in the past. Din had to tell me, to be honest." He sheepishly admitted, and Maglor heard Din's muffled giggles reverberate from deep within his mind. "I couldn't believe it. I couldn't bring myself to. After everything that had happened, why would I be given a chance...why would I be sent back to fix it?"
Maglor didn't have to step into Caranthir's shoes to understand what he meant. He understood perfectly what Caranthir was saying, for he had felt the same. He had even asked the same question many times.
"If anyone should have been sent back," Caranthir continued on,
"It should've been Nelyo." He and Maglor finished in unison, meeting each other's gazes.
"Yeah." Caranthir nodded, averting his gaze to stare at Maglor's dark blue covers. A fitting color for his brother, Caranthir believed. Blue. Blue and white. Even grey, he mentally added. Definitely not black. When Maglor had worn black, during those horrid times of the kinslayings and the burning of the Teleri Ships, it had disturbed Caranthir. It was a color that didn't go well with his brother. A color Maglor should never wear. To Caranthir, it was as if he was smothering what little light and innocence they had left. "Nelyo deserved this chance."
He didn't have to explain why for Maglor already knew. There were many reasons Nelyo should have been chosen for this task. He would have been a better choice than himself, the minstrel believed. Why hadn't he been chosen?
'Who's to say that he hasn't been?' Din cheekily asked Maglor, and the minstrel very nearly startled. Thankfully, he didn't, having already grown used to expecting Din to remind him of her presence at the most unexpected times.
'What do you mean?' Maglor asked, curious and a little perplexed. Had Nelyo been chosen? But, that would mean that there were seven of them, not six.
'You will find out.' Din evasively responded, a little too cheerfully than Maglor would've liked.
Was she being sincere? Honestly, Maglor didn't understand why he expected for Din to actually answer any of his questions.
'I would if I could, believe me, Maglor. But, sadly, I can't.' Din told him, a little apologetically. 'Milady expects for you to figure out things on your own. I can only give hints.'
Well, at least that answered that. Valar's orders. Maglor couldn't have Din going against whichever Vala had given him this chance.
But who had given him this chance? Who had given the six of them this opportunity to change everything?
He knew it had to be one of the female Valar, but which one? There was Varda, Nienna, Yavanna, Nessa, Vana, Vairë, and Estë. It could be any of them. He would need to find out. For now, he would listen to Caranthir's tale.
And on with his story he went...
Caranthir's return...
Caranthir was floating in a sea of darkness. He was motionless, eyes open but unseeing. Everywhere around him was black.
He could feel nothing...could hear nothing. All was silent.
He barely registered anything other than the fact that he was dead. The memory flickered through his mind. It was faint, but Caranthir knew what it was.
It was a strange thing to think about. His death.
He was dead, but where was he?
Finally mustering enough strength to move, Caranthir forced his head to turn to the side. He didn't know why he did it, since he already knew he wouldn't see anything but blackness.
Blinking, Caranthir returned to staring upwards.
Or was it downwards?
He wasn't sure what direction he was facing, nor did he care to find out. He was dead, what did it matter? For all he knew, he could be standing up instead of laying down.
But, if he was dead, shouldn't he be heading for the Halls of Mandos?
A brief streak of fear shot through him. What if...because of everything he had done, he was cast out? What if the Valar weren't accepting him because of the sins he bore? Would they truly reject him?
Could he blame them if they did?
Before these dark thoughts could swarm his mind, Caranthir felt warmth envelop him, comforting him and soothing him, driving away the fears that had started to build up within him.
"Caranthir..."
It was but a breath of air, but Caranthir heard it. A kind, loving voice saying his name, calling out to him.
"Morifinwë..."
The voice grew a little stronger, but it was still no louder than a whisper. It was melodious and angelic-like. Something Caranthir had never heard before.
"Awaken, my child..."
Awaken? Caranthir distantly thought to himself, confused. What did she mean by awaken? He was dead. He couldn't wake up.
A gentle laugh.
"Death has yet to take you, little one."
What?
But that made no sense...He was dead.
Finally killed.
A soft sigh could be heard in the darkness followed by a light breeze.
A gentle reprimand.
"Your death was undeserved, my child." the voice lightly scolded him. "Do not believe such a terrible thing."
After everything he'd done? How could they say such a thing?
Another brush of air and Caranthir felt the warmth from before blossom within him.
It was a wonderful feeling...One that reminded Caranthir of how he felt when his Ammë would hug him and tell him that she loved him...Even those annoying times when Maglor would tackle him for a 'hug.' Curufin wasn't the only one who suffered from those. Neither of the two were safe from Maglor's hugs. Even though Caranthir would act annoyed at the minstrel, he did like them. He enjoyed them, in fact. They had let him know that Maglor loved and cared for him. He'd never admit it, of course...
Oh how he missed those hugs now.
And he missed Ammë. Did she still love him? Even after they had all left her brokenhearted?
What of the person speaking to him?
"I have already forgiven you...Morifinwë."
Who was this speaking to him? What did they want?
"I want you to open your eyes, my child." Came the answer, and Caranthir was beginning to question whether or not he had finally lost it. But...this was death. Was it even possible to become insane in death?
A tiny huff.
"Morifinwë," The voice was more powerful than before, yet still soft. A mere brush of the wind but Caranthir felt it. "Wake, little one. You have slept long enough."
Slept?
"Open your eyes, and you will understand my meaning."
Why?
"You were given a chance..."
A chance?
"Go. They are waiting."
Who?
"Open your eyes, and you will see."
And with that, Caranthir felt himself being pushed away, as if something were coaxing him to leave.
He vaguely registered the fact that he was a little panicked, but his panic was battered away by the warmth from before.
"Do not fear. I am with you. You will not be alone." The voice assured him, appeasing Caranthir.
What did she mean? Where was he going? Why was he going?
"All will be made known in time, my child..."
It was silent after the voice had spoken, and Caranthir felt lonely. He continued to drift within the never ending darkness when images suddenly flashed across his mind.
A young, dark-haired, Elf shyly smiling up at him...
The same adolescent laughing, his laugh the sound of the tinkling of bells as his shoulders shook from the force of his laughter.
Caranthir's brow furrowed. What were these memories?
The Elf from before flashing him an extremely panicked look. A look of pure horror before the ice beneath his feet cracked. The feeling of urgency and terror that overcame him the moment he heard the sickening crack and watched the adolescent vanish underneath the ice.
Caranthir couldn't ever recall these memories. When did they happen?
He knew the Elfling, but he didn't remember this ever happening in this lifetime.
A shocking wave of cold water swallowing him up when he dived after the young Elf, eyes blearily catching sight of the adolescent's outstretched hand reaching for his own...Scared blue eyes capturing his brown ones and holding them.
Bubbles floating past him as the adolescent choked on the water filling his lungs, silently pleading for him to save himself.
Shaking his head firmly and kicking harder to reach him, watching as the life started to flee from the adolescent's eyes...One last plea for him to go reflected in those half-opened orbs...
Dropping his head back, Caranthir did his best to understand these unknown memories of his. Where were they coming from? Were they his? Someone else's? Why was he seeing them?
Grabbing hold of the young Elf, pulling him securely against him.
Agilely twisting so that he was facing upwards and kicking his feet furiously, fighting to reach the surface before it was too late.
The young Elf growing limp against him, dark hair mixing with his own as he forced himself to swim faster.
Discovering that he was trapped beneath the ice, unable to find an opening.
The dark-Elf felt a twinge of dread and familiarity. These memories were his own...Yet, they weren't the same memories he knew. They were different, changed somehow. It was odd, and even more puzzling. He faintly recalled that very day, when the Elfling slipped on the ice, cracking it, but he never submerged beneath the water underneath.
Growing weaker from the lack of oxygen...Pounding against the ice with his hand, begging for it to break from the force he mustered behind the hits.
Releasing an anguished shout when he finally couldn't hold his breath anymore... Dark spots dotting his vision, blackness closing in as he struggled.
The next thing Caranthir knew, he was cold. Frigid cold, as if someone had dunked a bucket of ice down his shirt. He shivered violently, teeth chattering.
What was this?
Strength fleeing his body as he frantically searched for a way out.
Slowly drifting downwards as he continued to lose strength.
Watching as the ice above him started breaking...
Shoving the adolescent up into the hands he saw reaching for them...
The coldness intensified to the point where Caranthir could've sworn he was turning into an icicle. He felt as though he was being stabbed by a thousands pins and needles.
Seeing another pair of hands stretch out towards him, unable to grasp a firm hold of his hand as their fingers brushed against one another's...
Slipping further into the freezing lake, a small smile stretching his lips from the comforting knowledge that the young Elf would be safe.
Catching a glimpse of red diving into the waters after him, a familiar, blurred, face filled with determination fed by the terror they felt.
The last thing he sees is the red Elf snapping his hand out and grasping his wrist, yanking him up and wrapping a strong arm around him... and then he knew no more.
He didn't know how long the cold lasted, but gradually, once the memories ended, he felt himself moving upwards, as if something were pulling him up. He was still freezing, even though the cold slowly started to release its hold on him.
And then, there was another voice. It was broken and far-away, but it was there. He could barely understand what it was saying.
"Mo...f...ë!"
He tiredly slid his eyes open, wondering where this voice was coming from. Moving dark orbs left and right, Caranthir discovered that he was, as he'd expected, alone in the mist of darkness encompassing him.
Then, who was calling out to him? Why couldn't he see them?
"Mo...o!"
The voice was becoming clearer, and Caranthir had the strangest sense of déjà vu. He knew this voice...But, from where?
He couldn't remember.
He was too tired to remember. His body was begging for him to sleep, to slip away and become one with the darkness.
He allowed his eyes to drift shut, willing himself to give in to his need for sleep. A sleep he may never wake from again.
That was fine. It actually sounded rather pleasant.
"Moryo!"
His eyes snapped back open, searching in vain for the owner of the voice. They sounded so desperate, but it was the actual voice that caught and held Caranthir's attention. And the name. He hadn't gone by 'Moryo' in ages. Who was calling him by that name? There were times his brothers would slip back into calling him Moryo, but it was rare...and his brothers couldn't possibly be here. But...
That voice...
"Moryo!" It urgently pleaded, the voice breaking in fear and panic.
"Mae...dhros..?" Caranthir managed to utter aloud. Had Maedhros actually found him? Had Maedhros come to find him, Celegorm, and Curufin? Had he brought Maglor with him?
"Toron, please!" Maedhros's voice begged again, and Caranthir felt himself trembling, as if he was being shaken by some unseen force. The blackness quaked, the vibration loud in his ears, which struck Caranthir as odd.
Toron?
"Breathe! By the Valar, breathe!"
It was getting harder for him to breathe, Caranthir discovered, and the dark Elf was becoming even more lost, drowning in his confusion. His breathing growing labored, Caranthir fought to understand what was happening.
"Moryo!"
He felt a touch against his cheek and a breath ghost across his face.
"Don't...Please, don't..." And he was being shaken again. "Wake UP!" Maedhros's voice cracked as he shouted, a sense of hopelessness lacing his tone.
Caranthir felt the urge to comfort him, to let him know that all would be well. He wanted to let his brother know that he was alright, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't move. He was immobilized.
He was dead.
No matter how many times Caranthir said that, he found that he couldn't believe it. The voice from before claimed that he wasn't dead...
It also said that he needed to open his eyes, which made no sense since they were already open.
A niggling sensation in the back of his mind told Caranthir that his eyes weren't open like he believed them to be, but, again, that was impossible.
A heart-shattering cry followed by a muffled shout echoed in the darkness and Caranthir's eyes flew wide open once again. Maedhros's cry made Caranthir cringe, his own heart aching from the sound. It was a terrible thing to hear, Maedhros crying. It was something Caranthir found he couldn't stand. His brother was strong...He was brave...He was Maedhros. Caranthir never saw or heard him cry. He had once or twice before, but other than that...never. And he never wanted to. It was...unnerving, to say the least.
"Moryo..." Maedhros's voice quietly mumbled, his breath hitching.. An unknown weight settled itself against his chest, above his heart, as if it were trying to listen for a heartbeat.
Caranthir knew there wouldn't be one.
Wait a moment...
Caranthir frowned to himself. Maedhros's voice...
He listened again, straining his ears, wondering at the abnormality he had heard in Maedhros's voice.
"Toron."
It was...smoother than he remembered, not rough or hardened like the Maedhros he knew.
It almost sounded like...
"Nelyo..?" Caranthir barely managed to say, choking a bit. There was something blocking his airways and his chest felt oddly tight.
Suddenly, it was as if Caranthir had regained feeling. He felt as if he'd been poked and pricked by thousands of needles. Valar he was cold! His chest burned as he struggled to breathe, having abruptly lost the ability to. His airways were blocked, and no matter what Caranthir did, he couldn't even gasp for breath.
Sharp, wrenching fear clutched at Caranthir's being as he fought to unblock whatever it was clogging his airways.
"BREATHE!" another harsh, pleading, cry. A demand enforced by a sudden pressure against his chest.
Caranthir was violently ripped away from the darkness surrounding him when his body jerked on its own accord, forcing him to vomit up the water he had somehow swallowed. Eyes flying open, Caranthir was greeted by a blinding light and he snapped them shut while he painfully coughed up the rest of the water he miraculously discovered was the reason he couldn't breathe in the first place.
Caranthir barely felt arms wrap around him tightly, drawing him up and pressing his head against someone's soaking wet shoulder. The upper half of his body was cradled against a strong chest, one arm firmly wrapped around his back, and someone dropped their head against his chest, sobbing in relief as Caranthir greedily gasped for air. He was pressed more firmly against them, as if the person was trying to convince himself that Caranthir was alive.
Water trickled from his mouth as Caranthir struggled to reopen his eyes to see who his savior was.
Whoever it was was trembling, he could feel it.
He managed to open his eyes into slits, for he was too weak to open them even more. He was able to catch a glimpse of red blocking his vision before his head rolled to the side and his eyes closed.
He felt so weak.
So tired.
His body was numb. He couldn't feel a thing except for a tingling sensation at the tips of his fingers.
Most peculiar.
He was pretty sure that he didn't die from drowning.
"Thank Eru, Moryo!" The voice belonging to the Elf Caranthir once knew as Nelyo breathed into his ear, a sob accompanying his name. "I thought I'd lost you..."
Caranthir said nothing, unable to do anything. All he could do was remain limp, allowing this Nelyo to hold him.
He didn't dare believe this.
It was a dream.
Something his imagination had conjured up in death to make him feel better.
But it didn't make him feel better. Nelyo wasn't here. He was still alive. He was Maedhros. Having Nelyo with him in death wasn't at all comforting. It made him feel worse. How could he face his brother after all of his failures? How could he look him in the eye after failing him? He died. He had been weak. He had shamed his brother.
The person raised their head to look down at Caranthir, and the dark Elf was able to open his eyes once again. It took a lot of effort, but he managed.
His eyes had to be deceiving him. This Elf...Couldn't be Nelyo, and yet, he looked exactly like him.
The same dark blue orbs dancing with fear, pain, and overwhelming joy... Eyes glistening with tears that had yet to be shed... A perfect, fair, face streaked with tears that had already fallen and a unique shade of shocking red hair that no other Elf but Nelyo had. It was even in the same, preferred, hairstyle Nelyo always wore it in when they were younger.
Much younger.
He wore the braids Caranthir had once clumsily made when Nelyo had allowed him to braid his hair. Why he had still chosen to wear those braids Caranthir had imagined up was beyond the Elf, but after Caranthir, who had been an Elfling at the time, had braided Nelyo's hair, Nelyo had braided it in the same style.
He always wore them proudly too. They also helped keep his hair from getting in his face, something that aided him greatly when training with their Father.
Nelyo's eyes darted about his brother's face before locking gazes with him, one hand coming to rest over Caranthir's heart, as if he still needed to ensure himself that his brother was very much alive.
"Moryo..." Nelyo's blue eyes started to shimmer again and his lower lip quivered a bit before he crushed Caranthir against him. His shoulders shook but Caranthir didn't hear him crying. "Eru...I was so scared...I thought I was too late." Nelyo mumbled, trying to calm himself by inhaling and exhaling deeply.
This had scared him so much...
Nearly losing his brother.
Moryo had looked so near death after he'd pulled him out that Nelyo had, for one split-second, believed his fëa had already left for the Halls of Mandos.
Caranthir only blinked, slowly, like it required a lot of effort on his part, not comprehending anything.
Nelyo shook his head, Caranthir receiving a face full of wet hair.
"You idiot...You blundering idiot..." Nelyo rambled on, fingers bunching up the fabric of Caranthir's tunic as he tightened his grip, the relief he felt overwhelming him. His selfless little brother had risked his life...And very nearly died because of it.
Caranthir was lost, but he had decided it wasn't worth trying to prove to himself that it wasn't real. If this was his way to deal with death, then so be it.
If it meant seeing Nelyo one last time... He was fine.
Would Maglor be there? If he was, he wanted to see him.
Searching as best he could, Caranthir half-expected for Maglor to materialize beside Maedhros.
He never did.
Where was he? Where Maedhros was, Maglor was often not far behind.
Nelyo couldn't describe how he felt, but he was eternally grateful for Eru sparing his brother. If he had been a second too late...
No! He wouldn't think like that! Moryo was here now. He was alive. Half-drowned, but alive.
Poor Caranthir still couldn't feel his body, but he somehow brought himself to breathe out his brother's name.
Nelyo's breath caught on another sob, squeezing his eyes shut when more tears threatened to fall. He didn't try to stop them. Valar, he was too happy to care.
He couldn't bring himself to release his brother, but he raised his head up when he heard the sound of fast approaching footsteps in time to see Fëanaro streak out of the snow-covered trees of the forest, panic and unbridled fear burning brightly in his piercing blue eyes and marring his normally stoic features. Curufinwë was hot on his heels, looking as though he wasn't sure what to feel at the moment. There were so many emotions whirling within him that Curufinwë was having a difficult time naming each one of them. There was definitely fear, panic, a sense of desperation, and hope...
But he wasn't sure exactly what he felt. There was just a jumble of mixed emotions making themselves known to him that Curufinwë felt ready to have a breakdown of some kind.
In the corner of his eye, he could see Nolofinwë rushing past Fëanaro and to Findekano, who was knelt down a little farther away from Nelyo. Findekano had a vice-like hold on his younger brother, Turukano. The fear he had felt the moment Turukano had gone under the ice covering the lake was still evident in the expression he wore. Turukano was as pale as a ghost and shivering uncontrollably, blue orbs wide with shock and fear as they locked onto Moryo's still body within Nelyo's arms. His black, long, hair and warm clothes dripped with water.
Neither of them moved, the shock they had been given still needing to release the hold it had on them.
~Caranthir's Return~
It had happened so suddenly. Without any warning, Curufinwë would later recall.
Everything had happened to fast.
He had been trailing after Moryo, bored to death, when all of a sudden, a shriek pierced the air and Moryo was only a dark blur zipping over to the ice-covered lake.
Nelyo and Findekano had been much farther ahead of them, but the moment they heard Turukano's terrified cry along with the sound of ice cracking, had instantly whipped around and bolted in their direction.
They wouldn't reach Turukano in time; he'd already gone under by the time they had turned around. Moryo had reacted faster than Curufinwë had imagined was possible. He was gone like the wind, throwing himself after Turukano without hesitation.
At first, Curufinwë had just stood there, frozen in confusion, before it hit him.
Turukano had fallen through the ice, and Moryo had gone to save him.
He watched, in stunned disbelief, as Nelyo and Findekano ran across the ice to the gaping hole in the center of the lake, shouting the names of their brothers. His elder brother and cousin anxiously searched for any sign of Turukano and Moryo, calling out to them. Nelyo's hands hovered above the ice, the Elf wondering where and if they would reappear.
Findekano had fallen to his knees beside him, desperately looking into the hole in the ice for his younger brother and Moryo. He couldn't see them. The water was as clear as mud, and Findekano was at a loss for what to do.
Curufinwë never once moved from his spot, his feet glued to the ground while he stared at the ice.
Every second that passed felt like hours to the three Elves. The silence was deafening...
And then, they heard the sound of someone pounding against the ice. Nelyo shot over to where he heard it coming from, Findekano at his side. Curufinwë could barely see Moryo beneath the ice, only able to catch a blurred figure floating underneath Nelyo and Findekano, holding something against him while slamming his hand against the thick ice above him.
He could sense Moryo fading, becoming exhausted and overcome by the freezing waters of the lake. He knew Nelyo felt it too, for his elder brother was driving his fists against the ice madly, hoping to break it before it was too late.
All of them heard Moryo's anguished shout and Nelyo mustered all of his strength behind one last punch, swinging his fist down against the ice in an attempt to shatter it.
He managed to crack it, and at this, both Findekano and Nelyo set to work in breaking it even more until it finally shattered, fear keeping them from feeling any pain. They had created a hole in no time at all, and Findekano snatched at Moryo and Turukano.
He missed, Moryo having already started to sink from having drained all of his energy in trying to break the ice. Nelyo also reached out, a split-second after Findekano had.
Moryo, Curufinwë saw, had pushed Turukano up towards them, and Findekano immediately grabbed the young Elf, dragging him out of the lake. He had snatched him up and ran at break-neck speed for the lake shore, crashing to his knees and carefully, but quickly, setting Turukano down. He didn't even check for a pulse before pressing down on Turukano's chest, fearfully.
Curufinwë heard Turukano cough out the water he'd swallowed and Findekano's relieved exclamation just as Nelyo released an alarmed cry. The Elf dived into the hole they'd created.
He felt his heart drop, knowing that that meant Moryo had sunk.
He was drowning.
For several, long, agonizing moments, Curufinwë waited. He didn't even realize he was holding his own breath or hear Turukano breathlessly calling out for Moryo as they watched the hole in the ice, hoping to see Nelyo and Moryo emerge from the dark waters.
They didn't.
Fear tightened the knots in Curufinwë's stomach.
'Please...Oh please don't take them!' Curufinwë remembered begging the Valar. 'I can't lose them like I lost Makalaurë...Please!'
As if answering his prayers, Nelyo broke through the surface, one arm scrambling to get a good hold on the ice and pull himself out. His fingers scraped against the slick ice and Nelyo fought to keep a good hold on it.
Curufinwë didn't know when he'd started moving, but the next thing he knew, he was pulling Nelyo's arm and chasing after him once he managed to get him out.
Curufinwë remembered how his heart had stopped beating at the sight of a deathly pale Moryo in Nelyo's arms, his head lolling against Nelyo's shoulder.
He wasn't breathing.
Nelyo had very nearly thrown himself to the ground, lowering Moryo down and basically pounding his chest, hoping to get Moryo to breathe.
Nothing would work.
Curufinwë hadn't stayed to see what Nelyo would do. He couldn't stay, watching as Nelyo pleaded and begged for Moryo to open his eyes. He had shot off into the woods, filled with fear and horror.
Moryo was dead.
Or dying.
The thought was enough to supply Curufinwë with the energy required to run from the lake to his home. He never stopped for breath or slowed, knowing that Moryo's life may depend on his reaching their Father in time.
His panicked shouts reached Nolofinwë and Finwë, who were strolling through the snow-covered lands of Fëanaro's homes. They were also enough to send Fëanaro flying out of his home to see what was wrong with his son.
"Curufinwë!" Finwë barely had time to grab the Elf and when he did, Curufinwë fought against his hold, earnestly calling out for his Father.
"Ionya!" Fëanaro materialized beside Finwë, reaching out and taking hold of his son form Finwë's grasp, blue eyes searching his son's for the answer to the many questions zipping through his mind.
Nolofinwë and Finwë were staring at him with a mixture of worry and concern, wondering what on Eru's green Earth could cause Curufinwë to go berserk.
"Atto! Atto!" Curufinwë grasped his Father's hands, fiercely tugging them, demanding for him to follow. "Come quick! You have to come!"
"Nay, Ionya!" Fëanaro sharply told his son, firmly, but gently, gripping Curufinwë's shoulder once he managed to shake off his son's hold. "Tell me what is wrong."
Curufinwë was near hysterical, bouncing on the balls of his feet while mentally counting down how much time he possibly had. "Moryo! It's Moryo!" He blurted out, yanking his Father's arm and trying to lead him to the lake.
Fëanaro felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dunked over him. His chest grew tight as a million different scenarios sped through his mind, each worst than the one that came before.
"What about him, Curvo? What of Moryo?" Fëanaro demanded to know, stilling his son's movements by cupping his face in his hands and forcing him to look him in the eye.
Hadn't his sons been on a simple walk through the woods? What could have possibly gone wrong?
Erase that, Fëanaro mentally told himself. With his sons, anything could happen. He had learned that early on when Nelyo and Makalaurë were tiny Elflings. Now he had seven, and still, strange things, sometimes incomprehensible, seemed to happen to them.
"He...He..." Curufinwë tried to think of how to answer the question. He's dead?
But what if Moryo wasn't dead?
He was drowning? He drowned?
Oh, enough of this! He could care less about the words that left him!
Without taking a single breath, Curufinwë launched into an abbreviated tale of what had happened, his words stuck together as he hastily tried to take as little time as he could.
"Turukano-"
Nolofinwë sharply looked to Curufinwë at the mention of his son's name, a sense of fear flashing through his eyes. Finwë didn't even realize he had reached out and touched his second eldest's arm as a gesture of comfort, already drawn into the tale that was to come.
"-fell through the ice-"
Here, both Nolofinwë and Finwë went rigid and there was even a small flicker of concern in Fëanaro's eyes. Surprisingly enough, it remained, Fëanaro freely allowing them all to see.
"-and Moryo went to get him out. He got him out, but Moryo didn't make it." Here, Curufinwë stumbled over his words when they were cut off by a sob.
Fëanaro grip had tightened throughout the tale, fingertips digging into his shoulders. Curufinwë didn't even noticed, too worried to care.
"What?" It was the only thing Fëanaro could say as Curufinwë's words sunk deep into his mind. And when they did... "What do you mean?!" Fëanaro snapped at Curufinwë, eyes wide, accidentally jerking his son when he finally made sense of what Curufinwë had just told him.
Curufinwë shook his head wildly. What was he waiting for?! They didn't have time for this! They needed to act now!
"Moryo...He...He was drowning! Nelyo tried to get him out but- Atto, he wasn't breathing!" Tears finally started to fall as Curufinwë gave into the fear that his brother was dead.
"Where?" Fëanaro demanded to know, his gaze still holding his son's.
"The lake."
No sooner had the words left his lips did Fëanaro bolt away, running faster than they had ever seen him go. Nolofinwë shot after him while Finwë fearfully, while trying to remain calm, grasped hold of Curufinwë's arm. Anyone could tell that he was also scared for Moryo, and already, Finwë was praying that his grandson would live.
"Curufinwë?" Finwë softly called out, and Curufinwë dazedly turned his head in his direction.
"What if he's dead..?" Curufinwë choked out, his entire being shaking in barely suppressed fear. His eyes went wider than Finwë thought possible as he repeated the question aloud, adding Moryo's name in it. "What if Moryo's dead!?" He snapped his head up to face Finwë, staring past him, horror stealing over his features. "Moryo!" Curufinwë shouted, whipping around, ready to fly back into the woods. Finwë tried to reach out.
Whether it was to catch him or comfort him, he didn't know.
He watched as Curvo sped away after his Father and before he knew it, he was chasing after him.
Now, Finwë had never truly had the opportunity to drop his title and everything that went with being a Lord since he was an Elfling; but, right now, nothing mattered to Finwë except finding out whether or not Moryo was truly gone.
Only a few Elves, servants of Fëanaro, caught sight of their Lord sprinting away from the Home and into the woods.
Losing another grand-child...
Finwë didn't want to believe it possible. He had already lost one- Makalaurë. Sweet, charming, little Makalaurë. Finwë could remember when he'd first held Makalaurë when he was but a frail babe. So weak, and fragile Finwë feared his second grandchild would die sometime in his infancy.
He never did. Makalaurë, by some unknown miracle, had pulled through and survived.
Fëanaro and Nerdanel fervently declared that it was all Nelyo's doing, and Finwë knew it was probably so, having witnessed the strong bond between his two eldest grandchildren.
Makalaurë never did lose his fragility. He always struck Finwë and his family as delicate and vulnerable, and yet so strong. So bright.
The Elven glow that had enveloped his being was unlike any Finwë had ever seen.
Makalaurë, Finwë remembered, always wore a smile that could brighten even the darkest of nights. His expressive eyes always sparkled, and that same trademark smirk- more of a sideways grin for Kano- Fëanaro was well-known for would often creep onto his features.
His love for music, and even dancing (Finwë had discovered that by accident), added to Makalaurë's timid personality. He had always been a shy, yet outgoing, Elfling. Yet, at the same time, he was courageous and friendly. There was a hidden fire that blazed in his eyes... the same fire that burned in his other siblings' and Father's eyes. One that spoke of strength and determination.
As well as stubbornness. A trait they had, unfortunately, inherited from their Father.
Makalaurë was not one to be underestimated. He always had his way of taking people by surprise. He was gentle, but firm. Kind and stern.
It was an odd mix, but Makalaurë never had trouble balancing them out.
Everyone had adored Makalaurë, and now that he was gone... Everything had changed. Fëanaro's sons were grim and less enthusiastic. Nelyo had grown fiercely protective of his remaining brothers, practically raising the twins in his parents' stead and encouraging his other brothers to better their skills. For example, he would help Curvo in the Forge, providing tips and proudly as Curvo perfected another one of his projects. Tyelko, he urged to practice his archery. It wasn't long before Tyelko became an expert in using a bow. It had been Makalaurë who had caught onto the fact that Tyelko was made for archery, having watched a young Tyelko practice aiming with his play bow. For Moryo, Nelyo would work with in strategy. The two would often be seen playing chess or overlooking several different, made-up, battle plans and Moryo would conjure up different battle tactics that would, more often than not, work.
They still had yet to discover what Ambarto and Pityo were skilled in, but as of now, they were well-rehearsed in wreaking havoc about the entire household of Fëanaro. The nine year old twins absolutely loved their elder brothers and could be seen waddling after Nelyo. Nelyo would make sure to set some time apart to play with them, and sometimes, Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo would join in the fun.
It was during these rare days that Finwë would see his grandsons laughing and being...happy. On rare occasions, Fëanaro would also leave the Forge and mess around with his sons.
Nerdanel and Finwë took it upon themselves to look after Nelyo, but they didn't have to worry. The younger sons of Fëanaro made sure their eldest brother was well taken care of.
Finwë didn't have any more time to think over his grandsons when he finally arrived to the lake. It was here that he watched Fëanaro, who was trying his best not to give into his fear, rush over to Nelyo's side.
There was no coherent thought going through Fëanaro's mind as he booked it to the lake. He had never run this fast and this far in his entire 200 and some odd years of life.
But run he did, and never stopped. Not even when his lungs were burning, begging for him to pause and take a deep breath in order to fill them.
Gasping lightly, Fëanaro nimbly made his way through the woods, easily maneuvering around whatever obstacle stood in his way. Ducking beneath a low, thick, branch, Fëanaro caught sight of sparkling blue in the distance. He sped up, crossing the distance between himself and the lake.
As soon as he flew from the darkness of the woods, Fëanaro skidded to a stop, eyes darting over Findekano, noting the drenched Turukano he held and the stricken expression his eldest nephew wore.
He snapped his head in Nelyo's direction, his heart dropping when he saw the limp Elf Nelyo held tightly against him. Running his eyes over his son's form, Fëanaro could feel his fear skyrocketing at the sight of Nelyo's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face. Nelyo raised his head to look up at his Father, blue orbs filled with a glimmer of sheer terror and worry.
He didn't know when he moved, but Fëanaro found himself kneeling before Nelyo, shaky hands reaching out to Moryo. With trembling fingers, Fëanaro delicately touched one cheek and turned Moryo's head so that he might see his son's pale face.
Moryo made no sound or movement, not even a twitch, and that made Fëanaro fear the worst. Brushing aside the wet hair sticking to Moryo's face, Fëanaro nearly sagged with relief when Moryo's dark brown orbs slid open to slits, disorientation swimming in them.
"Moryo!"
Upon hearing Fëanaro's shaky exhale, Moryo eyes widened and darted over towards him. Once they landed on the familiar face he knew to be his Father's, Moryo suddenly thrashed in Nelyo's hold.
"What? Moryo!" Nelyo tried to calm his brother, holding him loosely but firmly.
Moryo coughed and choked on air while murmuring, "Dead, dead, dead!" Over and over as best he could.
Fëanaro instantly went to calm him, carefully holding his son's head in his hands.
"Moryo! Ionya! Calm yourself!"
Moryo wouldn't calm. He started to hyperventilate, incoherently muttering foreign words underneath his breath, worrying everyone who was watching the event unfold. His gasps took on an edge of desperation when he would look to and fro at Fëanaro and Nelyo and his fingers clawed at his throat when he finally ran out of breath.
Finally, Nelyo placed him on the ground and he pinned down one of Moryo's arm while Fëanaro held down the other.
"Calm, Moryo! Breathe!" Nelyo encouraged, brushing his fingers through Moryo's wet hair, trying to soothe his brother's panic and confusion. Moryo shook his head, as if in denial, bending one arm in order to grasp Nelyo's hand.
Nelyo winced from Moryo's grip, a little surprised by his strength, but didn't pull away.
"Mae...Mae..." He attempted to say, while Fëanaro and Nelyo tried to make sense of what he was trying to tell them.
"What is it, Moryo?" Nelyo quietly said to his brother, hoping that by speaking to him, Moryo would settle down. It wouldn't do him well to get so worked up after nearly drowning.
They still had to move him to Nalara's halls of Healing to get him checked. But with Moryo in this state, Nelyo didn't want to try moving him.
"Maedhros..." Moryo breathlessly murmured, gurgling on some of the water he managed to cough up from his lungs. "Sorry...So sorry..." He weakly apologized, doing his best to keep his sight on Nelyo. His eyes were steadily blurring, and all he could see was red. He focused on the red, not daring to look in the other direction.
"Maedhros?" Fëanaro repeated, thoroughly confused, but Moryo seemed not to hear him. Or he was ignoring him.
"Sorry for what Moryo?" Nelyo gently asked his brother, slowly lifting Moryo up into his arms and swaying back and forth in a soothing manner. This had always helped to calm Moryo when he was an Elfling. He'd suffered from terrible nightmares as an Elfling, and the only way to get him to fall back asleep was to rock him back and forth till he finally nodded off.
A mere breath of air, so soft that Nelyo had to strain his ears in order to hear him, "Failed..."
It took Nelyo a couple of seconds to understand Moryo's meaning- or thought that he understood- and when he did, he set out to assure him. "No, Moryo." He huffed out a small laugh, resting his chin on the top of Moryo's head, tightening his hold on his brother reassuringly. "You didn't fail, little one."
"Did...Sorry..."
"No. Turukano is safe, Moryo... You got him out in time..." Nelyo soothed. Moryo was silent afterwards, blankly staring ahead.
"Safe..." Moryo breathed out, then without warning, slumped over in Nelyo's hold.
Fëanaro surged forward with a startled exclamation, pressing two fingers underneath Moryo's jaw to search for a pulse the moment he watched Moryo sag against Nelyo.
For a tense second, Fëanaro, Nelyo, and the others waited, neither daring to breathe.
Fëanaro exhaled deeply, dropping his head forward and closing his eyes in relief. "He's only unconscious." He informed them, receiving relieved sighs from the Elves gathered around them. "He must've overdone it." Fëanaro carefully gathered Moryo from Nelyo, cradling his son's form against his chest and standing. Moryo's head rolled against his shoulder, and Fëanaro lovingly smiled down at him. It was one of those rare times when Fëanaro would actually smile. "I will take him to Nalara." Turning slightly to face Nolofinwë, Fëanaro eyes Turukano.
Turukano curled into himself when he found himself pinned by Fëanaro's intense gaze, unable to look into those blazing blue eyes. Findekano reassuringly patted his head and Turukano shyly raised his head to look up at his uncle.
Fëanaro said nothing for a moment, regarding Turukano in silence before finally speaking. "Bring him, Findekano. Nalara should take a look at him as well."
Findekano started lightly from having been spoken to, but quickly nodded.
Before he could move, however, Nolofinwë leaned forward and took Turukano into his own arms. Swiftly standing, Nolofinwë followed after Fëanaro. Findekano, Nelyo, Finwë and Curvo walked behind them, Finwë draping an arm around Curvo and drawing his grandson close. Curvo glanced up at him with a worried look, which Finwë responded with a light smile. One that promised that Moryo, and Turu, would be alright.
~Caranthir's Return~
It was late into the night and Finwë was seated in a comfy chair beside Moryo's bedside, patiently waiting for his grandson to awaken. Nalara had checked on him earlier and had told Fëanaro and Finwë that he would be fine. Moryo had only swallowed a lot of water but other than that, he would be okay. She had advised them that Moryo needed to rest for a couple of days and take it lightly.
Finwë smirked. Moryo would not like that. He hated being confined and limited.
Even when he'd broken his leg, Moryo would find things to keep him occupied. He would go down to the Forge and craft beautiful bracelets and necklaces, seeing as forging weapons of any kind would be too strenuous. He would wander about the woods, watching his brothers train, and take trips to the waterfall. Of course, he would regret never resting come nightfall, and Moryo would spend a painful night trying to ignore his aching leg. He never stopped busying himself, though, and Finwë recalled how irritated Fëanaro had become upon learning that his son was not resting as he should be. One day, he had basically thrown Moryo over his shoulder and took him back to the house, ignoring how Moryo hissed and shot dark looks at his Father. Fëanaro had then ordered young Turukano to watch over Moryo and make sure that he stayed in bed, all day.
Turukano, who at the time was terrified of Fëanaro, squeaked out that he would do as his uncle had commanded. Poor Turu was shaking the entire time, shirking away from Moryo when the dark elf would growl at him, glowering darkly at the frightened Elfling.
Little Turu had done his best to be brave, but his shyness refused to let him relax. While Moryo seethed, Turu was internally panicking, hoping his cousin wouldn't hate him for following Fëanaro's orders.
It wasn't unusual for Turu to occasionally flee to the kitchens, pick up some snacks, and return back to Moryo's room to watch over the Elf. Though Moryo was only a few years older than him, and barely a couple inches taller, Turu felt very small compared to him.
Sometimes, Turukano would take trips to the library, scouring for any strategic books he could find that would keep Moryo's active mind occupied. The little Elfling, who Finwë knew had the biggest heart of the entire family, excluding Makalaurë, felt for his cousin. It was for that reason Turu did his best to make sure Moryo was comfortable and would fetch whatever it was Moryo asked for.
Moryo still took out his anger on his cousin, hissing and baring his teeth at the Elfling. He was still quite furious about Fëanaro forcing him to rest.
Then came one day when Turu never appeared.
Finwë and Findekano had learned from one of the servants that Turu had yet to visit the kitchen to claim a snack for himself and Moryo.
A little worried, the two set out to Moryo's room, wondering if Moryo had finally snapped and poor Turu had taken the brunt of his anger. Moryo was known for his short temper.
Thankfully, he had grown more calm over the years.
They arrived to find Turukano and Moryo playing a game of chess, enjoying one another's company.
They found out that Turu had picked up on the fact that Moryo loved strategy and had gone to Nelyo to retrieve the chess game. He convinced Moryo into teaching him how to play, and after catching onto how to play, was now a formidable opponent to Moryo. Turu's mind was sharp, Finwë knew. He might be young, but Turu was wise beyond his years. He could pick up on things most others couldn't and learned quickly.
Finwë released a quiet sigh, turning his head to check on Moryo. He hadn't moved, and Finwë was beginning to wonder if Moryo had any intention of waking any time soon. Fëanaro and Nerdanel were beside themselves with worry, not to mention that Finwë had to kick Nelyo out to get some rest. Finwë, himself, was very concerned. If Moryo didn't wake up soon, he was going to call Nalara back in to check on him. Resting his head in his hand, Finwë returned to reading the book that sat in his lap. He stared long and hard at the open pages, realizing that he had only been thumbing through the book instead of actually reading it.
A frown playing on his lips, the Lord pinched the bridge of his nose. "Valar...It had to be my family." he murmured beneath his breath. First, his Miriel had died, Fëanaro openly disliked Indis, hated Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, his son moved out of Tirion because of this hatred... And then more tragedy struck their home with the disappearance of Makalaurë, and Moryo's near-drowning. What would happen next?
So caught up in his thoughts was Finwë that he didn't notice or hear Moryo stirring. The dark Elf cracked open his eyes, staring up at the bland, white ceiling belonging to the Halls of Healing. Blinking multiple times, Moryo attempted to make sense of his muddled thoughts and memories. Why was he in the Halls of Healing? What had happened? Where was he?
Rolling his head to the side, Moryo's bleary gaze fell onto the sight of Finwë slumped over in his seat, blankly staring down at the book he held.
Moryo started, eyes widening. Was that...Could it be?
But he was dead, wasn't he?
"A...Andatar?" Moryo croaked out, coughing when his parched throat protested against speaking.
Finwë snapped his head in his direction, hardly noticing that his book had slipped from his lap when he heard his grandson's voice. "Moryo!" He flew to his grandson's bedside with joy and immense relief clinging to his features. "Thank the Valar, you've awoken!"
Moryo shot him a strange look, though there was a hint of disbelief in his gaze. "A...woken?" Valar, why did he feel so weak and exhausted? Why was his dead Grandfather speaking to him? Had he actually been brought to the Halls of Mandos?
Finwë grabbed a nearby glass of water and propped Moryo up into a sitting position, noting the marginal widening of Moryo's chocolate-colored orbs. Seating himself on the edge of the medical bed, Finwë proffered the glass of water to Moryo, only to find his grandson gaping at him. Well, it was more of a shocked expression that Moryo wore as he stared at Finwë.
Lowering the glass, Finwë concernedly called out to his grandson. "Moryo? Are you feeling well? Is something wrong?"
Moryo didn't seem to hear him. "Real..?" the young Elf whispered, poking Finwë's arm as if testing to see whether or not Finwë were some sort of ghostly apparition.
Finwë didn't bother to hide his growing concern, worriedly peering down at Moryo as the Elf shrunk back in his hold.
"Moryo?" He laid a hand against his grandson's forehead, checking for a fever. Maybe Moryo was delirious.
He was cool, casting out the possibility that Moryo was ill. Then, why was he acting so strange?
"Pain..." Moryo murmured, raising a hand to his head with a wince of pain. "I feel...pain..." He sounded shocked and disbelieving that Finwë slowly started to back away, ready to call for Nalara. Moryo was acting very strange. Very out of character. He knew he had nearly died from drowning, but would he really be like this after waking? Moryo lifted his head, pinning Finwë in place with an expression the Lord had never seen on Moryo before.
Sorrow, grief, hope...
All of these emotions he could see brewing in those eyes as Moryo reached out to him. "Andatar?"
Finwë took hold of his hand. "Yes, Moryo?"
He was taken aback when Moryo threw his arms tightly around him, squeezing the living daylights out of him. "Moryo?" He wheezed out, awkwardly patting Moryo's head. What was this? Moryo never showed any hint of affection for anyone, yet here he was, suffocating his poor, old Grandfather with the tight embrace he'd trapped him in.
Moryo said nothing, his teeth tightly clenched together as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Valar, how he had missed his Andatar.
He could sense Finwë's genuine shock, worry, and confusion. He didn't blame him. He was confused himself.
Finally, Finwë relaxed and wrapped his arms around his grandson, still not quite believing that this was happening. "Moryo?"
"I'm sorry."
Finwë blinked at the small apology. What did his grandson have to apologize for?
"You have nothing to apologize for, little one." The endearment slipped from his tongue before Finwë could stop it, and he bit his lip, expecting Moryo to indignantly declare that he wasn't little.
It never came.
He glanced down to find Moryo dozing off, his grip loosening as his eyes started to glaze over.
"Everything..."
A tiny whisper, Finwë wasn't sure if he had imagined it, then Moryo went slack. Startled, Finwë remained frozen in place, awkwardly supporting Moryo, the glass of water long-forgotten.
"Atto?" The door to the room opened, but Finwë didn't turn to greet his first-born. Fëanaro paused in the doorway, looking from his Father to Moryo, blue eyes brightening. "He awoke?" He quietly asked, though Finwë could hear the underlying tone of hope and relief, a most welcome sound. It had been so long since Fëanaro had ever shown any hint of emotion after Makalaurë's disappearance. He had been somber and detached the past five years that Finwë worried he would also lose his son as well.
In a metaphorical sense.
"I'm not sure..." Finwë replied, gently laying Moryo back down onto the bed, making sure that he was comfortable. Fëanaro strode over to his side, a hand reaching out to cup Moryo's cheek.
"What do you mean?"
"He awoke...but he was acting most strange."
Fëanaro sharply looked to him with a hint of worry. "What do you mean? Should I call for Nalara?"
Finwë placed a calming hand on his son's shoulder. "No...I think he may have only been disoriented. He certainly didn't seem to know where he was or what was happening."
Fëanaro was quiet, taking Finwë's place by Moryo's side. "He awoke..." He murmured, cradling his son's limp hand in his own. There was some disappointment behind the two words. Disappointment for not being there when his son woke, but he was grateful his Father had been. "He will be well then..."
"He is your son, Fëanaro. Moryo is strong. He will be fine."
Fëanaro huffed out a small, monotonous, laugh. "Indeed..."
Finwë's shoulders dropped as he regarded his son. Fëanaro was still grieving over the loss of his second-born. It was unhealthy for him to cling to such grief, but Fëanaro refused to let it go. He wouldn't let himself heal. Of course, Finwë and the rest of Fëanaro's family mourned over the loss of Makalaurë, but it was obvious that Fëanaro had taken it the hardest.
Finwë could remember when he and his two other sons, as well as their families, went to visit Fëanaro's after hearing of Makalaurë's disappearance. They had arrived to find Nelyo, Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo desperately searching for their lost brother, Nerdanel brokenhearted, and Fëanaro worryingly hoping his sons would find the family's Songbird.
They found nothing.
It was a couple months after their search proved futile that Nelyo had broken down, Tyelko and Curvo had grown inconsolable, and Moryo had locked himself in his room, refusing to see anyone or do anything.
After Moryo's near-drowning, the family later discovered that he had lost some memories, for the knowledge that Makalaurë had gone missing five years prior had come as a great shock to him.
Caranthir had been sipping the soup Nerdanel had made for him, sitting, propped-up, against the fluffy pillows of his bed. Turukano, Findekano, and Nelyo were also seated in the middle of his bed, playing a random game Turu had dug out from underneath Caranthir's bed.
The family had been taken aback when Caranthir invited both Turu and Findekano into his room with Nelyo, no hint of dislike or irritation to be found. There was a calm acceptance in Caranthir's gaze as he watched Nelyo and Findekano banter back and forth and he would respond to Turukano's attempts of having small-talk with him. They chatted most of the time, with Tyelko, Curvo, and other members of the family checking on them every once in a while.
A couple of hours later, the small group found Caranthir growing slightly impatient, and his eyes would move towards the door, as if he were expecting for someone to walk through it.
That someone never came, and Caranthir was beginning to look a little disheartened. Later that night, the family gathered in his room, with Finwë and Nolofinwë joining them. Young Irissë climbed up onto the bed and crept over to Turukano's side, watching her brothers and Nelyo play their game. Caranthir looked over everyone, eyeing the Ambarussa with soft eyes as they cuddled in Fëanaro's lap, still clutching Irissë's stuffed Elk. He looked over Nolofinwë and his Grandfather, skimming past Curvo, Tyelko, and Arakano only to find that the Elf he was searching for was nowhere to be found.
He huffed, glowering at the door. Where was that accursed Elf?
Nelyo, sensing his growing agitation and odd yearning, finally asked, "What is it you look for, Moryo?"
"Makalaurë. He has yet to visit." Caranthir grumbled, looking towards the door as he spoke.
An immediate hush fell over the room.
Caranthir's frown twisted even more as his eyes skimmed over everyone present. Finwë and Nolofinwë were eyeing Fëanaro in the corner of their eye, Fëanaro sat tensely with the twins clutched tightly against him, and Nerdanel appeared ready to cry, her hands pressed over her mouth and eyes shimmering with tears. Nelyo was staring at Caranthir unblinkingly, with Findekano and Turukano looking grieved. Arakano looked from Turukano to Findekano in confusion, wondering why his brothers were suddenly so sorrowful. Irissë was silent.
It was Fëanaro who broke the silence, his voice low, "Moryo," He cleared his throat when his voice went weak and continued, "Makalaurë...He..." He swallowed thickly, throat suddenly tight and Caranthir pursed his lips at the slight tremor he heard while his Father spoke. He narrowed his dark brown orbs on his Father, wondering what was wrong. Why were they staring at him like that? Fëanaro inhaled deeply, as if preparing himself for something.
It was the hesitance and pain within his Father's eyes that made Caranthir grow uneasy and apprehensive. What was his Father going to tell him?
"Makalaurë is no longer here."
Five words.
Fëanaro only spoke five words, but they were five words that made Caranthir's world come crashing down. The dark Elf's hands trembled, the bowl he held tipping dangerously to the side as he pinned his family with a firm glance. Surely they didn't mean...
"What do you mean?" Caranthir demanded to know, tightening his grip on the bowl.
No one said anything.
"What are you saying?" Caranthir asked again, irked that no one would answer him. Were they hinting that Makalaurë...That Maglor was...
No! He couldn't be. Surely he just left and went somewhere. He wasn't gone.
Nerdanel closed her eyes, unable to hold her son's intense gaze.
"Tell me!"
"Moryo..." It was Curvo who quietly spoke up before Caranthir's anger could spark. Caranthir snapped his head in his direction, hoping Curvo would finally give him an answer. Why wouldn't Fëanaro tell him? What was so difficult that he couldn't bring himself to answer Caranthir's question? "Makalaurë is dead."
It was those three words that broke Caranthir's fragile walls.
"No." Caranthir shook his head in disbelief. "Makalaurë can't be dead." He denied, giving his brothers incredulous glances.
Curvo looked away, not wanting Caranthir to see the tears welling up in his eyes. This sent a tendril of fear through Caranthir. His heart refused to believe what his brothers were telling him, but his mind was unsure. He could picture Makalaurë in his mind, smiling softly at him and speaking with him after he and Tyelko had gone to Himring to speak with Nelyo. Even though his brother was now known as Maglor, or was, he still reminded each of them of Makalaurë. No matter how much Maglor denied it, Makalaurë had not died as he believed. Makalaurë had still been there.
"He's not!"
"He is, Moryo." Tyelko painfully affirmed, sadness and grief etched into his normally bright features. "He has been for five years."
Caranthir growled. A feral sound that made Arakano and Irissë shrink back against their brothers. "You lie."
They had to be lying. There was no way Makalaurë could be dead.
"They do not lie, Moryo." Turukano softly denied, unfazed by the withering glare Caranthir pinned him with. Tears were beginning to blur Caranthir's vision, but whether they were tears of anger and frustration, or of sorrow, he didn't know. Nor did he care.
"Makalaurë is alive." Caranthir hoarsely declared, his soup long-forgotten. Nerdanel released a quiet sob. "Atar? Andatar? Tell me where Makalaurë is."
Fëanaro parted his lips to speak, but no sound came out. His voice was stuck in his throat. Finwë shook his head, his dark hair swaying with the movement.
Caranthir couldn't believe it. Makalaurë was dead? He...was gone?
For five years?
"No...I don't believe it..."
"Moryo-" Nelyo reached out to him but Caranthir angrily slapped his hand away, lashing out,
"No! Don't you dare!"
Nelyo flinched back.
"I can't...I won't...Makalaurë's not...He's not..." Caranthir released another growl, one filled with more sorrow and confusion rather than anger. He clutched his hair tightly in his hands, eyes closing tightly.
"Oh, Moryo..." Nerdanel murmured, aching to go and comfort her distraught son. Neither of them would ever understand how Caranthir truly felt. The dark Elf felt as if he had been torn apart and there was a whirlwind of emotion swirling within him, choking him.
Makalaurë. A life without Makalaurë?
He couldn't live without him.
"Go." Caranthir forced out, shoving the bowl of soup in Nelyo's hands. "Get out." He didn't want company anymore, and he had suddenly lost his appetite.
"Moryo..."
"Get out!" Caranthir fiercely ordered, turning away from them.
No one moved for a long moment. Slowly, one by one, each of them stood and silently left the room. All but one.
Caranthir never moved, but his shoulder shook from restrained sobs he refused to let out. Only when he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder did Caranthir turn his head to see who had stayed behind.
Finding that it was Finwë who had sat himself on the edge of his bed, Caranthir remained quiet. If there was one person he could tolerate seeing at the moment, it was his Grandfather.
Finwë didn't speak, and Caranthir found that he didn't want him to. His Andatar merely let his eyes do the talking and Caranthir listened.
When Finwë opened his arms, Caranthir moved and settled into them, allowing Finwë to wrap them around him and hold him tightly. A sob escaped from him andit was only when Finwë started to rock him back and forth that Caranthir started to weep.
Harsh sobs wracked his weak body, shoulders shaking violently as he cried, and all Finwë could do was hold him as the fact that he would never see Makalaurë again sunk deep into his mind.
The twins, who were nearing five years of age, didn't quite understand what was happening, but they did know what 'You may not see Makalaurë again,' meant. Ambarto and Pityo had cried for days on end, and no matter what anyone did, they wouldn't be comforted.
Finwë remembered the overwhelming grief that had clutched the entire family in its grasp. He, too, had mourned over the possibility that he may never see Makalaurë again.
He also remembered the fear that had struck him when a panicked Nerdanel messaged for him to come to their home at once. He could feel the fear and worry behind the words Nerdanel had hastily written on the parchment, and her handwriting was shaky. He had immediately dropped everything, leaving Nolofinwë in charge during his absence, and rushed over to Fëanaro's home, finding the family standing outside the Halls of Healing, waiting for Nalara to appear. When Finwë had asked what had happened, Nelyo gave him the story of what had transpired only hours before.
~Caranthir's Return~
Nelyo didn't know how long it had been since he and his brothers, as well as their Father, had gone down to the Forge to work, but it felt as if it had been an eternity. The Forge felt oddly empty when they entered, each of them automatically moving to their own tables while Fëanaro mechanically set to work on starting the fires in the furnaces lining the back wall of the Forge.
The silence was so thick Nelyo was sure he could cut it with one of the knives he was making. Curvo silently worked on a piece of jewelry. A circlet, Nelyo realized, upon seeing the drawn-out plans Curvo had laid out beside him. Studying the plans, Nelyo found that the circlet was going to be silver and blue.
Makalaurë's colors.
There was also the outline of a songbird crest flanked by a couple of music notes. There were other designs, simple designs, that went all around the circlet. It would be a beautiful circlet, but he he already known that. All of Curvo's work was beautiful and flawless. He had inherited their Father's skill in the Forge, it would seem.
Nelyo dared to break the silence by whispering a quick question to Curvo, "Why are you making a circlet, Curvo?"
Curvo paused in what he was doing, blinking slowly as if he hadn't yet registered the fact that Nelyo had spoken to him. "It's for Makalaurë." Curvo mumbled back, setting back to work. "When we find him...Or when he comes back, I'm going to give it to him." He distractedly finished, setting aside some of the tools he would need to make the circlet.
Nelyo felt his heart constrict and shot his brother a wobbly smile. "Makalaurë will love it." Nelyo knew it was true. A soft, genuine, smile stretched Curvo's lips.
"I hope."
I know he will... Nelyo wanted to add, but couldn't bring himself to.
"Atto," Tyelko's voice timidly pierced the heavy silence that had settled over the Forge, worried and uncertain.
Every one raised their head to find Tyelko leaning over the side of his worktable, to better see their Father.
"Are you well?" Tyelko slowly inquired,and it was only then that the brothers noticed that their Father had stopped working and was leaning against his workable, oddly staring into space. Fëanaro released a shaky breath, running a hand down his face and shaking his head.
He swayed lightly from the movement, causing all of his sons to lower their tools. Nelyo looked prepared to drag their Father home if necessary, seeing as he was far more pale than was normal.
"Atto?" Curvo tried when Fëanaro didn't answer.
...Hm?" Was the belated, and weak reply.
Fëanaro blearily blinked his eyes, raising his head in Curvo's direction.
"Are you feeling alright, Atto?" Curvo asked him again. Fëanaro took a moment to understand his son's words, his mind sluggishly processing.
"Fine."
They didn't press him, not wanting to agitate him. They figured he was probably exhausted from not having been sleeping well the past few months. He rarely ate too.
The brothers gradually went back to work. After a long moment, Fëanaro also attempted to finish his mini project. He gave uo a few minutes later, pinching the bridge of his nose when he found he couldn't focus. Dark spots were beginning to dot his vision to, and his head was suddenly growing light there was also a strange ringing in his ears that was distracting him. He could barely hear the sound of his hammer.
"Nelyo,"
Nelyo looked up when he heard Curvo call his name. Curvo sharply tipped his head in the direction of their Father, silently imploring for him to do something. Nelyo responded with an incredulous glance. Sure he may be tall and strong, but he knew better than to go against their Father.
"Nelyo,"
Nelyo and Curvo tensed when Fëanaro spoke, eyes darting over his way. "Yes, Atto?"
Fëanaro opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He pursed his lips tightly together, his brow crumbling. There...there was something i needed..." He murmured to no one in particular, running his eyes with his fists. "Wha...what was it?"
By now, all of his sons had slowly started to edge towards him, concern overriding their previous precaution of not disturbing their Father.
Fëanaro growled quietly under his breath, irked that he couldn't remember what it was. He moved around his workable, heading for where the equipment stacked in the far corner of the room was. He never made it that far.
Cries of alarm echoed through the Forge when Fëanaro staggered forward then crumpled into a heap on the ground. Nelyo lunged forward, his brothers in tow, racing to their Father's side.
"Atto!" Once Nelyo had reached him, he had turned his Father over onto his back, frightened when he found Fëanaro's eyes to be closed. The brothers didn't waste any time in getting him straight home and to the Healers.
~Caranthir's Return~
Nalara had calmed the family by telling them that she and the other Healers had been long expecting for this to happen. Fëanaro had not been taking good care of himself. He rarely ate, didn't sleep, and had been pushing himself to hard by working constantly.
When Fëanaro had awoken, Nerdanel had tried getting him to eat, but he refused. It was then that sharp words were exchanged between the two. Whatever it was that Nerdanel had said was unknown, but it made Fëanaro never miss another meal.
Fëanaro still needed to heal, and Finwë knew that it would take time. It took him time to heal from Miriel's death. He only hoped that Fëanaro's family would be spared from any other tragedies, and prayed to the Valar that they would watch over them.
~Duplicity~
Maglor quietly listened to Caranthir's tale, the brothers lying side-by-side as the dark-Elf told Maglor what he wanted to know. Once he was through, Maglor scoffed.
"And they thought my return was dramatic." He muttered, referring to Aredhel and Turgon. Caranthir snickered.
"At least I didn't faint."
Maglor growled and Caranthir's smirked. "You sound like a kitten trying to growl." Caranthir nonchalantly commented, amused when Maglor shot him a look.
"Kittens don't growl."
Caranthir merely quirked an eyebrow, as if saying 'that's my point' to Maglor. The minstrel huffed.
"Maybe if you tried hissing-"
"Hush up, Caranthir."
Caranthir only grinned. "You were far more intimidating back then." Maglor's younger brother recalled, talking about when they had crossed over to Middle-Earth. "I never thought you would ever become a warrior."
Maglor shrugged. "It wasn't something I wanted to become, but I hardly had a choice in the matter. After Atar died, I knew Maedhros needed me to become stronger, so I trained. He needed to be able to rely on me, to know that I was there if he needed something to be done." He sighed, thinking back to those dark days.
"Now that you mention it," Caranthir murmured, thoughtfully stroking his chin, "We need to spar."
"Spar?" Maglor repeated, raising an eyebrow. Caranthir nodded.
"It's been a while since I've picked up a blade. I kind of...miss my training sessions with Nelyo."
This time, both eyebrows rose at the sentiment. For Caranthir to openly admit this... "What happened to you?" He hadn't meant to ask that aloud, but the words slipped from him before he even thought of them.
Caranthir rolled his head Maglor's way, flashing him a knowing look. "You should know."
Maglor cringed. "Sorry."
"It's nothing." Caranthir waved a dismissive hand in the air, returning his gaze to Maglor's transparent blue canopy.
"It's nothing," Maglor mimicked, scowling. "If only I could say the same."
Caranthir remained silent for a long moment. When Maglor looked to him, he noted the hesitance lingering in Caranthir's dark eyes, like he wished to say something but didn't want to at the same time.
"Moryo?"
Caranthir gave his brother a strange look upon the use of his Father-name. "Maglor," He started, using an admonishing tone, a strange thing for Maglor to hear coming from his younger brother, "It's Caranthir."
Maglor went to object, but Caranthir wouldn't allow it. "If you can't call yourself Makalaurë, and I'm not allowed to call you Makalaurë, you can't call me Moryo." The minstrel shut his mouth, regarding his brother with an odd look. It was a fair reason, but Maglor didn't think his brother deserved to be called 'Caranthir.'
"Very well then," He conceded, a little unsure, "But, I was going to ask if there was something you wanted to say."
Caranthir bit his lower lip, deep in thought. "Well...I've been thinking."
"Yes?"
"The Silmarils...What if," Caranthir began, intertwining his fingers above his chest, "What if we allowed Atto to make them?"
"What?" Maglor sharply bit out, shocked at Caranthir's question. He snapped upright, staring down at his brother.
"Hear me out-" Caranthir tried to say, sitting up as well, but Maglor cut him off.
"Allow Fëanaro to forge those accursed jewels? Are you out of your mind?" Maglor inquired, a little more harshly than was necessary. Caranthir, for his part, didn't flinch, sighing heavily. He should have known better than to broach upon that subject just yet. "Allow him to make them and watch as the world falls apart around us again? Watch as thousands die because of what our Father chose to do?"
"Maglor," Caranthir exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Would you hold on?"
Maglor fused his lips together, abashed by his behavior, but he wouldn't apologize. Not for this.
"What I'm saying, is what if we allowed Father to create the Silmarils?" Caranthir slowly started again, half-expecting for Maglor to begin his rant again.
"And then what?" Maglor demanded to know, crossing his arms tightly, silently imploring for Caranthir to tell him the answer. Caranthir said nothing, eyeing his brother with his famous are-you-done look. He didn't appear at all fazed.
"If you're quite finished," Caranthir pointedly told him, and Maglor backed down a little, bowing his head apologetically, "I would like to explain what I had in mind."
"Sorry." Maglor whispered, carding his fingers through his long hair.
Caranthir rolled his eyes. "Sure. Now, as I was saying," he said before Maglor could earnestly tell him that he truly was sorry, "Instead of devising a plan for stopping the creation of the Silmarils, I think we should plan on what to do with them after they are forged."
Maglor tilted his head, somewhat intrigued by his brother's suggestion. "How is that any better than from deterring their creation?" He questioned, curious to know what Caranthir had in mind.
"If we tried to convince Atar in discontinuing his project, it would only raise questions. Atto would start demanding answers as to why we don't want him to make the Silmarils. By doing this, we'll eventually end up having to tell him everything." Caranthir pointed out, emphasizing the last word. "We would have to explain where we came from, how we came to be here, what we are doing, and why. He would have to know, to understand. If we don't do this, Atto would just carry on with the project."
Maglor slowly nodded along with his words, finding that he agreed with his brother. It made sense. "And what about afterwards?"
Caranthir, pleased that Maglor was listening, continued, "After their creation, we should work on convincing Atto to give the Silmarils to Yavanna. By this point, Melkor will have already started manipulating Atar..."
Maglor grimaced at the name. "Yes, indeed..."
"Or," Caranthir piped back up, stretching his arms high up into the air, "If that plan doesn't work, just take the Silmarils and destroy them."
Maglor looked back to his brother. "Why not give them to Yavanna ourselves?"
Caranthir answered knowingly, "And have Atto skin us alive?"
Maglor formed an 'o' shape with his lips. "Good point...So, tell me more about this plan."
Caranthir grinned and leaned forward, telling Maglor everything he had come up with during the short time he had to think.
~Duplicity~
Meanwhile, in the Halls of Healing...
Elrond, or Elerondo, as his Atto now called him, was growing bored. He didn't have his twin to keep him occupied or Maedhros to follow around, or anything to do. Nalara was a kind lady to him, but it had been an entire two days since he had last seen his Atto, and his patience was growing thin. He was confused, lost, and bored, and very much wanted to see his Atto.
Elrond kicked his feet high into the air, sitting on the edge of one of the sickbeds. Nalara had gone to pick up some herbs, which meant that Elrond had no company whatsoever. And no supervision.
His devious little mind started to conjure up a plan.
Elrond eyed the room he was in then leaned over to look out the door.
No one.
He slipped off of the bed without a sound.
Good.
Creeping to the door, Elrond poked his head out of the door to see if anyone was nearby.
The corridor was empty.
Smiling victoriously, Elrond dashed out the room he was in, careful not to make any sound. He would hide every once in a while, making sure no one would catch sight of him. Sidling up against the wall at the end of the large hallway, Elrond peered around the corner, raking his eyes across the next corridor.
Empty.
This was going a lot better than he had previously thought it would.
The guilty part of his conscience was urging him to turn around and go back; to ask Nalara's permission to find his Atto, but Elrond knew she would only tell him to wait until his Atto came to visit. He didn't want to wait. He'd gotten so used to seeing his Atto and Atar everyday that it was strange not to see them for days on end.
He still hadn't seen Maedhros and he heard nothing about Maedhros from his Atto, which was another reason why he was sneaking out of the Halls of Healing. He had several questions to ask his Atto.
Sneaking down the hallway, Elrond strained his ears to hear every little sound there was so he would know whenever someone was coming. So far, all was silent and there was no sign of anyone.
He frowned.
Where was everyone? Even Himring wasn't this empty.
He was just about to reach the end of this ginormous hallway when a sound alerted Elrond to another person's presence. With practiced ease, Elrond zipped behind a table resting against the wall nearest him. He and Elros had done this many times whenever they had first followed Maedhros around Himring, curious to know more about the intimidating Elf. Carefully looking around the edge of the table, Elrond gaped.
There was an Elfling, about a head taller than he, strolling down the hallway towards him. The Elfling had familiar inky-black hair and sharp, violet, eyes. He also wore a teal green tunic with dark grey leggings and boots.
Elrond was shocked. That Elfling looked so much like Erestor! Face, eyes, and all! If Elrond didn't know better, he could've sworn that the Elfling was Erestor. Only, that was impossible. Erestor was much taller than this Elfling, and he preferred dark colored robes.
The Elfling passed by Elrond's hiding place, eyes staring straight ahead. When Elrond made to sneak away, once he believed the Elfling was too far away to hear him, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice.
"I would suggest that you find another place to hide."
Elrond froze, slowly moving his head to stare at the back of the Elfling's head. He had seen him?! "You may also want to work on your sneaking. You aren't as quiet as you may believe yourself to be." The Elfling added in a monotonous tone.
Elrond's jaw dropped.
Who was this Elfling?! He sounded so much like Erestor! The voice was much softer than Erestor's, but it still had that same firm tone and sharpness.
The Elfling glanced over his shoulder to study Elrond, frowning slightly when he found that he didn't recognize him. He knew all of the Elflings that lived near the Lord Fëanaro's home seeing as there were only a few of them, but this one was new.
Dark violet orbs met deep grey and locked onto one another. The Elfling analyzed Elrond. Could this be Nalara's visiting 'nephew' he had heard about from the servants? They didn't look alike at all.
The servants may be gullible and believe everything they overhear or are told, but he was different. He observed, taking in every detail possible and analyzed. Nothing got past him, he made sure of that.
"Your aunt left to go to the market. She will return within two to three hours. I would find my way back to the Halls of Healing before then." The Elfling suggested, turning back around and continuing on his way.
Elrond watched him go, shocked. Did the Elfling know..? From the way he emphasized the word 'aunt,' Elrond would guess yes.
"Wait!" Elrond called, reaching out towards the Elfling.
The Elfling paused.
"What's your name?" Elrond shyly asked. He had never met another Elfling, so this was new and exciting for him. He and Elros had believed that they were the only Elflings in Himring, having never seen any other within the vicinity. They were proven correct when their Atto left to buy them some toys to entertain themselves with.
The Elfling's suspicions were correct. This Elfling was new. Every Elfling knew who he was, but this one didn't.
Perhaps, if he were to get to know the Elfling, he would be able to find out more about him. It would most certainly help settle his mind instead of keeping him awake at night wondering who this newcomer was.
Quietly, the Elfling thought to himself. He didn't really socialize much, preferring to keep to himself and watch others, but this newcomer... He was intriguing. There was something off about him.
Inwardly sighing, wondering if he was making a mistake or not, the Elfling chose to answer Elrond's inquiry.
"Erestor."
Then he left.
Elrond couldn't believe that he was right about the Elfling. He had known that Erestor and his Atto knew one another when Erestor was young, but he never imagined that he was an Elfling...
It was difficult to wrap his mind around this fact. Back in Himring, he could never imagine Erestor as an Elfling or ever having any kind of childhood.
But...How was Erestor an elfling here?
His brow crinkled as a wave of confusion washed over him. What in Arda's name was going on here? Now he really needed his Atto to explain a few things.
He went to turn around and start searching for his Atto again, but never got to it.
Elrond released a small shriek of surprise when he turned around only to be hit by something a lot bigger than he was.
A startled grunt followed after Elrond's shriek as whoever crashed into him stumbled and fell, dropping everything they had been holding onto the ground. Elrond watched from his place on the ground, as papers fluttered through the air onto the tiled floor around him and the bigger Elf.
Apprehension twisted in Elrond's stomach when he raised his head to find who it was that had run into him. Would they be angry? Would they shout at him? He hated it when people got angry with him. It made him feel terrible and small.
What he saw made his heart leap into his throat and eyes widen.
Oh Valar save him...
The Elf beside him slowly shook his head, silky, red hair cascading over his shoulders and Elrond caught a glimpse of the blue eyes the red hid from his sight. He tensed, finding that this Elf also wore a red tunic with a dark cape attached and dark boots.
He was dead.
So dead.
"Varda's name, what..?" The Elf murmured, sitting up and rubbing his head. He searched for what it was that he tripped over and met Elrond's anxious gaze.
Blinking in surprise, the Elf snapped out of his daze and reached out to grasp Elrond's tiny shoulder. "By the Valar, are you alright, little one? Did I hurt you?" He asked, concerned.
Elrond didn't seem to have heard him, the Elfling scrambling to his feet and bowing his head, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. "I'm sorry, Maedhros!" He hastily apologized, hoping Maedhros wouldn't be angry with him for accidentally tripping him. "I didn't mean to twip you!" His worry made Elrond forget to pronounce his 'r' correctly.
The red-haired Elf's brow furrowed.
Maedhros?
That name again! Only, it had been Moryo who had said it five years before! Was it, perhaps, coincidence that this Elfling would call him 'Maedhros' too?
"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else, little one."
Elrond slowly raised his head. What? He looked at the Elf's face.
Hold on a moment...This Elf didn't have any scars!
"I am not Maedhros, and it was my fault for tripping over you. I should have been looking where I was going." The Elf told him.
Elrond became even more confused.
Who was this Maedhros doppelganger?
"Not Maedhros?" He softly asked, suddenly growing shy.
The Elf shook his head. "No. My name is Nelyo. What is yours?" He asked, smiling down at a stunned Elrond.
Nelyo... He knew that name! But, from where?
Realizing this Nelyo had asked his name, Elrond twisted his fingers together, hoping his Atto wouldn't be upset that he was talking to a stranger. "Elerondo." He replied, using his Quenya name.
"Elerondo," Nelyo tried, and Elrond nodded. "An interesting name."
"Thank-you?"
Nelyo laughed, and Elrond couldn't stop from staring. Yes, there was no way this Elf could be Maedhros. He was too...cheerful and kind. If Maedhros had ever acted like this, Elrond would've believed the world had come to an end.
"Were you going somewhere, little one?" Nelyo asked, drawing Elrond out of his thoughts.
Elrond hummed uncertainly, poking the ground with his foot. He looked away from Nelyo, unable to handle how much this Elf reminded him so much of Maedhros. "Finding Atto."
"You were searching for your Atto?" Nelyo repeated as a question. When Elrond nodded, he stood, smiling softly at the shy Elfling. He reminded him so much of Makalaurë when he was younger. "Would I know him?"
Elrond shrugged timidly.
"Well, come, then." Nelyo held out his hand for the Elfling to take. Elrond looked at it from beneath a curtain of dark brown hair, debating whether or not he should take it.
Slowly, Elrond raised his hand and placed it into Nelyo's, watching as his hand was engulfed by the taller Elf's larger one. The smile remained on Nelyo's lips, and the warmth in his eyes -the warmth Maedhros's lacked, unless it was sparked- never faded, and Elrond felt some of his apprehension and worry ebb away.
He liked this Elf.
They started to walk away, the papers remaining on the ground.
"We will find your Atto." Nelyo assured him.
Elrond smiled back, eyes shining. Finally! He would be able to see Atto again!
~Duplicity~
And there you have it my friends! Next chapter will be a continuation of this one, so hang in there and have a wonderful rest of the week!
