He woke up with an idea of music in his mind. A melody haunting his thoughts. It was nothing unusual, something that would occur now and then. He knew that as soon as he would start noting down the fragment, the rest would follow, as if somehow the full thing had been contained in his mind and now was finally was ready to be released.

But he could not reach the paper and he did not see a pen. His side was vaguely throbbing and his right arm and shoulder were burning with pain. So he laid awake, the melody tumbling through his mind, together with other thoughts, darker thoughts, which he knew had given rise to the music he heard. The Gap was lost. He had failed. Four and a half century he had kept it, fighting relentlessly with his men, now only a fraction of his troops had managed to escape. The blasted dragon had been their death.

The losses he had suffered were the least of his worries, through the years he had learned not to care anymore, others would take their places, though always less in numbers and in skill than those that had perished. No, it was the fact that he had opened the gate towards his brothers' and cousins' lands that made that he now angrily laid in this bed. He had not been able to protect them, once more he had failed. Caranthir and the twins would be under severe attack now that he was not there anymore to take the first blows. Their first line of defense had failed and again all would curse him for losing that position, even though he grimly thought that none of his brothers, aside from Maedhros perhaps, would have been able to hold the gap against the dragon.

He tried to turn to his good side, moving his injured arm to grasp one of the small items that were lying on his night table. He had to stop halfway through, sweating, as he tried to shut out the pain. Before he could attempt again, the door opened and Maedhros entered. He thought his elder brother still looked white and drained, as he had last night when he had woken up, seeing him reading his private notes, but realised all too well that he was not exactly an image of health either at this point in time. His fever had broken though, and while the pain was still omnipresent, he felt that at least his mind was clear again.

Maedhros had seen him reaching out as he entered. "Don't. Stay still, you should not move, Maglor. Your arm is badly burnt and you have to let it rest for a while."

"That can very well be, brother, but I need something to write or I will not sleep for days to come."

Maedhros smiled understandingly, "I will see to it, I will get you something. How are you feeling?"

Maglor groaned, "Not too great, that arm hurts like hell. Not to mention that I know all too well that I return here defeated and have given the dark one a clear path into Beleriand."

"There is no shame in that, Maglor, I do not think any of us could have kept the gap as long as you did. It bought us time, Caranthir was able to retreat with his troups, and Curufin and Celegorm have as well fled the pass. It is only here that we managed to hold our ground." Ever Maedhros had understood him without words.

"Good to hear our brothers are safe. Ah, brave Angaráto and swift Aikanáro, they were in the first line of attack too. When refugees from their troops told us that they had perished…." Maglor closed his eyes and pinched his nose with his good hand, fighting to gain back his composure. "What Findaráto will say when he learns that they are no more, I do not know, I do not envy the messenger that will break that news to him."

"It might very well be that Celegorm or Curufin will be the ones to whom befalls that task, I have word that they fled into that direction."

"Then I hope Curufin will be able to rule in his tongue, for I would not wish our cousin to hear such grievous news from him. I say that I do not regret that I do not find him here." Maglor harshly responded.

"Why? What happened between the two of you? For all these years you have been avoiding each other. How come he fears you so, or given what I hear you say now, how come that you are so irritated with him?"

"That is a long story, and not one I can manage to tell you today. I am tired again and wish to rest, though I will not sleep until I can note down the music that is tumbling around in my head." Maglor gritted his teeth and turned away for a moment from his brother's piercing gaze, he did not like to be questioned by those clear gray eyes and would do anything to hide his pain from the one that was standing in front of him.

"It has something to do with the letter I read yesterday night, has it not? We will talk on this later, Maglor, I want to know what happened, but that can wait. I will get you your paper and something to write, on the condition you promise that you will rest after. We have been able to withstand the attacks so far, but we need you hale and whole with us."

"Did you hear anything from Fingolfin or Fingon yet? They must have suffered too, otherwise they would have come to our cousins' aid."

"They have been driven back to Ered Wethrin. We have been utterly defeated, brother." Maedhros' face remained impassive as he spoke, but Maglor could hear the hatred in his voice and knew that this would not be the end. The longer they fought, the more they lost, the more determined they became to keep on fighting. Although it still was the main driver for their younger brothers, for the two of them, it had long ceased to be only a fight to recover their father's jewel. No, it went now far beyond that, whatever it would take, however long, there would be revenge for this day, as well as for so many days before.

Maglor wanted to say more, but felt weaker again, and fell back into his cushions. He saw his brother's weary gaze resting upon him, and heard the other speak. "Here, I at least will put your notebook close to you, and I will ask the servants to bring some ink and a pen, but please, rest now, there is time to talk later, you will not go anywhere soon I believe, not this time."

He only nodded in response and watched his fiery-haired brother leave his room.

When Maedhros had closed the door, he asked the guard to fetch the so much needed pen, and leaned against the frame for a moment as he heard how his brother began to sing despite his weariness. To his surprise it was not a lament that Makalaurë started, but a gentle love song, comforting and sad at the same time. It sounded very softly and half-out of breath, but he could discern the words and the melody and he remembered how his brother had written to him that Aikanáro had greatly loved a mortal woman. He had been torn between his love and the reality of the times in which they were living and Maedhros understood in whose memory the bard was singing, knowing that he had lost again one of his very few friends.

There's not a Swain, on the Plain,

would be bless'd like me, oh!

could you but on me smile;

but you appear so severe

that trembling with fear,

my heart goes pit-a-pat, all the while:

When I cry, must I die,

you make no reply, but look shy,

and with a scornful eye

kill me by your cruelty.

Oh! can you be so hard to me?*

He quickly withdrew to his quarters before anyone could see the tears falling from his eyes.

* Purcell/Britten : there's not a swain (Olivia Chaney version is what I had in mind)