Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death
Chapter: 41
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
At least two of them stayed with Finarfin at all times, both because his soul was so weak that he needed some others to prop him up from sliding into the Halls, and because Gorthaur still dwelt in Tol Sirion. None of them were quick to forgive the hurts he had dealt their loved ones.
He seemed not to care however, staying in the forges or - once she arrived with the Doriathrim supplies - with Luthien. As they heard it, he was amusing himself by claiming kinship. The princess did appear more than capable of dealing with him however, so they left them to it.
Maedhros and Thingol had to coordinate matters, as Fingolfin's focus rightly laid mostly with his brother.
Fëanor's eldest considered the list the healers had given him. Of the hundred elves that had staid in Tol Sirion and assisted Gorthaur with holding his shield - willingly, those awake swore - half a dozen would fade, having expended too much of their souls to sustain themselves. Almost twenty would live, but be permanently diminished, never again regaining their old potential. The rest would recover over time, though said time would range from a few months to several years.
Knocking lightly on the door, he slipped inside. Finarfin was asleep, curled up in Fingolfin's arms, who was resting his back against the headboard. He and Lalwen were going over some other reports.
"Yes?" His older uncle greeted him softly.
"Report from the healers." He sat down at the foot-end of the bed, holding out the scroll. "About the garrison."
"What's the verdict?" His aunt took it, unrolling it. "Oh... Seven lost. Well, we could have lost all of them, so there's that..."
"Yes." He inclined his head. "How's uncle Ara?"
"Getting stronger, so the healers are hopeful he'll belong to that majority." The black-haired sibling gestured with his chin to the scroll. "How is Thingol?" He made a face. "I should probably be the one doing this with him."
"His Majesty understands your priorities." Maedhros assured him. "Though yes, perhaps do leave uncle at some point, just for a bit..." He added softly. "Less for Thingol, more for our people."
"I see." He could see when his uncle understood. Finarfin had driven them all away, had endangered the Leaguer by inviting the notorious Lieutenant of Angband into it, costs thousands their lives when they had to relieve Tol Sirion... There were questions, doubts... What was the meaning behind this? What had been the goal? Had two years truly not been enough to break the gentlest - weakest, if rumors were to believed - child of Finwë, or was this something to lure them all into a false sense of security? "When he wakes up next."
"You promised to stay with him." He conceded the point, shuffling a bit closer to rest his hand on his uncle's knee. Biting his lip, he looked at his two elders. "Do you think...?"
"I do not." Fingolfin shook his head sharply, before freezing when that disturbed his golden-haired brother. "No, whatever this was, I do not believe it was fake. I do not believe my brother would ever truly betray us."
The child of the brother that had once upon a time betrayed him wisely said nothing in regards to that. "So why...?" He did wonder it himself. Surely if it had been a matter of escaping, it would have been enough to keep up the charade until he was behind the line? And what had Gorthaur to do with it all?
"I will ask, I assure you." The oldest present member of the House of Finwë softly stated, adjusting his brother. "I will demand answers."
"Good. Alright." He nodded lightly, considering the sleeping form. "I am beyond glad he's safe." The red-headed head of the House of Fëanor felt the need to state, looking up.
The warm smile that answered him assured him the other knew and understood.
"When was the last time you rested?" Lalwen leaned forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's been days since we came here... and no doubt you didn't really rest beforehand either."
"I didn't." He admitted. "But..."
"I'll go take care of things." She cut him off, slipping from the bed. "Shoo." She waved her hands at him.
"I..." He blinked a few times.
"No, Maedhros." Fingolfin smiled gently. "There's enough room on the bed." He patted the mattress beside him. "Take a nap, nephew."