Name Index:
Findekáno = Fingon

Chapter 15:
Forgive me, Nelyo.

"Very well," Tyelkormo said after a pregnant pause, a forced calm in his voice. Though it did not stop the stiff, almost agitated set from lining every part of his body as he practically glared at Makalaurë. "I have been accused many times of being too hasty in my judgments. Told so by Atar. By Maitimo. I am listening. So speak!"

Makalaurë canted an eyebrow at the bark, barely suppressing a sigh at the oppressive weight that abruptly settled over him. The presences of his brothers in the emptiness of the pavilion was so domineering that the space suddenly felt more suffocating than it had just moments ago with a score of people crowded inside. But now they were alone and with the silent regard of five gazes drilling into him, Makalaurë closed his eyes in impending dread, briefly turning away as he tried to gather himself. He swallowed thickly, absently combing more loose hairs behind his ears and he momentarily felt the overwhelming desire to find a stream and scrub off the grime and filth from his face and neck. But he drew in a deep breath as he forced himself to meet that piercing gaze of each of his brothers. He could feel the storm brewing in Carnistir, the mind of Curufinwë starting to churn away, though his arms were crossed and he was inconspicuously drumming his fingers against one elbow, and the twins just looked so utterly confounded, as if the significance of what he just said was still in the middle of being processed.

But it was Tyelkormo who currently robbed his attention. He was not pacing back and forth as Makalaurë knew he always did when agitated, but his bright eyes were narrowed, his expression darkening into something increasingly livid. His fingers twitched at his side and Makalaurë's eyes flicked to them, supposing it was either an involuntary response to his visibly amassing indignation or because he was restraining himself from the desire to do something to Makalaurë with said fingers.

He returned his gaze to Tyelkormo's. Calm indeed.

He shook his head at him, swallowing again. "You are not," he finally muttered. "Pray listen to me, Turko. Do not put me to my knees to beg that you do."

The words seemed to poke at his agitation more and Tyelkormo turned away with a sharp exhalation of air, running both hands over his face a few times as though trying to wipe it away. The tension is his broad shoulders did not lessen, but he was trying. Makalaurë had to credit him that much.

"When was this decision made?" Carnistir demanded. His face was dark, the storm of emotions clearly accumulating fast into a tempest, but beneath it all Makalaurë could see the buds of anxiety and it was the reason why it was now difficult to look him in the eye. That and the broiling anger that shined bright in them, but Makalaurë forced himself to. "Amid your silent vigil back to the encampment when you deigned not one of us with any talk concerning this?"

The derision in his voice was thick and Makalaurë bit his tongue to stop the words that sprang to his lips. He nodded, resolutely silent.

Carnistir made a face, glowering at him. "Well, then. I simply thought you sought to honor the fallen with your silence, but thank you kindly for including us in this fairly important decision for our brother!"

"Carnistir," Tyelkormo warned, though he only spared him a brief glance. His intense stare was trained unwaveringly on Makalaurë and it was apparent that his hold on the few remaining shreds of his composure was slipping. Tyelkormo slowly shook his head at him. "Just explain yourself, Káno. And do not dally with us, for I know I at least do not have any patience for it."

Makalaurë glanced away with a soft sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Need I really explain this, Tyelko? I should think not. Pray enlighten me just how we might go after him with any hope of success? How? Ever since Atar's death it was emphasized again and again – by all of us, I should add – that Moringotto has repelled us to the bottom of the hill. How it is now all uphill from here. Yes, this whole ruse was a ruse indeed. As if it is one point of interest we need to question any longer. But do I need to echo the words spoken by each of you in the fissure that day?" He looked desperately between all of them. "Recall you not everything you voiced during that council?"

"I recall it well enough," Tyelkormo bit out. His face was still hard and his jaw was set. "And so? What? We will do nothing?"

"Do you not hear me, Tyelkormo?" he stressed, his brow creasing. "There is literally nothing we can do. Our lack of knowledge is now crippling and will be only worse if we go to actually act on it. You heard me in the fissure, remember? I told Maitimo – stressed to him that though we came in all readiness to face Moringotto, we had no expectation to be met with a host of Maiar as well. You know this," he further stressed, the rawness of his voice growing. He was nearly pleading with them but could not find it within himself to care how it sounded. "We still do not know how to slay those Valaraukar. We still do not know if Moringotto has more of the ilk of that Orc-speaker at his command, and how many if so. We still do not know what in the name of the Valar even happened to result in all of Maitimo's delegation being slaughtered when he was so accursedly vigilant. And we especially still do not know why Moringotto had not just slain him as well. Why he sought to lure us deep into those forsaken steppes in the first place." He glanced at each of them, gaze growing more intense as the initial waves of apprehension started to flood him. He absently realized his breath was beginning to come fast and he had not even been shouting. "Can any of you shine light on but one of those questions?" The silence persisted and when it was clear no answer was forthcoming, Makalaurë sighed a little. "See you not, brothers of mine?" he went on, though his tone was quieter and softer. "Yes, rouse the Noldohossë, but at what cost?"

Tyelkormo's expression had not shifted, his eyes growing brighter. "What I see is a decision built with the cold framework of logic."

Makalaurë glared at him, only just managing to keep the incredulity out of his face. "Logic cannot exactly be refuted here, Tyelkormo. How can –"

"And I did not say so," he countered more vehemently, his expression darkening. "But logic reduces all things into strict compliance with our limitations and incapacities. Those things, not our strengths. You cannot stand there and suddenly say that logic prevails when all the feats the Noldor have achieved thus far have been done because of our strengths, not by any lick of logic."

"He is still right, Turko," Curufinwë interjected somewhat solemnly. Makalaurë turned to him in no little surprise, taken aback by the unseen support from the one he had expected to tear apart his argument with his own unflustered brand of logic. "That much at least we cannot deny."

Tyelkormo was silent. He stared at him, his expression transmuting into one of disbelief.

The look Carnistir leveled on Curufinwë was just as penetrating. "Some high words coming from you," he nearly scoffed. "Do you rescind the rant you unleashed on both him and Maitimo before he marched from the mountains? We heard you on both occasions, Curufinwë."

Curufinwë regarded him flatly. "Spare my ears the sarcasm. I agree with what Makalaurë says, but it does not mean that my heart does not scream otherwise. But really, Carnistir, how do you deny it? How can you? You as well, Turko. Makalaurë is correct and you know it."

"How do we deny it?" Tyelkormo's eyebrows hiked up in what was either incredulity or a challenge, or maybe both, but any calm he had committed to his voice was quickly waning. "Because I go to actually bend my thoughts to Maitimo. That is how!" He snapped his gaze back to Makalaurë, his expression beginning to transfigure into something more distressed. "By the Valar, Makalaurë," he softly cursed, a clear lilt of what was definitely incredulity in his tone. "Where comes this audacity to stand there before us and of your own insight declare we are decided by this actionless course? With no consultation with any of us beforehand, I might add? For the Noldor right now, yes, that much I yield. But what about Maitimo?" he insisted harshly. "Will you not lend him the same courtesy as you do to the Host? No drear matter lies before us of reclaiming his body as we did for those three score Elves, Káno! Maitimo is still alive. By some cursed blessing, alive! And most assuredly must he wonder even now where in all of Arda we are, how far and how near. Just how would you feel?"

Makalaurë flinched at the demand, his throat closing up at the conviction in Tyelkormo's voice. Tyelkormo glared at him with so much fire and anger and he would dare say trepidation that Makalaurë turned his eyes away and down, finding the tip of Huan's tail suddenly riveting from where it peaked out from beneath the table. His very fëa quailed at the images Tyelkormo's barrage of words provoked, but he viciously shoved them aside, feeling his legs weaken in the brief time it took to do so. He only just stopped himself from reaching out to catch himself against the table. He masked off his expression, or tried to. But he wondered why he even bothered. His brothers could see through him just as easily as Maitimo could.

He gathered his wits, what remained of them, but he could not bring himself to look back at Tyelkormo. "Ice may be warm in the face of logic, Tyelkormo, yes. But I cannot now discount the importance of it. Not now, not when most especially I would rather the wisdom for this not result from folly."

"Does it even matter?" Carnistir's brows were deeply drawn together and he looked at Makalaurë in no little disquiet, shaking his head. "Do you blind yourself to the gravity of just what you say? For truly, brother, does the wellbeing of the Noldohossë you preach even matter for the coming years? Folly or not, wisdom or not, how can a decision like this amount to anything beneficial for the impending age of our people? We cannot do this without Nelyo, Káno. Valar, you know we cannot!"

Makalaurë did not need to ask what he warned of. He knew. They all knew, and the knot in both his chest and stomach twisted all over again as they had on multiple occasions before at what Maitimo's absence truly meant for the Host if they did not win him back. "I know," Makalaurë conceded quietly, his eyes dark. "The Valar help me, I know. But it is as I told you atop that crag in the mountains, Moryo. Moringotto is presently the blade at our necks, its whetted edge only now more keen. He trapped Maitimo. Trapped us all. And surely would he go with gladness to trap us again if we hasten after Maitimo to save him. It is of that folly I speak!" he added with a sharp glance at Tyelkormo.

"Moringotto probably expects us to muster the Noldohossë in answer to this, as it is." Curufinwë exchanged a bitter look from Makalaurë to Carnistir before turning his grudging gaze somewhere off to his right. "Doubtlessly preparing for it and designing anew some fell snare for us to blunder into because of our haste."

Makalaurë nodded, the set of his mouth twisting in reluctance. "He anticipated us to accept his parley, mayhap even knew we would. No hope lies with us to play so blithely with his manipulations when still so blinded."

"Fine!" Tyelkormo nearly yelled. He finally started to pace, his face only contorting into something more anxious. "Let us end this dallying then and cast off this blindness! Let us learn everything we need to know. Learn the land. The Enemy. The tactics he has so far devised. Valar, did we not come to Endórë for that very purpose?"

"Yes, Turko, but it is not so simple." Makalaurë sighed, wetting his lips. "We cannot search for him and work to conquer our ignorance at the same time. Moringotto has the upper hand knowing these lands while we do not."

"Yes, we do not know these lands." Tyelkormo stepped closer. "But Makalaurë, we knew them even less when Moringotto assaulted us here in the Grey Fields and our ignorance of Endórë certainly had not impeded our victory of that battle. We survived it, made those numberless Orcs tremble to the brink until they literally fled from us back over the mountains! They fled! Even those Valaraukar fled from us! I know not the number of blows Atar dealt to those beasts of flame, but clearly a number worth reckoning, for they fled at the sight of us when we hastened to Atar's side. Fled just as the Orcs had! By Aulë, we were more blind than we are now and Moringotto was the one to look the fool for assaulting us, for all that his hordes had been so great and the Host so taken unawares."

"Yet Maitimo was just as blind marching to the appointed place, and look at the result it granted him and the sixty Noldor now blowing across the steppes as common dust atop a mantle," Makalaurë countered painfully. "We won that battle because Moringotto underestimated us, something he clearly remedied when he designed to trap Maitimo. We cannot trust he will make the same mistake twice. Not when he is smarter than that. Not when he now has the upper hand in truth. We wondered if it was Atar's death that made us believe Moringotto gained the upper hand, but he truly has it now. We cannot in turn underestimate him, which is precisely what we shall do if we muster the Noldohossë and ride out posthaste unto the Enemy's lair."

"So let us then hasten to learn!" Tyelkormo urged desperately. "The faster we do, the faster we may conceive a design to find Maitimo and bring him home."

"We cannot, Tyelkormo!" he urged just as frantically. "Valar, pray just think about it! Not even Atar sought to march unto Moringotto's Dwelling during our whole crossing of Hísilómë. Never even considered it! You know Atar was correct in that the Noldor need to first fortify an encampment." He gestured wildly. "Valar, that was what we were in the middle of doing when Moringotto assaulted us! And we still have yet to do it. Even Maitimo emphasized the need to fortify ourselves during that council in the fissure. We cannot just toss these things both Atar and Maitimo have said to the wind! Going far and abroad so recklessly across the unknown wilds of Endórë as would be demanded of the Noldohossë will most assuredly thwart the counsel of them both."

Curufinwë's gaze snapped over to him. "We will not even search?" he demanded in ringing disbelief, and even the twins were staring at Makalaurë with eyes slightly widened and burning with open surprise. "I thought you but spoke of sending the Noldohossë beyond the mountains to march upon the Enemy, but you speak of relinquishing us to idleness completely? To not even search for him? Valar, Makalaurë, Maitimo surely must expect for us to do that much!"

"You said it yourself, Curvo." Makalaurë swiveled from Tyelkormo to him. "We must assume Moringotto plans for us to. As if searching for him is any different from leading the Noldohossë in his wake. The North is Moringotto's realm and those vast steppes and whatever wastelands that lie beyond are his forecourt. Have you closed your ears to all I have said? Or have you by a miracle grown learnt in the ways of that wide wilderness as to know where he has cordoned it off or left it free? He might set snare after snare upon our search of that unknown place to render the Noldohossë dead without one of us being the wiser. Unless he would seek to take us captive as well. But to see ourselves killed or captured, how would either be helping Maitimo?"

The skepticism grew. "And pray tell how we would help him by remaining idle?" Curufinwë challenged. "Over a month has passed, Makalaurë. A month, and by now he must be ensconced in Moringotto's Dwelling. There is no time to even stall, but now you would have us do nothing at all?"

"You truly intend to just abandon him to the mercy of Moringotto?" Carnistir added before Makalaurë could reply.

Makalaurë snuffed the desire to retreat back a step as he looked between the two. "I told you –"

"And we heard you," Tyelkormo barked angrily. "But stop your vindicating and just turn your thought to Maitimo for one damned moment!" He spun away stiffly as he ran corded fingers through his hair, the tension in his frame so pronounced that he nearly pulled at the strands in the process. But he turned around just as quickly and Makalaurë suspected he restrained the might of his voice by willpower alone. Makalaurë gnawed at his lip, going still as he silently watched Tyelkormo gather himself. And Tyelkormo drew in a deep breath, as though in attempt to calm himself, but the intensity of his gaze did not lessen and his gestures only grew more aggravated.

"To echo Curufinwë," he said, "why do you harden your heart against the plight of your very brother? A month, Káno. Over a month! And Valar, it is only by assumption that we say he is now housed in Moringotto's Dwelling. He could be anywhere! And thus have we all the more motivation to search abroad! Yes, sound reason is often garnered only through being heartless, but how can you not envision this through Maitimo's eyes?" He worried his brow and could not seem to keep the pleading from his face. "Really Makalaurë, how would you feel in his place to hear the words coming from your mouth? How far must this go until this logic is deemed illogical? Until it is heartless indeed? Must you be tokened with parts of his body or a message from Maitimo himself for this to become real? He is alive, brother! And do you think Moringotto will permit him to remain in such a generous state for long? And if he does, what horror does that spell for Maitimo? He did not kill him with the rest of the Elves, Káno. He did not kill him, so why does he want him? Just think about it, Makalaurë!" Though his voice rose in desperation, disgust briefly flitted across his face. "Is this our show of gratitude to our eldest, forsaking him just because doing otherwise is perilous?"

"What would you have me do?" Makalaurë almost shouted hysterically. His breath came fast as he looked beseechingly between all of his brothers. "You act as though many choices lie before me, but the few choices we do have offer no hope of success and threaten the wellbeing and very lives of the Noldor and ours!"

Tyelkormo scowled. "And you would not risk that much to save him?"

Makalaurë flinched, recoiling from him. "Put no words in my mouth, Turko. I said no such thing!"

"You may as well have." Tyelkormo cocked his head, eyes narrowing in mild contemplation. "Believe you that the Host will be receptive of this?" Makalaurë paled at the implication and Tyelkormo slowly nodded, a knowing look entering his eye. "You did not consider that, did you? Not even Vëantur hesitated to believe we would go after him, and you know the guilt he shoulders. You may tell us to forsake our brother, but to the Noldor you will be commanding them to abandon their king. Noldóran uncrowned, yes, but all know he was Noldóran come Atar's last breath. And this is no recurrence of Atar's end. The Noldor have not lost a third king because their third king is still alive, damn you!" His voice was ragged and he paused again in a clear effort to calm himself. Every muscle in his body looked to have coiled tight and his eyebrows drew down further as he briefly looked away. When he turned back he was calmer, but his expression was still set with anger and the beginning glimpses of disdain. "Fealty is like gold," Tyelkormo went on, his voice quieter and solemnly deep. "It is like gold – only refined of all its dross when put through the hottest fire to expose the true amount of purity and value it can claim."

A shiver raced down Makalaurë's spine, the blood draining from his face and he shook his head at Tyelkormo. "Do not," he gritted out, nearly choking on the words.

"Why not?" Tyelkormo's glare grew sharper, and by the keen look in his eyes, he knew well the effect the words had on Makalaurë. "Maitimo spoke so to Findekáno to explain why we swore Atar's Oath as readily as we did. Are his words any less applicable here? Will you tell the Host that their fealty to the Noldóran, to Atar and now Maitimo only matters when it is not dangerous to pledge it? These are the times when fealty is proven! Or is there no valiant left in this valiant people? But no, go forth and speak that loyalty means naught when it now counts the most. The same loyalty that sent those three score Noldor to their deaths because they committed themselves to safeguarding Maitimo. And you intend now to honor their passing, but forsake the cause they died for? Take up their arms, bury their shields! Why do you not just bury Maitimo's banner with them?"

"Enough!" Makalaurë nearly screamed. He stared aghast at Tyelkormo, brow crinkling in disbelief. "That is enough!"

"Evidently not! He is your own damned brother, Káno. The only one of us who held you as a babe! How can you stand there and justify wholly forsaking him? I hear you, but what I go to impress upon your obstinate mind has nothing to do with the Host. Valiant deeds are not bent from cowering hearts, and all I see before my eyes is Maitimo's face as he waits and waits for even the smallest of signs from us as Moringotto subjects him to only the Valar know what. But no! Let us just go on our merry way, proceed onward as though nothing has happened. As though Atar was not slain and our brother taken captive by the very foe we swore war upon. Let us bear in silence the loathing that those who marched under Maitimo's banner will harbor for us, as well as those who migrated to his laurel branch after the death of our sire. Let us lead on the Host as they have been led since came we into Hísilómë when none of us have the insight demanded to see it done, when none of us lived the courts more than the seasons bidden to all scions of the king. For Valar, not one of us can claim the depth of Atar's or Maitimo's knowledge of standing at the head of a people and you know it! But no, let us go about our daily labor and feign blissful ignorance of our brother's plight day by day because none of it matters when to save him potentially means peril for us! Just embrace cowardice, forfeit the bonds of family! Whichever makes the living of our lives now safer!"

By the end of it all, his voice had risen to a shout and he was heaving for air, his eyes shining with the glinting of unshed tears, and by the contorting of Tyelkormo's expression it looked like it would not take much more provocation to send them falling. But the smoldering anger shone bright behind the moisture and Makalaurë was shaking when silence finally fell. Shaking hard. He had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table behind him and his heart raced fiercely against his ribcage. His eyebrows drew down as he clenched his jaw, his throat closing up all over again.

"I do not shut my heart from him, Turko," he finally forced out. "Be you ashamed if you think otherwise. Do you honestly believe I do not want to tear down every mountain from here to Thangorodrim? To not leave one stone unturned until Maitimo might be found?"

"Then do it!" Tyelkormo urged with a vicious gesture of his hand. He did not strike Makalaurë, but the tension was building so great in him that Makalaurë wondered if he actually would. "He is not just our new king, but our brother. Of all he has done for us the entirety of our lives since before we could walk, of all we owe him and that we could never repay – when he now needs us the most, we are to turn our backs? To sweep him off like dust from our shoulder? Why?" he beseeched roughly. His left hand clenched and unclenched the hilt of his sword and his right hand looked even closer to finally taking hold of Makalaurë. "Valar, Makalaurë! We supported him in his decision to march to the appointed place. We supported him!"

"I know we did!" Makalaurë bit back the shout, belatedly realizing just how loud his voice had risen and he prayed that their discourse was unheard beyond the green of the command tent. He bit the side of his tongue and waited until the pain gradually lessened the intensity that was making his head spin. He looked back at Tyelkormo, a massive sense of weariness settling over him. "I did also," he reminded in a far calmer tone. "But to commit the Noldohossë to this venture as blind as we are would be their bane, and in more than one way. We prepared ourselves for our lives to become the embodiment of risk when we flew from Eldamar, but some risks are too great. To march now unto Moringotto's Dwelling blind to it as we are would cost many of their lives. Too many. We might as well freely offer their necks before the wolf's teeth for all the triumph we will have."

"Then I will go," Tyelkormo suggested urgently, and he stepped closer as he visibly warmed to the idea. "Yes, let not the Noldohossë be jeopardized in such a fashion, but you can send me. Send any of us. Send Vëantur with me or any select few that we might glean what has become of Maitimo and devise a way to deliver him."

Makalaurë's eyes widened in abject disbelief. His eyebrows drew together as he shook his head at Tyelkormo. "Do you even hear yourself, Turko? How daft is your mind or inflated your ego to think you can overcome Moringotto's Dwelling? That it can be infiltrated by one person when we know nothing of its layout? Let alone then find Maitimo and actually escape with him? And here you treat me as the fool? As you keep emphasizing, we came to Endórë to combat Moringotto. But even before leaving Valinor we knew an army was needed to storm whatever battlement Moringotto fashioned for himself. Why think you Atar sought with such fervency to encourage our people to fly from Eldamar with him, whether by vengeance for Anatar's slaying or thirst for these starlit lands? Even Atar knew we could not hope to accomplish this alone."

Tyelkormo glared, twisting his jaw as he glanced away. "At least we would not be resorting him to a lack of action on our part, no matter the time it would take."

Makalaurë's gaze softened at the muttered words. "And you think Maitimo would want that?" he prodded quietly. "For his brothers to kill themselves by committing the same blunder as he? To walk uphill into a strange and uncharted territory just as naively? I know we wandered Hísilómë with such blindness and were hindered with it when Moringotto assaulted us, and that we were victorious on both accounts. But I am done construing our chances of triumph based on our success thus far. Done. Because, by the Valar, we most certainly decided wrongly where this parley was concerned. Truly Tyelkormo, do you believe Maitimo would want us to be so foolish?"

"Truly, Makalaurë, I can little guess any of his thoughts right now. By the stars, Káno, you sound like a mouthpiece of the Valar. You say you do not shut your heart to Maitimo, yet you are! Has the reality of this not yet pierced through whatever stone wall you erected? Moringotto has Maitimo in his hands, his very hands, and my fëa wails with every occasion I venture to imagine just what Maitimo must be thinking during every moment of every day. What he must want. How he must feel. How terrified he – I can only fathom what awaits –" The fragmented words broke off entirely as his voice began to quiver, despite all the anger still lacing it. He turned away completely and looked on the verge of storming out of the pavilion, but after taking a few steps he spun back and rushed forward closer than before, the anger receding and resurging like a tide. "Speak what you will, Makalaurë, and order what you must, but say not that you do not harden your heart against him."

Makalaurë's face crumbled. "Tyel–" His voice cracked and he turned his eyes down, wincing as he worried his fingers against the wood of the table until the skin tore against the grains. He looked back at Tyelkormo, his face suppliant. "Twice in the fissure he bid me not to fail our sire, Turko. Twice over, and I cannot forget it."

"No, not fail, just honor Atar by abandoning his firstborn."

A spike of anger surged through him. "I have taken your tongue, but I will not suffer your mockery, Tyelkormo. I have no intention of failing Atar now."

Tyelkormo nodded, disdain shadowing his face. "No. Just Maitimo." He whipped around and stormed towards the entrance of the tent but again turned back, a fire in his eyes. "If you go next, do not weep when we must abandon you!"

He left the pavilion in a flurry of movement, the violent rustling of the flaps loud in the ensuing silence. Huan bounded up from his forgotten position beneath the table, trailing quickly after his master through the curtains of canvas. Makalaurë watched him leave, both of them, still and silent with not so much as a twitch in his expression. Several moments passed before he stirred himself, finally releasing his grip on the table's ledge. He distractedly flexed his fingers again and again, the pain of the cramps shooting up his forearm as he tore his attention away, nearly startling as his gaze alighted on his other brothers. They were all looking at him. He sighed, shifting on his feet as he felt a twinge of discomfort at their silent regard, but he forced his eyes up to find that their faces were just as raw with pain as much as Tyelkormo's had been.

The twins looked just as confused as they had at the start, but hopelessness was now more evident in their faces than ever. "Káno," Telufinwë intoned helplessly, "he is our brother."

"He is mine, too!" Makalaurë snapped, pain bursting in his chest. He rubbed at it with his fingers as he looked between them, misery clouding over his eyes. "He is mine, too. Stop forgetting that."

"So that is it, then." Curufinwë regarded Makalaurë with an air of finality. The anger was still prominent in him, especially in the set of his shoulders, but Makalaurë could not unsee the abject anguish in his eyes. He worked his jaw several times, fingers drumming harder on his crossed arms. "That is it. We made ourselves slayers of our kin and now forsakers of our kinsman."

Makalaurë gave a small shake of his head. "Not forsaking." Even to his own ears it sounded empty.

Curufinwë narrowed his eyes, canting his head to the side. "What do you call it?" he challenged with not a little contempt. "Particularly when you reduce us to true idleness in full? When there exists a chance Maitimo is actually waiting for us? What do you call it?" There was no answer and Curufinwë's frown deepened. "You cannot even say it," he muttered darkly, and he spun on his heel, moving with as much alacrity as Tyelkormo had towards the entrance. He came to a sudden stop before pushing through the slit, sighing as he bowed his head. "I hear what you say, Makalaurë," he said over his shoulder. "But I cannot look at you right now."

He left, the canvas fluttering briefly in the wind before it stilled. Makalaurë looked over at Carnistir, saw his stoic expression and nearly sighed as dreary resignation came over him. He wondered if he had anything left in him to now parry words from Carnistir. He looked at him in question anyway, raising an eyebrow almost daringly. "What?"

But Carnistir only shook his head, eyes clouded over with some internal inspection of whatever thoughts were going through his mind, appearing to truly have nothing additional to contribute to all that Tyelkormo and Curufinwë had already made vocal. He shrugged, avoiding Makalaurë's gaze. "Nothing. I just cannot help but wonder what Atar would say to you," he said softly, almost to himself.

It was like a knife, and Makalaurë stumbled back as his face crumbled further. "Do not say that."

Carnistir looked at him, eyes clearing as he seemed to take in Makalaurë's expression. "Why? Is the answer too painful? Even if none went with him, you know Atar would have torn down Moringotto's Dwelling stone by stone until he had Maitimo back." He shifted from his stance to move towards the entrance. Makalaurë reached out to grab him, but Carnistir wrenched his arms away. "Keep your hands off me!" He sidestepped Makalaurë and ducked through the flaps of the tent, his soft steps quickly fading away.

Makalaurë retreated back to his place by the table, unable to take his eyes away from the entrance and the pain in his chest grew sharper. He winced, rubbing at it harder and he turned to look at the twins as his breathing came faster. They both just stood there, but Makalaurë did not have the energy to interpret whatever bitter story might be in their expressions. He looked down at the ground, blinking furiously as strands of hair fell from behind his ears. "Go," he forced out in a harsh breath.

There was a pause, but he knew they were looking at each other. They always did.

One of them stepped forward. "Káno–"

"No, Pityo!" He grabbed the corner of the table, digging his nails into the rough wood. "I have not the heart to deal with two more of you."

"Káno, we were not–"

"Go!"

There was another pause, but Makalaurë closed his eyes tight. Soon enough, the sound of their soft imprints on the grass came and a further rustling of canvas. Silence fell. Not even a distant sound came from the green or beyond it, save for the gentle chirring of crickets. Makalaurë sank to his knees, collapsing the remaining half of the way as he leaned his shoulder against the leg of the table. His breaths were starting to come very fast and he could not slow them down. His chest was tight, pain still lancing through it and he doubled over when the tightness moved up to his throat.

"Orostámo!"

His frantic yell shattered the silence of the pavilion and a moment later there came the sound of running. But more than one pair of feet. He turned his eyes up just as the tent flaps were shoved aside. Orostámo and Yánadur entered, both coming to a halt when they saw him. Makalaurë could guess their thoughts, but he ignored the Lambengolmo completely, refusing to even glance at him, and looked up into Orostámo's worried face.

"Unfurl the banners and sound the trumpets." His voice was ragged and stiff and thick with the emotion that was trying to burst from him, but he swallowed it down. "Tell the Host to start moving. A more permanent layout of the encampment will be discussed after we cross the river."

Orostámo looked as though he wanted to say something. He even opened his mouth but hesitated and closed it a moment later, clearly wary of whatever it was he saw in Makalaurë's expression. He shifted on his feet, hands twitching at his sides, but he did nothing in the end. After a moment more of indecisive shifting of his feet, he gave Makalaurë a hasty bow and all but ran out of the tent.

Yánadur remained, however, and when Makalaurë chanced a glance at him the depth of compassion and worry in his face was so great that he had to look away. His eyes stung and he closed them again, his breath hitching. "Leave."

There was another heavy pause, Makalaurë's ears filled with the sound of his own harsh breathing. But then he felt a very hesitant hand brush his shoulder before it was laid down with more sureness to firmly clasp it. Makalaurë smacked it off, shoving his hand aside. "Leave!"

"Makalaurë–"

"Leave me, Yánadur!" he cried. "Just leave!"

Silence fell again, but it was not long before Makalaurë heard Yánadur's retreating footfalls and the flaps of the tent falling to a close once more.

Makalaurë gasped, choked sobs tearing from his throat and he doubled over further, eyes burning with welling tears. His hands rose from where they pressed against his chest to thread through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He felt sick. Nauseated. Faint. And the feeling grew more intense the more his brothers' words circled again and again in his head, overlapping each other until it all became an incessant chirring of Quenya. He clasped his hair tighter in his fists, slow tears falling down his cheeks to leave streaks in the dust that matted his skin. He had made the right decision. It was the right decision. It had to be. Valar, it had to be. He could not fail him. Not Maitimo, not his father, nor Maitimo's bidding not to. It had to be the right decision. Valar, it just had to be. But Maitimo's face swam before his mind's eye, despair washing over him in thick waves when image after image began relentlessly swamping his mind as he envisioned against his will just what fate this truly spelled for his older brother if they did nothing to rescue him. The only brother who had been there as a steadfast presence since the beginning of his memory. His own brother, and now Moringotto had him. The very foe they swore war against had him. He had him.

The broken sobs came stronger and Makalaurë swayed at the full realization that watching Maitimo depart into the steppes from on top of the eastern ridge was most probably the last memory he would have of him. And Maitimo's last memory of them…that his brothers were not coming today, or tomorrow…that every day he would wait, enduring only the Valar knew what Moringotto would have him endure, and every day the nail of betrayal would be hammered in a little further….

Makalaurë bowed over, falling against the table leg as he wept, tearing at his hair and rocking back and forth as the ache in his chest grew.

He was abandoning his brother. Valar, he was abandoning his brother. Abandoning him to Moringotto's whim.

"Forgive me," he cried, his voice thick and trembling. "Nelyo, forgive me."