Tindómion ignored him. 'I have been your brother in all things,' he said to Elrohir. 'Even in your revenge for your mother.' Elrohir turned his head away so that Tindómion could not see his face.

'I am sorry. Tindómion! I did not think. I was so…' Annael sighed and rung his hands. 'Forgive me. Forgive me for a fool!'

'You do not understand,' Elrohir muttered and Tindómion felt rage churn in his belly. 'He does.'

'He understands? You mean that Maglor, kinslayer, helico, understands your revenge? How can you think he understands your rage at your mother's rape? When he raped mine?'

Tindómion was on his feet and fists clenched, standing over Elrohir and glaring down at him.

Saeldir struggled to his feet, grasping Tindómion's sleeve and hauling him away before he leapt upon his erstwhile friend and pounded his face into a pulp!

Tindómion leaned past Saeldir and down towards Elrohir. 'Then it is the darkness he sees in you that is in his blood also,' he snarled.

Elrohir looked up now, his eyes clear and fixed upon Tindómion. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, he does indeed.'

Saeldir pushed himself between them now before Tindómion could speak again. 'Ah, child, do you wish to spill his blood now, when he stopped Angmar from taking Glorfindel's soul?' Saeldir asked softly, speaking as he would to a frightened horse, soothingly, low. 'I know what you have sworn. But there is a blood debt here. It must be paid before you take his.'

'Blood debt!' Tindómion spat. 'That is an old notion. You do not hold with the Silvan traditions as a rule. Why now?' he demanded, standing squarely to Saeldir. Imposing himself.

Saeldir met his gaze head on and raised his chin. 'Because he saved Glorfindel from the Shadow. That was a morgul blade. Without him, Glorfindel would be shadow.' Saeldir took a breath. 'Or worse. And we have already lost Rhawion.'

Tindómion's heart pounded, his blood thundering through his veins and his own Oath burned in his heart. He had sworn to his mother he would revenge her though she begged him not.

He threw himself away from Saeldir, pushing past Galdor who stared after him and ignored Annael's startled call. He leapt over the crumbled walls and ran out into the woods, amongst the trees. Darkness cloaked him, wrapped about him like sorcery. Silence seemed to steal through the trees. Slowly all sounds dimmed and he knew he was utterly alone. The stranger, Vanwë, whatever he called himself, Maglor, was gone.

He strode away then angrily.

He wanted to shout Father! Traitor! Abuser! He would ride him down as he had sworn to do so long ago when first he discovered the truth of his engendering.

Instead he clenched his fists so hard he felt his joints crack. Glorfindel would have been lost. There was a blood-debt. And he knew this time, he could not pursue his father. But Elrohir…had betrayed him. He was no longer counted a friend.

He let out a cry of sheer frustration and slammed his fist against a tree. Even the sharp pain did not bring him back to himself, but Saeldir's voice did.

'It is not the time, my old friend.' Softly spoken and gentle in its intent.

Saeldir's hand lay gently on his shoulder and though Tindómion wanted to throw it off and curse and swear, he did not. Instead he remained stiffly staring out into the woods, his eyes blazing a trail after the stranger. His father. His father. Coward! he threw out into the darkness.

'Come back with me,' Saeldir urged gently. 'Glorfindel needs you.'

Tindómion gritted his teeth. At his hip lay Elennárë, the frost-bright blade that belonged to his maternal grandfather, and it thirsted for his own father's blood. As did he.

He strode away and did not turn back when Saeldir called him. He needed to be alone for a moment, to settle his thoughts and his churning heart. There were no tears, not of anger nor sorrow, just the deep, deep bitterness of a Fëanorian's revenge. Though he knew the irony, the pride that went deep in his blood of his House, and his hatred of the one whose blood he was most proud and most hated.

It was some time later that he was aware that another approached him. He did not move his head but knew it was Galdor. The Mithlond Elf did not seek to hide or creep but approached him head on, in the open and hands wide.

'I come to bid you farewell, Tindómion Maglorion. Though that name has given me much grief, I see that it gives you as much, if not more. There is nothing I can do to ease that, though I would.'

'It is my burden alone,' Tindómion said resentfully. 'And I do not need pity.'

'You do not have it. My kin had none from yours.'

'My kin?'

'Your blood. Whether you wish it or no.' He looked away, his lips thin and closed. Then he said, 'I was once of Gondolin, though I am…much changed.' He smiled at Tindómion's incredulity. He looked away across the treetops, his eyes glazed with reminiscence.. 'I knew your mother, Fanari.'

Tindómion barely moved but the breeze lifted his hair as he stood silent, listening.

Galdor canted his head slightly. 'Idril was not the only one to lead an escape. And Glorfindel not the only hero who stood against the Valarauki that day.' Galdor's eyes were very bright. 'We refugees left in thin streams, in dribbles from the cracks in the city walls opened by the Valarauki, by the Urulóki's fire. We scurried and skulked and hid from the ravaging fire.'

The thin crack of dawn was away in the East, the dark sky tinged with pink. Stars were thin pinpricks of light, gradually fading as the daylight crept over Eriador.

Galdor sighed and glanced at Tindómion. 'I did not see your mother again until many years later. In Sirion, where my family settled. Briefly.'

Ah. So there is was. Sirion. It was always Sirion. Bathed in blood. Fire and blood.

'After Sirion fell, I went to Mithlond. I never saw Fanari again…And now, here are you.'

'Here am I.' But there was no heat now in the words. Self-pity was not something Tindómion indulged in and he thought now that perhaps he had a little.

Galdor had the slightest smile on his lips then and he met Tindómion's eyes with a gentleness that had no pity, not even compassion. Perhaps understanding. 'It is not true that elves die of rape. And it is not true either that elves do not kill, rape, maim, hate. Those are tales told by the Holy.' He said the last word with contempt. 'By the Faithful. They are lies of course.' He shifted his sword in his hip and Tindómion saw that the sheath was very fine, etched with a curling, arcing tree. 'The Fëanorians are not the only ones to slay kin.' He shrugged. 'But history is convenient, is it not?'

He pulled his cloak about his shoulders. 'Farewell Tindómion Maglorion Fëanorion. May the wind fill your sails and your bark [bark?] bear you truly…' He laughed shortly. 'That is a Mithlond blessing,' he said. 'But if you wish a better one, may your sword and blood be strong. Kill many Orcs. And that is what Maedhros Fëanorion used to say. Bastard.' He held out his hand to Tindómion who clasped it. 'If ever you come to Mithlond, you are welcome in my home.'

He turned then and strode away between the fallen boulders and piles of rubble. His horse was turning and pacing restlessly as the Mithlond company had mounted and began to move off. There were calls of farewell from the Imladrian warriors and slowly the Mithlond company wound their way down the slopes and disappeared into the forest.

At last Tindómion turned towards the pointed spike that was all that remained of the watchtower. The muted sounds of the camp reached him and he let the breath go from him. His shoulders dropped and he bowed his head.

Father…Traitor…Kin Slayer…Father.

0o0o

tbc

Notes: Go and read Spiced Wine's extraordinary fics. Incredible. Passionate. Exciting. Damn hot