Many thanks to Levade for pointing out some mistakes I overlooked :)

Chapter IV

Fingon caught himself subconsciously expecting a mess in their household, considering the shock he had caused with his comeback. However, everyone tried to keep the pretence of normality and not to see the healers coming in and out. Maedhros had been moved to the room at the end of the corridor and peace and quiet reigned in that part of their house. No one went there unless they had to. No one wanted to listen to the screams of the wounded.

Maglor met with similar reactions those few times he left his brother's room. Most of the elves pretended not to see him and Maglor too returned to the sick as soon as he could.

Fingon went into the room where they had first placed his cousin, right after their arrival. Their things still laid in the corner – his bag, the remains of his shirt and those rags Maedhros had worn... and the harp. The elf leaned and took the instrument with a pang of guilt. Its neck was dusty and stained with blood. Fingon took his harp to the kitchen, knowing it would be easiest there to find some cloth and water.

He sat at a free bench and started cleaning, forcing himself not to remember that what he was trying to get rid of was actually his cousin's blood. Where the varnish was damaged, the blood went deep and Fingon doubted if he would be able to clean the wood.

"You're insane, you know." His sister's voice dragged him suddenly from his thoughts.

Aredhel hugged him from behind with her slim arms and greeted him with a kiss. She must have just returned as she was still wearing her travelling outfit. Strands of hair escaped from her thick braid and fell loosely around her face.

"Irisse!" Fingon rose and embraced his sister. He had not seen her after his return, as Aredhel was gone hunting. "You know already?"

"Yes, Turukano told me yesterday."

That explained why Fingon hadn't seen his brother the previous day. He kept Maglor company when he could, so he must have missed Turgon's departure.

Aredhel helped herself with a glass of wine and sat in front of her brother.

"How come you brought it back in one piece?" she asked, pointing at the harp. "Turukano said you lost your horse and most of your belongings."

Fingon started recalling his journey and went back to cleaning, glad that Aredhel, unlike their brother, was not cross with him. He warned her carefully that Maedhros may not survive despite Maglor's and the healers' efforts, but he knew that sooner or later she would go and see for herself. He dropped his story when he saw Maglor at the doorstep.

His cousin had changed into the clothes his youngest brother had brought for him three days earlier, but the dark circles under his eyes and hair hanging loosely around his face told him the rest. Fingon doubted he had slept at all, because every time he checked, Maglor was sitting there by his brother's side.

"Maitimo's sleeping?" asked Fingon, inviting the singer to join them by the table, because Maglor seemed a bit lost.

"For the time being, yes." Maglor bowed his head in greeting. "Alcarino threw me out after we finished changing all the dressings," he admitted sheepishly; his voice sounded rough.

"No wonder he did." Aredhel glanced at him skeptically with no discomfort, as if not many years had passed since they had last seen each other. "Have you eaten already? Because I'm hungry," she stated when both of them shook their heads.

Fingon smiled to himself, watching his sister ostensibly taking the role of the hostess and seeing to their guest. Aredhel ordered a meal to be prepared for them and she left Maglor speechless when she placed a mug of hot milk with honey in front of him.

They spoke freely, mostly because Aredhel behaved like their cousin's visit was something normal, and Maglor worried too much about his brother to feel hampered. He ate quickly and returned to Maedhros with a bowl of mashed soup, deaf to the suggestion that he too could use some sleep.

xxx

"Kill me." Another moan, quiet, barely a whisper. His brother's sharp face, tightened with pain, with skin almost breaking at the cheekbones.

Maglor fought the urge to cover his ears, tightened one of his hands on the bedclothes; the other he kept on his brother's face, stroking gently his dry skin, though with little hope. His need for touch was strong, the heat of the burning cheeks remained him that Maedhros was still alive.

Fifth day it was already. Five days of fever they could not fight off, when Maedhros either slept restlessly or hallucinated without regaining consciousness. The worst thing was that they were not always able to make him swallow his medicines and they were afraid he would choke if they tried forcing some strong painkillers. So when the herbs stopped working, pain was all that got to Maedhros's tormented mind.

"Kill me." A sigh, barely audible. Maglor already knew that his brother would tire soon and become motionless. Even so, Maedhros's pleas rang in his ears.

He couldn't bear it. He rose and rushed out on the corridor, hoping to get some air; the weariness started taking over him. He didn't sleep and barely ate since he had learned Maedhros was alive. And these pleas... Maglor would do everything to get him better, he would fulfil every request, but for goodness sake, not this one!

Hot tears stung in his eyes. Maglor leaned against the wall by the door and hid his face in his hands; self-contempt crept again from the corner of his mind. He could never meet that certain request, even if he had been the one standing in Fingon's place by that cliff and had a choice between shooting or leaving him, he could not have done it. Not Maedhros, not his brother. 'But you could have left him there in captivity," reminded him his ruthless conscience. 'And you are doing it again.'

The wounded moaned again and only that made Maglor return to him. Maedhros no longer clenched his fingers, but he kept scratching on the mattress until his damaged fingertips bled again. Maglor knelt beside him and grabbed his hand, cursing his own weakness. HIs brother had been doing that since the previous day; no wonder, when his sunburnt skin started to peel.

Maedhros must have felt someone touching him, because his face froze in grimace of pain and he whimpered.

"Kill... me..."

"No, Maitimo," said Maglor quietly, his voice breaking. "Don't ask me to do that. There's no longer need for that. You are safe now," he whispered fervently; he was unable to speak louder.

He sat on his heels beside the bed, his hand never letting go of his brother. Maedhros must have tired himself, for he calmed and fell asleep with his fingers clenched on Maglor's hand. The singer leaned his head and placed his forehead on the mattress, using the moment of peace while it lasted. He didn't want to sleep, fearing Maedhros's state could worsen and he would miss it. This way of rest had to do.

The pleas Maedhros had been repeating still rang in his ears. Maglor moved closer so that he could rest his cheek next to his hand; tears run down his face and he swallowed the sobs as not to disturb the peace. That was something he hadn't told Amras when they had spoken shortly the previous day, but he suspected his youngest brother had caught a bit. But right now Maglor didn't feel like worrying about that.

He must have fallen asleep despite his intentions, because he almost jumped when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't look up though, instead he glanced sleepily at his brother, making sure Maedhros was still resting. Maglor himself must not have slept too long, because the mattress was still wet from his tears.

"You should get some rest."

Maglor jumped on his feet when he heard not Fingon or Alcarino he expected, but Fingolfin.

"Nolofinwe," he bowed his head, but he didn't manage to force anything more decent than a whisper from his throat. His singing was so far the only thing that managed to calm Maedhros a bit, so he had been singing till his throat went sore. He could only hope he would regain his voice before Maedhros start hallucinating again.

Fingolfin came here for the first time since Maglor sat by his brother. So far he had kept his distance to the point that Feanor's son had not even met him on the corridor, so now his presence in the sickroom was all the more surprising. But there was compassion in his uncle's eyes rather than anger and grief, though Maglor expected distaste, like from Turgon.

Before he had a chance to say anything appropriate, Maedhros stirred and sighed painfully, his thin fingers scratching on the bed. Maglor momentarily forgot about his uncle and fussed around his brother. He gave him some herbs, grateful that the wounded was able to swallow, then remained seated at the edge of the bed, as Maedhros seemed to relax a bit when he was leaned against his chest.

"I cannot, Nolofinwe," whispered Maglor and he finally looked at his uncle. "You see that I can't."

Fingolfin just nodded and dragged himself a chair closer to the bed.

"He's not getting better," Maglor continued. "For a moment I thought that now that he's here, with us..." he trailed off. "We're losing him, Nolofinwe. The healers are running out of ideas, even Alcarino can't do much more. Every day, every fit of illusions leave him weaker. If he stops swallowing his medicines, we won't be able to do anything. So please, don't tell I should rest, because if Maitimo dies..."

"Maitimo is still alive, Makalaure." Fingolfin pointed out. "The healers gave him small chances for surviving the first day and look how much time has already passed."

"Alcarino claims that if nothing changes, he won't make it. Angband didn't kill him, the fever will."

"And if you let such dark thoughts burden your mind, the Enemy will finish not only Nelyafinwe, but you and your brothers as well." Fingolfin cut him off sharply. "It is his doing, to cause doubt when there is still hope. Maitimo is still breathing." The elder elf gently stroked Maedhros's hand.

"It's hard to have any hope when you see him," muttered Maglor.

"Maitimo is stubborn, like everyone else in this family." Fingolfin smiled without joy.

It was hard to disagree with this statement, starting from Finwe and Feanor, ending at the youngest Amras. The journey their uncle and cousins had made also said a bit about the rest of their family. But still...

"It may not be enough," said Maglor and glanced up. "But it doesn't mean we won't try everything."

Fingolfin just smiled lightly at that cheekiness dragged from under the thick layers of weariness.

"It seems that Alcarino has left you something for your throat, Kano," he reminded, changing the subject and picking a mug from the nightstand.

Maglor stirred, surprised to be called this way. Only his brothers called him that, and recently also Fingon. It was high time to remember that there were more of their family members around here...

"Drink," repeated Fingolfin calmly when Maglor didn't take the mug from him. "Irisse said she would come here soon, she will watch over Maitimo. Take a nap while he sleeps. Who knows when your singing will be needed again."

His uncle lacked the stare Alcarino had, the one that made Maglor feel like an elfling again, but his arguments seemed legit. And besides, Fingolfin had just caught him dozing off, so Maglor truly could not trust himself. He really had to rest a bit, he didn't even dare to think what could happen while he fell asleep uncontrollably.