Chapter V

Maedhros was still alive.

A week had passed, then another. The wounded had not regained consciousness and he had kept muttering nonsense, but his fever had lessened and they were been able to control it. Maglor had a feeling as if the wounds didn't change at all and when he shared this thought with Alcarino, the healer agreed with him. Despite that, he said that things were going better than could have been expected, judging by those first days. According to him, Maedhros had to regain at least a bit of his strength for his body to be able to start healing the wounds. So they kept feeding the wounded elf with soups and strengthening potions and thankfully Maedhros was swallowing them. And he lived, still lived and that was enough for Maglor.

Alcarino reassured him that Maedhros needed time and decided that his presence was not strictly necessary in Fingolfin's settlement. He wished to go back home and Maglor agreed, knowing that he would still have his uncle's healers. He understood that Alcarino might have had enough of that ostensible aversion most of the elves had to both of them. Maglor could have been worried about his brother, but he was neither blind nor deaf. So if he could spare any further unpleasantness to the old friend of his family without harming his brother, he let him go.

Maedhros was calm and quiet and Maglor got caught by his other duties. During those two weeks Amras was his only link to their settlement. The redhead came regularly every third day and waited patiently for his brother to get some information about Maedhros and give Maglor the most important news from home. He claimed nothing interesting was going on, but Maglor was a bit worried when he heard that it was Celegorm who was responsible for trading with the wood elves. Time for harvest was coming and the Noldor, though they had their camp well reinforced, still didn't get enough crops and they bought parts of their supplies from their neighbours. So when the sixth day passed since Amras's last visit, Maglor risked leaving Maedhros in healers' care and went home to check what was going on.

It turned out he shouldn't have worried. Their settlement was still standing and his brothers fared well. Alcarino had told them much more than Maglor, so Amras was not in hurry with another visit and went with Caranthir to explore the nearby hills. They had been working on preparing maps from some time and he had neglected that in the last weeks. Celegorm's trading with Moriquendi went well, so Maglor accepted their arrangements. However, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him in Fingolfin's settlement.

It was bad.

Maglor cursed his duties that had kept him home for the entire day and then the whole night, as his brothers had opposed his riding alone in dark. Celegorm and Curufin had forced him to go to sleep and failed to wake him at dawn despite his orders. They had suggested one of them could go instead of Maglor, alone, but he would not take that risk. Amras had almost pleaded him and perhaps Fingon would have got his father's permission to let him enter, but in case of his youngest brother Maglor was overly cautious and would not send him to unknown.

That his brother's state had worsened during his absence, Maglor learned as soon as he stepped into Fingolfin's house; rough screams of the wounded echoed on the corridor. When the singer ran into the sickroom, two healers were holding Maedhros on the bed to stop his tossing. His strength surprised Maglor, but he had no opportunity to appreciate that, just like he took no comfort from the fact that his brother's eyes were open. Valar! Maglor had pleaded so many times for his brother to finally wake, but those big, hollow eyes were clouded with terror and emptiness, and the fading screams proved well enough what Maedhros must have been seeing; most certainly not friends and his brother.

Long time had passed before Maglor managed to soothe Maedhros. I didn't help that Fingon was absent as well and for the entire day there was nobody whose presence the eldest son of Feanor acknowledged at least a bit. As a result the healers tied him to the bed. Maglor was shocked to learn that, but they explained they had done so to prevent him from tearing his wounds open again when he tossed. It took Maglor almost half a day to get to him enough to make him cease struggling. It was the washing that finally helped.

Water. Maglor was surprised to discover that apart from his singing the touch of damp cloth worked quite well. The cool compress on the head seemed to bring relief and Maedhros was usually quiet and motionless every time he was being washed. He never struggled against that wet cloth like he escaped any other kind of touch, so Maglor washed him more frequently than it was needed, gently caressing his face, neck and arms.

Despite all the efforts the wounded remained restless and seemed unable to sleep long. The next three days were full of tense awaiting when the sleep would turn into illusions and painful sighs into screaming. Maedhros seemed more aware than he had been before; enough to remember the captivity, as Maglor thought, but not enough to wake. His younger brother could do nothing but watch him. Maedhros struggled and sobbed, and when he was left alone, he tore his bandages with this tossing. Maglor had made that mistake just once, when he went to the kitchen to fetch something to eat. When he returned, they had to redress the wounds and hold the wounded, though Maedhros reacted with panic to any kind of restrain.

Maglor was grateful he was able to do anything at all. After three days his throat was yet again dry and sore, but at least his brother slept. He himself was seated by the bed and kept humming out of habit.

"You sound weird."

Maglor rose his head and glanced at the door where the child's voice came from. Despite her bold words, the girl standing at the doorstep didn't get inside and just kept staring at the sons of Feanor with curiosity and a bit of anxiety. She had changed since Maglor had last seen her, she would reach his arm if he stood up. Her golden hair were elegantly braided into a crown, but the edge of her pale blue dress was wet and her shoes sandy.

"Itaril." Maglor smiled tiredly at the girl. "You may come in," he invited her, covering Maedhros to hide what he could from the child's eyes.

Idril came closer and after a moment of hesitation sat on the floor with her legs crossed, tucking her dress in a funny way.

"How do you do that, uncle?" she asked. "That he stops screaming? When you were not here, he kept screaming all night."

"I know." Maglor winced.

To his horror, Idril told him with childish boldness what exactly had happened during his absence. She had not been in the sickroom before, her father had not allowed it, but when the doors were open, she had heard both screams and the healers' conversations.

"Uncle FIn... Did uncle Findekano truly have to cut him off the cliff?" she asked suddenly. "That's what they say at the camp, that Nelyafinwe has lost both his hand and his spirit there, in captivity." Idril looked at Maglor with expectancy and curiosity.

Maglor glanced at his brother, but he was sleeping soundly, so there was no chance for an excuse from replying the child. Because what exactly could he tell her?

He was rescued by Turgon, who came abruptly to the room, clearly displeased when he saw his daughter with Feanor's son.

"Itaril, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing, Atto." Idril reassured him hastily, rising from the floor and smoothing her dress. "I just..."

"Off you go. You're already late," her father ordered her coldly and led her out of the room.

Turgon's raised voice dragged Maedhros from his sleep and the wounded yet again looked blindly at the ceiling, tense but unaware of his company. Maglor helped him change position and he would have forgotten about his cousin, when Turgon spoke.

"Do you not see it is pointless?"

Maglor turned. Turgon was standing by the door and watching them seriously.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Maglor absentmindedly. He wished Turgon would go before they start talking, he had no desire for his company.

"Everything you're doing." Turgon didn't pass the doorstep, but he was watching closely both sons of Feanor. "You don't see it, do you? Neither Fin nor you. He is not getting better," he pointed at the wounded elf.

"He is better already," opposed Maglor. "He is..." he replied, like an enchantment that prevented him from leaving his brother's side.

"He is not and you know it," Turgon pointed out ruthlessly. "Maitimo's fea is far away from here and you are just prolonging his suffering. If Fin wanted to be merciful, he should have killed him there."

Maglor rose on his feet, his heart missed a beat or two. With but a few words Turgon managed to ruin all the hope he had been carefully crafting so that he would not fall to despair. Maglor could not, would not let in the thought that Maedhros would not recover and Turgon had just spat that into his face.

"He has lived so far," he hissed; his voice trembled with emotions. "Maitimo survived something he shouldn't have and so he will survive now. Fin saved his life," he raised his voice only to quiet when Maedhros shook and tried to cringe.

"Findekano has brought home an empty shell, you just don't want to see it." Turgon didn't bother to lower his voice. "When a horse breaks its leg in the mountains, you kill it so it would not suffer. So why do you insist on prolonging your brother's torment? It would have been better for everyone if Findekano killed him," said Turgon. "Especially for Nelyafinwe."

That's when Maglor lost it.

xxx

Maglor stood with his face stern, holding his brother in his arms, covered in a cloak. Neither he nor Maedhros were comfortable, judging from the whimpers. Next to them Aredhel was arguing with Turgon and they were all being watched by a growing group of elves. That was how Fingon found them when he rode in.

"What is going on here?" The eldest son of Fingolfin glanced at his siblings, then at his cousin. He jumped off his horse and gave the reigns to the nearest elf. "What is the meaning of this? Kanafinwe, have you lost your mind?!" He shouted without meaning it, because it was clear Maglor intended to leave their settlement with his brother there and then.

"I do not intend to risk that someone would show mercy to Maitimo and free his fea from his tormented body during my absence," answered Maglor grimly, looking at Turgon.

"You've all insane," Fingon groaned in despair, glancing from one to another.

"The only person out of his mind is Nelyafinwe," Turgon joined in. "And don't you look at me like that, I just told Makalaure what I've told you. If you wanted to be merciful, you should have killed him," he pointed carelessly at Maedhros who seemed more and more distressed as he moved in his brother's arms so that Maglor was barely able to hold him.

"You are talking about your king!" The son of Feanor blasted and tightened his protective grip around his elder brother. He must have hurt him with that movement, for Maedhros moaned louder.

"He will never be my king," Turgon spat out with more contempt than anger. Out of the two of those, Fingon preferred the first, for it hit directly in Maglor's pride, but did not aggravate the mood in their settlement.

"Kanafinwe, get back inside," suggested Fingon. 'For Valar's sake, get out of sight,' he wished to add. He hoped his cousin would understand.

"We are going back home," stated Maglor and he tightened his grip. "We will no longer impend on your hospitality. Maitimo is strong enough to endure the journey home," he said, but there was more weariness than offense in his voice. "I will be grateful if you help me, Findekano," he stepped towards his mount, leaning over and whispering something to Maedhros.

"And you intend to put him on saddle?" asked Fingon. "No way."

They stared at each other for a moment, judging. Fingon was first to give up when he saw the stubbornness of the usually sensible Maglor. 'Sensible for a son of Feanaro,' he corrected himself with grim humour and nodded.

"Wait, I will have the horses prepared."

Maglor must have not expected agreement, because surprise reflected briefly on his face before he nodded in thanks. He stepped back and sat at the doorstep, placing his brother in position more comfortable for both of them.

Half an hour later he was riding through the gate, led off by unfriendly gazes. Fingon caught up with him soon, deciding that he would accompany him at least part of the way. Maglor expected reproach, but his cousin seemed reluctant to start a conversation, saying only that it would be safer to go together with the wounded, so they rode in silence. The rocking calmed Maedhros and he fell asleep, so they travelled without trouble.

They made perhaps a third of the distance when they saw a lone rider approaching them swiftly from behind the trees. Maglor recognized Amras with little surprise. The youngest son of Feanor must have seen the horses led by his brother and realise what or rather who they were carrying, because he broke into gallop.

"He's swift," remarked Fingon. "A magnificent creature."

"Amras loves fast horses," replied Maglor, accepting the safe and neutral topic to talk about. It was best if his brother didn't ride right into such tense atmosphere. "They agree in that matter with Tyelko, but Amras is lighter." Maglor stopped to wait for his brother. He intended to ride along the lake shore where it was easier to lead the two horses.

Amras stopped abruptly with horror written all over his face. He ignored his brother and cousin, swiftly jumped off his saddle and went straight to the cocoon hanging between the two horses to lean over the wounded. Maglor, weary as he was, needed a moment to realise what his brother must have thought.

"I'm taking Nelyo home. Alive," he said quietly, but Amras must have already seen for himself that Maedhros was breathing. He straightened and stared at the motionless face of the wounded, terrified.

"Kano... What have they done to him..."

Maglor too dismounted and embraced his youngest brother. Amras was close to tears and that made him realize that his information had not prepared his brothers for the sight of their eldest. Not at all.

"We are taking Maitimo home," he repeated.

Amras nodded absentmindedly, with his eyes still glued to Maedhros, but then he sobered and looked sharply at Maglor.

"Why today? Why not tell us first? Why are you coming alone?"

"Later, Amras," Maglor cut him off and coughed; his voice failed him again.

His younger brother must have remembered about Fingon's presence, because he just nodded and asked no more. He mounted back, but kept glancing longingly at Maedhros.

Fingon spared Maglor awkward requests and decided he could turn back, now that there were two of them. He only forced Maglor into promise that he would be let known at once, should there be any change in his cousin's condition.

The two sons of Feanor went on, taking their eldest brother home.