Category: Tolkien-Universe

Rating: M

Couples: -

Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)

Chapter: 4

Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me

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Maedhros rode across Ard-Galen in a fury, having left Maglor to keep the East contained. Perhaps he should have staid, what with Thargelion having lost its' Lord, but he had to know. He had to understand why it had lost Caranthir. Celegorm had been installed as his replacement, but he simply didn't have the head for finances their younger brother had... had had.

His hair was a banner of blood behind him in the setting sun as he neared Tol Sirion.

"Let me in." Probably Finarfin had declared the Sons of Fëanor uninvited forever, but he needed answers more than good relations with the Arafinweans.

"My Lord..." The young guard was tense, which was understandable when facing the furious heir of Fëanor.

"Let. Me. In." He just barely did not simply ride them down, but his patience was slipping fast.

"Russo!?" He blinked a few times, but his eyes did not betray him. The cousin that was answering the sound of his voice did have gold on his head, as expected, but unexpectedly, most of the hair was actually black.

"Finno?" What was Fingolfin's heir doing here? "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." Fingon the Valiant waved the guards aside.

"I need to talk to Finarfin. Now, preferably." He obligingly dismounted, walking the rest of the way beside his steed.

He saw a wealth of emotions at that statement. "You can't." Being a good head shorter, breaking eye-contact easily.

"Finno, forgive me if I am crude, but I do not care about what this might do to his mental well-being, or some such thing. I will talk to our uncle..."

"Did you figure out how to break into Angband yet?" He stopped walking at that sharp demand, as did his friend, turning to face him with something unreadable in his eyes. "Because our uncle was taken back there, just yesterday. He's in Angband, Russo, and I am afraid none of us will ever see him anytime soon."

Maedhros swallowed a few times. "What happened?" Now more than ever, he needed to know. Clearly, a lot.

"Gorthaur had taken up residence here. My father could not risk the Leaguer." The unreadable something shifted into pure grief. "In retaliation for being ousted, he fled back to Angband, taking Finarfin with him." The Heir to the High-Kingship hugged himself. "We'll see him as a banner, when next Morgoth tries to break the siege... At least, such was promised when he tried to bargain with dad."

But then why...? "I need to speak to your father then." He took a deep breath as they started moving again, only briefly stopping to let a stable-hand take his horse. If Gorthaur had fled to Angband, why...?

"Nelyo." Fingolfin stood drained, emotionally empty. Considering he apparently had condemned his little brother to torture in Angband, it was an understandable reaction.

"Uncle." He had come here in a fury, but much of that had left him by now. "What happened here?"

"Fingon didn't tell you?" One hand was clutching something as the eldest of the House of Finu rose to his full height. "I chose this Leaguer over my brother... I sacrificed him to keep thousands... tens of thousands safe." He looked close to tears. "I am trying to convince myself it was the right decision, that maintaining this siege will be worth his suffering."

What did you say in answer to that? It would explain why the guard had been so fidgety, if the Lord of the island had been taken scant hours beforehand.

"But why did you come here? I doubt you heard about it this soon?" His older half-uncle seemed to catch himself, offering him chairs and briefly opening the door to request refreshments and snacks be brought.

"I... came to talk to Finarfin, actually." He took the offered chair, sinking into the plush pillows. "About... about Gorthaur." He politely ignored the flinches of the two black-haired elves in the room with him. "He appeared in Thargelion yesterday. Briefly." His own jaws clenched at the memory of spotting the smoke from his office-window, and the utter terror he had felt when realizing it came from his brother's keep rather than dried vegetation or the like.

"Why Finarfin then?" Fingon whispered, sitting on the couch between his father and cousin.

"He left us the Silmarils. All three of them." He had left them in Himring, in a locked box and Maglor under strict orders not to open it to keep any light from alerting anyone to them just yet. "I wanted to know why the Lieutenant of Angband had them. I need know what brought this about, and figured Finarfin the one most likely to know, since he'd been living here for the last few months."

"Your oath is fulfilled?" Fingolfin breathed. "Just like that?"

"Yes." He shook his head. "I was hoping to..." He shook it again, pressing his eyes closed. "I too am unsure whether it is worth the cost."

"The Leaguer and the Silmarils... for our uncle." The youngest of the three breathed brokenly.

"Our uncle, and two of my brothers." The middle of the three corrected softly.