Category: Tolkien-Universe

Rating: M

Couples: -

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

Chapter: 30

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

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It was impossible not to notice their approach. There was simply not enough Power in the South to obscure two Sons of Finwë - and wasn't that a thought, that apparently there were three of those again.

Mairon stood at the large window of the top floor, looking up the river. He couldn't see anything yet, but they could be sensed already.

"Thuringwethil." He turned to the female napping on the large bed. It was formally his, but as a Maia he practically never needed sleep.

"Yes, Master?" She rolled over to look at him.

"Fly upriver, report to me if you spot anything." He swept back from the window, heading over to the elf-pen. He reached across the bond he had with his wolves as he did, guiding them away from that part of the river. "I think Beleriand finally deigned to come for my slaves." The three were asleep, curled around one another. "Well... took their sweet time."

She didn't really react, beyond flying outside and from there to the vague north-east that was upriver.

He considered the sleeping forms, the two black-haired elves clinging to their golden-haired uncle. He grinned in something that was not quite delight, remembering Tol Sirion too much.

"Get up!" He ordered sharply, finding some true delight at their quick reaction.

"Master?" Still, still Verloren shielded his kin, but his eyes were dimming. Schilder had long lost any luster beyond the Light of the Trees, and perhaps IJzer was still the most lively, probably because the other two were protecting him.

He'd have to do something about that soon, perhaps. Or he could wait a while... Wait until the others were in range. Yes, that sounded far better.

"Dungeon, all three of you." Still, he could not risk them acting if they happened to notice. Would Fëanor try his parent-bond?

He watched Verloren open his mouth, probably to ask why, but saw the moment the elf decided not to. "Yes, Master. Separate cells, Master?"

"Yes." They filed past him, heading to the three-cell dungeon beside the smithy. He'd have too follow, to lock the doors, but he'd linger up here for a while longer.

It was an hour or two later that Thuringwethil returned, sweeping inside to land in the proper kneeling-position due her station below him.

"So it is them?" He was leaning on the rim of one of his lamps.

"Fingolfin, three sons of Fëanor and one who looks so alike to Curufin it has to be Fëanor himself." She confirmed, eyes on the floor. She'd lowered her voice, to keep the elves in the dungeon from potentially overhearing. "I will admit to not daring get close enough to hear them talk and confirm."

"I suppose they figured he couldn't make matters worse?" The Maia smirked at the dark sky. "I understand your reluctance to get close. I will send the pups away, with some of the younger adults. Go with them to ensure no one gets any ideas." He wasn't about to lose more children again, thank you very much.

"Yes, Master." And Thuringwethil was too useful by far to risk losing just like that. "I'll await your summons."

He offered a small nod, then headed downstairs to lock the cells. Again, Verloren was in the middle, and his nephews on either side. "You're going to stay a while here." He stated, closing them all in.

"Why?" The golden son of Finwë asked, apparently deciding his fate could hardly get worse.

"Because I want you to."