Category: Tolkien-Universe

Rating: M

Couples: -

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

Chapter: 48

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

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"Father!" Celegorm had rushed down the stairs when their uncle had called them, looping one arm of Fëanor over his shoulder. The oldest son of Finu groaned at that, but tightened his own grip.

"Careful." Fingolfin warned him, clutching their other uncle. Finarfin was in his arms, face buried in his throat.

"What happened!?" The beds were going to be a mess, at this rate, between Curufin's blood and that of these last two arrivals.

"Ara's price." Relieved of having to play support to his elder brother, Indis' elder son rushed his younger to a bed, gently lowering him. "Torture." There were tracks of dried tears on his face.

He hissed when he arrived at the bed with his own burden. Their father's back was an open wound, and one hand was mangled - by the gentlest descriptor. Maglor cursed softly as he considered the hand, which was not a good sign.

"Why our father though!?" Maedhros' calm was hanging by a thread.

"It was... supposed to be uncle." Curufin was curled up against Caranthir's chest, the two brothers sharing a blanket and bed as easily as breathing. "Fingolfin was supposed to torture uncle." Tyelko suppressed a hiss at the complete lack of family-acknowledgement their father and Fingolfin had gotten. "Fëanor traded places." He had an even harder time to snap at the sibling he had once been closest to. Now was not the time to try and deal with whatever mess ten years here had turned their kin into.

"Ara... help Ara first..." Their father's voice was surprisingly steady, though he did not move. "I... can wait."

"We can multitask." Maglor did not even deign to start an argument about the matter. "Celeg takes uncle, I'll handle you."

Taking a deep breath, he did as suggested and crossed the short distance to the other bed. Fingolfin was still cradling Finarfin, arms trembling from something, but the rest of his body stood strong. "What's the situation here?"

"His legs." Their golden-haired family-member did not answer him, but he could see that it was indeed the case. Black iron held gems in the flesh, and his mind flashed back to some of the gifts the Maia had given their father a while ago. They'd about fit those.

He'd heard of how all jewelry had had hooks on them when their uncle came from Angband, and considering his brothers, it was certainly true now as well. "I'll only remove those gems." Even if the shock of all those open wounds would not kill Finarfin, they simply didn't have enough medical equipment left to treat all of them. But he'd be able to manage treating those few. "The rest will have to wait until Beleriand at least."

If not for his uncle moving his legs so he'd have easier access, he'd have assumed the other to not have heard from the complete non-reaction.

He briefly looked over to the corner that held the two youngest Sons of Fëanor in the South and found their eyes firmly fixed on him... no, not him, but Finarfin. A quick glance to their father showed that Maglor was trying to salvage some of the hand, but that seemed wholy uninteresting to them.

What had Gorthaur done to them, that they had broken so dearly from their kin?