Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 27
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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Maedhros was not sure whether to be relieved or concerned when the rescue-mission met up again. Both his father and uncle looked like they'd been a fight, but neither would elaborate what happened and in the evenings the two elder brothers spend long hours with another. Fingolfin was teaching Fëanor Sindarin as they traveled, which was perhaps the weirdest about the entire situation because he could not recall an earlier time where his father willingly learned from his uncle.
In the end, they had to travel far downstream to find a place they could easily cross, as the river was wide enough to count as a small sea at parts.
"It's a mountain-party." Looming to the West was the mountain-ridge they had to get around. And looming in the East, yet another one. Fingolfin looked up at the tall mountain-peaks. "Could they have crossed that one as well?"
Maedhros hissed. "I hope not. We cannot keep going around mountain-ridges, it takes too long." He pretended to ignore the dark mutterings of the third Fëanorion son behind him. "Let's head south, to those warmer lands they have to be. Surely we'll find some trace there."
They rode south after that, following the wide river. Against his will, Celegorm regularly slipped away on scouting-missions of his own, widening their search-area as they traced the river to the coast. He wasn't happy, but could do little about it unless he wanted to chain his sibling to him at night.
It proved fortuitous, as Huan found the scent of Curufin in a small dell half a day's ride from the river. From there, they managed to find a trail again, which they followed for several weeks.
Then, around Midsummer, it once again ran dry a few days after they first spotted signs of civilization in the distance.
"He's swept them off again." Maglor stated the obvious, as they waited for Celegorm to confirm the inevitable of both the trail being gone from the nearby vicinity and the Aftercomers living in these lands.
"He'd be a great deal more foolish than he's proven himself if he did not expect pursuit." Fingolfin prodded the half-dying campfire with a stick.
There was nothing obvious to follow this time, as with the previous time when they followed a river. They'd have to travel more or less straight south, and pray to Ulmo that there would be water-sources on the way until they found a trail again. Or they could follow the coast-line to have water - even as they had to purify it with Song from the salt -, but whether that would ever get them near a trail again was in heavy doubt.
"At least he's stationary, as far as we know." Fëanor pointed out, carving something out of a branch he'd found several days back.
"If we learn their language, the Secondborn could perhaps help?" Maedhros was drumming some indeterminate rhythm on his knee, keeping a watch on the horses grazing nearby. "Uncle Finarfin is exotic, among elves as surely as among them. They might spread rumor of him."
"That's going to be another delay though, since we can't exactly learn it overnight?" His un-stolen black-haired brother muttered, drawing in the sand with his fingertips.
"But the ease of progress might make it worth it?" His uncle tentatively agreed with the suggestion. "Even if these don't know of him, others later on might."
"Celeg's going to tear our heads off... or at the least disappear over the furthest horizon." The eldest of them dryly whispered, eyes firmly on the wood in his lap.