Maedhros

After the Dagor Bragollach, Maedhros had woken in the healers' tent. Even before opening his eyes, he had recognized the scent of starched white linen, bowls of steaming water, and the metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air.

Some things would always be the same. A slight elfmaid with dark hair guided him to a curtain that had been set up around one of the beds, the only privacy they could afford in these cramped quarters. As Tamblin went back to his duties, Maedhros took a breath and stepped inside.

Feanor's youngest son lay supine on the bed, breathing slowly. Bandages wrapped around his midsection in tight layers until he looked like an onion, but even with all that Maedhros could see the stain, the length of Amras' forearm, that spread from one side of his stomach to the other.

Amras stirred when Maedhros entered. Eyes bleary with both pain and the medicine administered to ease it, he squinted at his oldest brother.

"If you hold my hand and ask me querulously whether it hurts, I'll rise from this bed and strangle you."

Maedhros forced a smile. "That's Maglor you're thinking of." His eyes traced the colors dappling the linen. "Did they tell you … ?"

"Yes. Fatal, I'm afraid. I shall be off soon." Amras' eyes blinked quickly as he stared up at the ceiling of the tent.

"Do you need more medicine? To alleviate the pain more, perhaps."

"There are limits to what herbs can treat. My lungs slowly fill with blood, but at least I won't be able to feel my toes."

"No more jokes, Amras," Maedhros muttered. He sat on the stool by the bed. He reached out to instinctively rest his left hand on Amras' stomach, but changed his mind and clasped Amras' hand instead.

Amras was still looking at the ceiling instead of Maedhros. "You're going to ask me why I did it."

"You saw what we were doing to the people of Sirion? You wanted to stop it? Perhaps you thought that was the kinder thing to do. We'll only kill half of them perhaps, and never gain the Silmaril. And then later, when their numbers have bounced back and our oath whispers to us incessantly in our ears, we'll kill half of them again. You and your soft heart."

Amras gritted his teeth. If Maedhros had asked, Amras would have said it was the pain. "We were never going to get the Silmaril, Maedhros. All these years, it's always been just beyond our reach."

"What did you want us to do instead? Give up? As if we could."

Amras was silent for a few minutes. His eyes had closed. Maedhros watched, hawklike, the rise and fall of his chest. Just when he thought his brother had slipped away, Amras spoke again in a mumble. "That's not the only option."

Maedhros felt cold. Perhaps it was the day dying as the sun slipped beneath the cliffs. "You don't mean … "

Amras looked at him finally. By now, his breathing sounded more ragged than it had been just minutes ago. "While we live, the oath of Feanor lives. Our legacy used to be other things. You, giving up the crown to reunite the houses. The March of Maedhros. Celegorm and Caranthir saving Orodreth from Sauron's forces. Now all anyone will remember will be Doriath and Sirion. Alqualonde too; don't forget that."

"Did you kill Amrod?" Maedhros asked bluntly.

"Yes," Amras whispered. "If anyone had to do that, it felt right that it be me."

Maedhros' chest ached. "Our brother, Amras," he pleaded.

"Ah yes. That's what will make them call me Amras the Kinslayer, I'm sure."

"Enough with the jokes, Amras," Maedhros snapped. A coal burned in his belly now. Maedhros' left hand squeezed, trying to contain the words that thumped at the inside of his head. Amras winced, and Maedros let go abruptly.

Amras curled up a little, hands clenched on the sides of his cot. After a minute he relaxed again. "Is Maglor all right? You would have told me if he wasn't. Clever of you, not to bring him. I'm sure you decided that's what was best for him, the same way you decide for all of us."

"I'll allow you one more jab at me before I leave this tent. Choose it carefully now."

Amras nodded. Each breath seemed to be a struggle at this point. Maedhros' limbs felt heavy as he reached out to stroke the hair back from Amras' forehead, the way he used to do when he sent Amras to sleep as a child. "Little brother, always picking fights even when you could never win."

Amras laid back. "I've thought of one."

"Give me your worst," Maedhros mouthed.

Amras looked at him. "Will you stay with me until I'm done? I'm sure you're terribly busy, being a high lord and all. Could you eke out a few moments in your schedule to sit with your dying brother as he slips away?"

Maedhros kept brushing his forehead. "I'll talk to Braenor. I'm sure I could find some time today."

He waited for Amras to smile, but he had already fallen asleep.