Celegorm and Curufin were here, Amrod and Amras were on the way, and Caranthir would arrive tomorrow.
'They are unchanged.' Maglor commented after taking a good look at the two brothers from a distance.
Which means they are as troublesome as before, Maedhros thought. In the blazing sunlight of late summer, the host brought by Celegorm and Curufin stood in neat formation, silent and still. Consisted of carefully configured archers and riders, greater in number than ordinary need, with the Star of Fëanor engraved in armors, embedded on shields, and embroidered on surcoats, it was not a rigorously trained escort but an army ready to march. Maedhros knew Celegorm was an excellent commander, by whose hand the troops of Morgoth had suffered a great deal in Dagor-nuin-Giliath, but he doubted Celegorm would take the trouble to make such a display of power merely to show he could.
'Maitimo,' Seeing him frown, Celegorm dismounted from his white stallion and threw the reins to an attendant. 'Is it so painful to see us?'
'Do you have no confidence of pleasing your elder brothers at all?' Maedhros retorted, lips forming a wry smile. 'Or we both have failed to find a joke that is not so bad, Turko.'
He thought his brother would be irritated, but to his surprise Celegorm simply laughed it off. Maybe even a hasty-riser can learn patience and wisdom in the end, he thought. For we all do.
After Celegorm, Curufin walked up. 'I hope our visit does not bother you too much, my brother.'
In fact, you cannot bother me more, Maedhros thought. However, he simply nodded to Curufin and made a gesture of welcome. 'Of course not. As brothers, we have been apart for too long. It is time for a family reunion.'
At that, Curufin raised a brow and then gave him a knowing yet supportive smile.
Maedhros left it to Maglor to make necessary arrangements for Celegorm and Curufin and their unusual escort. He needed to clear his mind and be prepared, for despite what was said, he was certain that Celegorm and Curufin did not come for a family reunion. It was not as simple as some might think to be the leader of the House of Fëanor; surely a heroic reputation helped, but it was far from enough.
Your father had known it all along, Findekáno, although he finally snapped.
He caught himself thinking again as in the old days and could not but let out a sigh. Old habits must truly die hard, for after such a long time he still could not help conversing in mind with that old name, even though the one with the name had already departed with no grave to be found behind. The familiar sound of it stung his heart - if I have a heart, he corrected himself, lips pursed into a downward arc. How can one still have a heart if he has died, not once but twice? The one who would defy his father to defend a friend passed away long ago on the accursed rock of Thangorodrim, and what you had put your life on stake to bring back, Findekáno, is only a lingering glimmer of fire, who has witnessed and tasted darkness, and thus can no longer bear it.
He stopped his wandering thoughts. After all, he had changed. He could be a ruthless and invincible warrior if needed, but he was also a leader capable of evaluation and calculation, preserving their own strength and avoiding unnecessary casualties. And that was why his brothers gathered around him at the news of Lúthien's death and Dior's return to Doriath.
It seemed to be time to remind others of their rights over the Great Jewel again.
But is it fair to ask for something we have not won but inherited, while others have bled and died for it?
Sitting behind his desk, Maedhros pondered.
...'Again, Maitimo.' came Fingon's voice.
He had lost count of how many times his sword flew out of his grasp. With a clang the blade hit the ground not far away, while Fingon withdrew his sword and retreated for another round of practice.
Now you can easily beat me, Findekáno, but you never had such a big advantage in the past. He thought. In the past, I was your teacher and trainer.
But he did not say it. If he had learned anything on the rockface of Thangorodrim, it was doubtlessly silence. Walking to the place where his sword lay, he bent down and reached out - with his left hand, of course. When he slowly closed his fingers around the clammy hilt, he could feel Fingon's gaze on him, full of concern and conflict.
Fortunately, no pity.
Suddenly a rage took him. Looking up, he met Fingon's eyes. 'This is unfair.'
'I know.' Fingon replied, keeping his voice steady. 'And you know it from the beginning, Maitimo. It was you who said the Enemy would not be fair with us.'
'Are you the Enemy then?' he pointed his sword to the direction of his cousin, eyes sparkling. 'The Enemy will not be fair with us, but you will be fair with me. Now fight me again,' a smile crept onto his face. 'With your left hand.' ...
The Enemy will not be fair with us, of course. Wielding a weapon of betrayal, Morgoth has crushed your life and my hope, but you and I are still different: you have fallen as a king with your ending met, while I have to live on with a shattered yet lingering hope.
Dior Eluchíl and the Silmaril. Maedhros touched what was left of his sword-hand in spite of himself. It is unfair, and I know it. But what would you do if you were me, Findekáno? Would you choose to take back the other two Jewels first, to attack Morgoth once again and challenge the power of Angband like your father did, even though you knew it would be a desperate attempt doomed to fail?
I know you would, because you had never sworn an oath in the name of Ilúvatar, and because you had never had a glimpse of the Everlasting Dark beyond redemption. That is why you could still live up to your valiant reputation and choose to sacrifice while I cannot, even though I have no attachment to this broken life. Before the Oath is fulfilled, my own fate is only one weight on the scales, for I have six brothers to consider.
Do you see it now, Findekáno? I have but one choice.
...Stop, Maitimo.
A different voice intruded then and instantly put him on alert. Is that truly you, Findekáno?
...You are standing on the edge of the abyss. Do not test the depth of it.
Or, is it again simply a phantom conjured up by my mind, haunting, tricking and threatening me like the terrors of Thangorodrim?
The sun slowly moved past the zenith. Bright sunlight shone through the window and then on the floor, drawing a clear boundary between light and shadow.
'I will first send him a request,' Maedhros announced in a voice of finality, to an empty room.