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Chapter Text

A frigid blast of wind seemed to pass right through Maedhros’ thick wool cloak and chill him to the bone. He shivered, but urged his horse onward. He particularly hated the cold weather, but there was something he hated even more: the secondhand embarrassment of watching his younger brothers fumble their way through diplomatic negotiations. Against his better judgment, he found himself riding through this chilly, late-autumn day, so he could hopefully help his brothers avoid embarrassing themselves in front of the Dwarves.

Maedhros rarely ever left Himring, the northern city over which he ruled. And when he did, he almost always went north, into enemy territory, and not to his brothers’ lands in the south. His brothers' lands were well protected, and so he rarely ever felt the need to leave his own post at the northern border, and all his people. 

On the rare occasion when he did leave, it was often to travel north of the mountains, into the Dark Lord Morgoth's territory. He tried to see how far he could get, and discover the location of the enemy’s settlements and formations. He was always thinking about how he could chip away at the southernmost parts of Morgoth's territory, but even that seemed like an impossible task sometimes, given the way the land was teeming with Orcs. His captains and commanders didn't like these trips he took, since they were so risky, but Maedhros felt he had to know exactly what they were up against, and he didn't want to send any of his less experienced men on dangerous missions like that.

This mission, though, was nothing nearly so exciting. This was a boring, annoying errand to his younger brothers Celegorm and Curufin, which Maedhros felt was not at all worth the precious time taken away from his own kingdom. But they had begged him to show up personally for it. His brothers were all trying to negotiate with various Dwarven settlements to set up a trade agreement to get more metals, armor and weapons. And even though most of his brothers were hotheaded and aggressive, they seemed to at least recognize Maedhros’ diplomatic talents, and they had pleaded with them to help in the more delicate negotiations.

When were his brothers ever going to learn to do things for themselves and not depend on him for every little thing?

So as he rode across the stark plains, with the enchanted forest of Doriath vaguely looming in the west, his thoughts were mostly ones of annoyance that he had been asked to help with such a stupid errand, and that he had been too polite to say no to his younger brothers.

All these thoughts fell swiftly to the back of his mind, though, when he spotted two figures riding in a distance, the first souls he had seen in many leagues. He rode a little closer to take a look. At first, he could only see they were dark-haired, and one was female, and the other was a young male.

So he rode a little closer, trying to determine whether or not he should call out to these riders or just ignore them, when finally they came close enough that he recognized one of them. Aredhel, his half-cousin. The one who had been reported missing for many years.

"Írissë !" he cried out, calling her by her name in their native language. He cued his horse to a gallop, a mixture of joy and incredulity in his voice. Where had she been all these years, and who was the youth at her side?

Aredhel urged her horse to move faster, afraid of losing the light of the day. She glanced at her side to check on her son, Lómion .

He was exhausted but kept silent. He too knew their time was limited and they had to reach their destination as soon as possible.

The servants of Eöl had likely reached their destination by now and informed him of his wife and child's absence. And knowing Eöl, he would know where she'd gone.

But Aredhel had not planned this on a whim.

Ever since Eöl informed her and Lómion of his long journey, she knew it was finally time for her to leave and save her son from that demon who did not deserve to be called a father. She had packed food, enough to see them to the nearby kingdom of Himlad , and placed it in a hidden compartment she had made under Lómion's bed. The servants had always been loyal to Eöl and to him only, so she could not afford them sniffing around and spying on her.

She had also made some new arrows and packed them alongside her own and Lómion's bow, two stolen swords, and a couple of daggers stolen from the armory just before they left.

They only took brief breaks for meals and contented themselves with a few hours of sleep every two to three days. But it would all be worth it.

They would reach safety by nightfall. She would finally be reunited with her family.

Aredhel was so deep in her musings that the sound of Lómion's voice made her flinch.

"M-Mother, a rider is coming!"

He was trying to be brave, her precious son, but his voice trembled audibly; he was afraid.

She notched an arrow but did not aim at the rider, trying to lay low. She slowly turned to look at the stranger, but the sound of her name, her real name, called by a beloved voice, stopped her midway.

Oh, how she had missed him.

She finally glanced towards her cousin, whom she considered like a brother, and spotted his familiar mop of curly red hair. He was riding as fast as he could towards them upon his mighty steed.

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she was afraid that if she blinked he would just disappear. She tried to call out to him, but her voice came out as a whisper.

"Nelyo..."

Maedhros slowed his horse to an eventual halt, coming to a stop in front of Aredhel and her companion, smiling warmly at them. His old nickname brought back fond memories of their innocent childhood years in the Blessed Realm of Valinor . It was one of the names his little brothers and cousins had called him back when they were all young.

"Turgon sent word to us that you had gone missing," he told Aredhel. "Where have you been all this time? I was worried the worst had happened, somehow, and it grieved me to not know your fate."

The worst? Aredhel thought. Maitimo, shouldn't you of all people know there are things worse than death?

And hearing him speak Turgon's name filled her with both yearning and shame. She had missed her big brother so much, but was afraid he might not welcome her anymore. Not after the way she had ignored his advice and done exactly what he warned her not to do.

Her current plan was to head to her father’s kingdom in the northwest, called Hithlum, after seeking Maedhros’ brothers and asking them for an escort. But maybe she should instead face the risk of rejection and return to Turgon in his hidden city of Gondolin. He was probably worried and guilty that he had let her leave in the first place, so maybe there was some hope he would welcome her. However, there was no way to send a messenger to Gondolin without breaking her promise and revealing the location of the city. And she couldn’t afford to journey all the way there only to find out he wouldn’t let her in.

Looking around, she suddenly realized they were still out in the wild. Even with Maedhros here with them, she didn't dismiss the possibility of her husband Eöl using some foul tricks like poisoning.

They had to go, and they had to do it now.

Studying Aredhel, Maitimo could perceive the weariness on her face, and perhaps not just from the journey. This was a feeling he could understand well, as his own woes in life were many. But he wondered what all had changed since he last saw her.

Swallowing the bile in her throat, Aredhel smiled the genuine smile she only reserved for her son throughout the years of her captivity. They were with family now. They weren’t out of danger yet, but with Nelyo here, their chances were much better.

"Well here I am!" she said, grinning brightly. More seriously she added, “I'll explain everything once we reach your brothers' stronghold. We should move soon; we don't have much time till sunset."

Maedhros nodded, glancing at the sun which was beginning to sink over the horizon. "I was already on my way to meet Celegorm and Curufin. It's a tiresome little errand, and I didn't wish to leave my kingdom, but it brought me to you, and I rejoice in that. Anyway, you can continue to travel with me if you wish to go to one of them as well."

He still wasn't sure why she and her companion were alone, but realized that this was not the ideal time or place to discuss such things. Whatever it was, despite Aredhel's bright and optimistic words, Maitimo could still pick up on a weariness, a sorrow, somewhere deep in her eyes.

Aredhel had forgotten for a moment that she wasn't alone before Maedhros came. Feeling guilty, she took her son's hand to reassure him. Maitimo was family, and Lómion had no reason to fear him. 

Glancing at the young boy beside her, Maitimo also perceived not only his anxiety, but also his apparent effort to conceal it. "Fear not. I am no enemy of yours and will not harm you," he reassured him. "I am Maedhros, Lord of Himring, and cousin to Aredhel. And who might you be?"

Aredhel had fully anticipated this question, and said with a bit of a sigh, “Well, I didn't expect this so soon, but here we go.”

She took Lómion's face and held it next to her own. "Isn't it obvious? I thought we looked very much alike, but maybe not because it seems my own cousin couldn't guess."

Nothing could have prepared Maitimo for this response. Though Aredhel didn't answer the question directly, her implication was crystal clear, and Maitimo's eyes widened.

His thoughts and emotions were a confusing swirl. Who was the father, and why had he and Aredhel and their child kept themselves so isolated from the rest of the family? Was there something painful about this story? There must have been, because normally Aredhel was so open and would have rejoiced in sharing the news that she had a husband, let alone a son. And Maitimo could see the joy in her eyes as she held her son; she clearly loved him very much. This wasn't adding up, and there was clearly some story behind all this. Not necessarily a happy one.

Aredhel could see the surprised look on Maedhros' face. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, cousin, she thought bitterly.

Trying to conceal his emotions for the sake of Aredhel's son, Maedhros smiled and replied, "Ah, I can see now that you point it out, how much he resembles you." But he decided against telling Aredhel he would never recklessly guess that somebody was somebody else's child simply because they looked alike. That was impolite; an awfully risky thing to assume about anybody. But, realizing she was probably just trying to lighten the mood, he didn't say anything about it.

Turning to Aredhel's son, he asked, "What is your name, if you don't mind my asking?" The boy had been awfully quiet so far.

Lómion eyed the stranger who had introduced himself as his mother's cousin. He was tall, very tall, and quite intimidating. He was missing his right hand, too. But he was fair of face despite his visible scarring, and the gentle smile he gave Lómion softened his features.

Lómion did not yet trust him, cousin or not. But he would possibly learn to do so in the future.

He flinched when Maedhros addressed him for the second time, asking him his name. He turned to Aredhel, unsure of what to do, but her reassuring smile calmed him down a little. Turning to Maedhros, he nodded deeply and respectfully. "My name is Maeglin Lómion, my lord. It is a pleasure to finally meet my mother's noble kin. I have heard a lot about you."

Maedhros nodded deeply, grateful to finally hear young Lómion speak. He seemed a shy young Elda initially, but once he seemed to receive approval from his mother, he spoke well. Hopefully he would open himself up more, but in times like these, Maedhros certainly couldn't blame anyone for being guarded. It was wise to not open oneself up too much to anyone they met on the road, kin or not.

"Let's keep moving," he said to them, nudging his horse to a walk. "If I remember correctly, there is a shelter somewhere along this route, built for travelers to use, and I don't think it's far from here."

But Aredhel hurriedly shook her head, trying to not show the fear she was feeling. “N-No, we should leave, cousin. My son and I have been out in the wild for a while now, you see. We could really use a real bed and a hot bath, as soon as possible!"

Hearing this, Maedhros narrowed his eyes in concern. Aredhel’s vehement opposition to the idea made no sense to him, and her excuse wasn't logical.

"Well, we are in the middle of nowhere," he pointed out. "You won't find a hot bath or a real bed anywhere we could reach before nightfall; the nearest civilization is leagues away. These shelters my brothers have constructed are nothing fancy, but at least they're a dry roof and a safe place to build a fire."

He wondered what had befallen her cousin to make her so paranoid. It must have been something truly terrible, and his heart ached for her. He was beginning to develop a bad gut feeling the father of Lómion had something to do with it, but that was only a hunch. Still, Maitimo knew how to read people, especially when it came to their ill intentions. He had learned to trust his intuition over the years.

"What's really going on?" he asked her in a low voice. "You seem so worried. Won't you let me help you?"

Before Aredhel could say anything, Lómion spoke up. "This shelter you mentioned, my lord, how well hidden is it?"

Aredhel loved her son more than anything in this world, but she really wanted to hit him on the head right now. She looked at Maedhros, who seemed more and more suspicious the more she dodged his questions, and she sighed.

In response to Lómion's question, Maedhros replied, "Well, it's not exactly hidden. Since there are few trees around, it's easy to see anything in these plains. But travelers use these shelters all the time, and burning a fire there would be less conspicuous than burning a fire out in the open."

He added gravely, "We need a fire, too. The night is growing cold, and it would not be safe to try to endure the night without one."

Besides, cold and stormy weather often made his right arm, his severed wrist, and his many scars ache. Even though it had been centuries since he was captured and tortured by the Dark Lord himself, he still dealt with the effects of those old wounds almost every day. It wasn't ideal for him to live in Himring the Ever-Cold, but he knew the importance of guarding the northern border and being the first to intercept danger from Morgoth.

Listening to these arguments, Aredhel figured maybe these shelters weren't a bad idea after all. Eöl wouldn't expect them to risk staying long in a place without any protection. And Aredhel couldn't stand this awkwardness between herself and her cousin anymore. Maybe if they stayed the night there, she could tell him all.

Lómion nodded in agreement as well. Maedhros' words had not eased his mind a bit, but they had no choice.

Maedhros was right about the weather too. Lómion had tried to hide it, but his joints had started to ache from the cold like those elderly dwarves that sometimes visited their home in winter. Aredhel, though, acted like she didn't even feel it. Maybe it wasn't an act; she was one of the people who had crossed the great ice. This late-autumn chill was probably nothing to her.

She finally turned to Maedhros with a gentle smile. "My son has never been so far away from the protection of home for this long. I'm afraid I have raised him a bit too sheltered; he has never seen an Orc or any other dark creatures of the enemy, let alone fought them. I believe that is why he asked about their secrecy."

Maedhros wondered if there was more to this story than what she was saying, but he didn't ask about it. 

Aredhel continued, "If you think this shelter is our best option for now, then I have no objections. I trust you. Lead the way, brother."

Maedhros smiled in relief. Not for his own sake but for theirs, since he worried about the two of them trying to fend for themselves, especially if they were in some sort of danger. 

"Let's keep moving, then. If we make haste, we can surely make it to the shelter before it gets completely dark." He cued his horse to a canter, a gait which would move a little faster yet not be too taxing on the animal. Aredhel and Lómion followed suit.

Putting away her weapons, Aredhel nudged her mare to go a little closer to Maedhros. "I promise to tell you everything when we reach the shelter,” she whispered in Quenya. “But not now, and not in front of my son."

Maitimo nodded. "I understand. Whenever you are ready to speak openly, I'm here."

Chapter Text

Aredhel, Maedhros and Lómion reached the shelter as the sun sank upon the horizon. Throughout their brief journey to the shelter and settling in for the night there, Maitimo could tell both his companions seemed to prefer silence for the time being. He respected that and fought back not only his curiosity, but also his simple desire to make casual conversation. He had always liked talking to people, and wished to get to know his cousin's son better, but that would have to wait.

Securing the horses outside of the small cabin, they went inside. Aredhel softly told Lómion to get comfortable, and she started to build a fire.

It was a relief to Maitimo to enter the shelter and get the fire going. Though he was used to the cold to some degree, he had been traveling swiftly for many days, and the cold weather and long travel had made his right arm very sore. He held it close to his body as they built the fire and prepared dinner, and tried not to use it much.

Aredhel took out what remained of their food: some meat jerky, a few apples, and some lembas offered by Maedhros. This was enough dinner for the three of them, thankfully.

They ate in silence. Once finished with their dinner, they all put out their bedrolls. It wasn't long before Lómion curled up in his and drifted off to sleep.

Aredhel covered him with both his blanket and her own to keep him warm, and she motioned for Maedhros to follow her outside.

This conversation was not for her son's ears. He already didn't think highly of his father, rightfully so. She didn't want him to doubt his own worth and her love for him as well.

Glancing at his sleeping form one more time, she closed the door behind them.

Maedhros was looking at her, clearly impatient and wanting answers. He also wasn’t thrilled about being back out in the frigid air.

Aredhel sighed and mentally readied herself before speaking. "Well...where should I start?"

Now that they were alone, they spoke in Quenya, the ancient tongue of the Noldor Elves. Sindarin was the common form of Elvish spoken in this land, and the Noldor Elves who came from Valinor had quickly learned how to speak it, and they all had adopted Sindar names. But when conversing privately with each other, they preferred to speak their native tongue.

Maitimo’s first and greatest curiosity was about who the father of her child was, but figured that wasn't the most polite or comfortable way to start the conversation, so he replied, "I guess you should start with the very beginning. Where did you go when you left Gondolin?”

Even as he spoke, he couldn’t conceal his discomfort from Írissë; she noticed him shivering and gripping his right arm. Taking off her own cloak, she put it around his shoulders before he could protest. "The cold does not bother me the way it does you. Wear it without any complaints, Russandol, or I'll just head inside and not talk until we reach Himlad."

Maitimo’s first instinct was to protest Írissë's generosity; he never wanted someone else to be deprived of necessities on his account. But at her spirited and slightly feisty comment, he couldn't help but smile. This was more like the Írissë he remembered– strong-willed and spirited in words. She had a way of getting what she wanted.

"All right. Thank you," he said reluctantly, pulling the cloak around so that it completely covered his right arm. 

Yet her remark about the cold not bothering her brought him a pang of guilt. That was the fault of Maedhros’ brothers, and their father, Fëanor, for betraying Aredhel and her family. After sailing across the sea and arriving in Beleriand, Fëanor and most of his sons had burned their ships, forcing Aredhel and her family to cross the icy Helcaraxë. Maedhros had refused to participate in the evil deed, but little good had that done. Even his renouncing of his title as High King of the Noldor Elves, and his gifts of horses, seemed futile in comparison to such a bleak betrayal. Many of Aredhel’s family and people had been lost on that perilous journey.

Aredhel began her tale then. "Has Turukáno told you why I left in the first place? It was very silly really." She scoffed, remembering those days with bitterness.

Maedhros shook his head. "He doesn't seem to hold much trust in me, so he did not tell me much when we inquired after you."

“No, he doesn't,” she agreed. 

Not that anyone could blame him. Her grandfather Finwë had told her once that the loss of a spouse tore the soul apart. He had been pretty drunk, in his defense. Once realizing what he had said, he had asked her to forget about it and to not mention it again.

She wondered what she'd feel if Eöl died. Probably relief.

She didn't love Eöl, despised him even. But Turukáno and his wife loved each other so much that he had to live with only half of his heart and soul when she perished.

Aredhel shook aside these thoughts and turned to Maedhros again. "Do you remember how I could not stay still in my classes when I was an elfling? I used to sneak out all the time and drag Artanis behind me too. I crashed your meetings with Findekáno and begged you to not send me away, and you always caved in even though you knew you'd get scolded by Atar1 after it."

Maitimo smiled, thinking back on the memories of a much happier and innocent time. There was no Morgoth, no war, no politics, no pain, and best of all, no Oath in those days. There was only the beauty of the Blessed Realm, and Maitimo's biggest problems back then were things like getting in trouble with Fëanáro for allowing his younger cousins to interrupt serious study sessions.

Little had he known of his father's animosity towards his half-brothers even then.

"You two were always such trouble," he said with a gentle laugh. "And when you got together with Tyelko and colluded in your mischief– all of us were powerless to stop it!"

She laughed, though the fond memories were tainted with bittersweetness. "Your father always told me that my restlessness would be the end of me one day… and he was right, as always..."

She continued, "I left Gondolin because I could not be content there anymore. It was too peaceful for my liking and I yearned for adventure...that was the main reason I departed the Blessed Lands with Atar even though Ammë asked me to stay... Turukáno didn't want me to leave, worried about what would happen… we had a– a fight and I– I was so… mean to him… he just wanted to– to protect me..."

Finally the tears she had fought so long to keep at bay were released and she let herself to be weak, for once.

Maitimo’s face fell as he listened to this. So, his intuitions were already proving true; something terrible must have happened soon after.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, putting his left arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

The soothing presence of her cousin calmed her down until her breathing steadied once again.

"I eventually wore him down as I always did. He let me go if I took an escort with me and if I only went for a short visit to Finno and Atar… I defied his wish and went instead to Himlad and your lands first, for I had missed you all.”

Maitimo felt a pang of guilt, hearing that. It would have been wiser indeed if Írissë had followed Turukáno’s advice and gone instead to her father and oldest brother. Finno was Maitimo’s closest friend, and the one who had saved him from his captivity under Morgoth. As glad as Maitimo was to see Írissë, she would have been safer with her father and oldest brother, and Maitimo felt guilty that her love for him and his brothers caused her to venture away from safety.

Aredhel continued, “My escort and I asked for safe passage through Doriath, but King Thingol denied us… we had no choice but to go through Nan Dungortheb. My memories from those days are rather fuzzy so I don't remember how, but I got separated from them and had to make my way to Himlad alone. I don't know what happened to my escort, but I hope they reached safety. And when I got there, Curvo and Tyelko were away for some business. I was of course welcomed by their people and stayed there for a while. I went hunting, often alone and everything was... normal… like how it used to be back home. I think that false sense of security made me drop my guard and… and that was when I met him..."

She once again fell silent, unable to continue as the memories of when she was still under his spell came rushing back to her. Those memories had once been blurry images, but they were clearer to her now.

“He" must have been the father of Lómion, then. As Maitimo listened, his bitterness grew, partially against Thingol for being so prejudiced against the Noldor that he didn't allow an innocent lady safe passage through his kingdom, and against Celegorm and Curufin for not being around when Aredhel arrived. These things could have been prevented, it would seem. So Maedhros was silent, only occasionally nodding as he listened to her story.

Aredhel took a deep breath. It did nothing to calm her, but it gave her enough time to pull herself back together.

"It was on one of those hunting trips when I unknowingly entered the woods of Nan Elmoth.

I didn't know back then, but those woods already belonged to someone. I spent some time there, but when I wanted to leave, I was unable to do so. 

“You know how bad I am at navigating. The trees didn't help either… they were so tightly entwined that no light could pierce through them, be it moon or sun or stars."

For a moment she grew angry as she remembered the real reason behind all of this. "But it wasn’t my own fault. There was sorcery at work."

"Sorcery? Whose?" Maitimo asked, though he was fairly sure he already knew. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about how, exactly, the existence of Lómion came about. If sorcery was used to prevent Aredhel from leaving the forest... it wasn't too hard to figure out what happened next.

Aredhel watched with a bitter smile as realization dawned upon her cousin’s face. Even though he seemed like he had figured everything out, she continued. She had to finally get it off her chest.

"I could feel a presence following my every movement as I wandered around trying to find a way out… it almost felt like I was being led somewhere. After a while I came upon this house in the woods after seeing no sign of civilization for days… the house belonged to the lord of woods; a distant kin of King Thingol, as I found out later. He welcomed me and, weary as I was, I accepted his welcome.

“I stayed there for a while, for how long I do not remember… But it was long enough for him to convince me to marry him. And don’t judge me; I know it is madness… to marry a man I have just met, without telling Atar or asking for his blessings. But I cannot explain it better, for I don't know myself either… it just... happened."

Of course he was distant kin of Thingol. Of course. Maedhros didn't exactly hold great fondness for the King of Doriath, mostly because of his prejudice against the Noldor. And because of the evil deeds of Fëanor, which Maedhros and his brothers had admittedly participated in, Thingol hated the entire race of Noldor Elves and forbade them from coming and going through his forest. He also banned Quenya from being spoken openly in these lands. 

Not that Maedhros necessarily thought Thingol was morally terrible enough to knowingly allow one of his kin to abduct an innocent lady, but he had indirectly allowed it to happen by not allowing Aredhel passage through Doriath.

He knew his cousin well; wandering and adventure was part of her nature. Turukáno ought to have known his own sister well enough to realize she wouldn't be content to stay in Gondolin forever. Did Maitimo really understand Írissë better than her own brother did? 

In all fairness, though, perhaps Aredhel was partially to blame for being reckless in where she was going. She was fully aware of her own difficulties with direction, and ought to have known better than to leave the safety of Celegorm’s lands. But Maedhros held greater responsibility on those who should have known better and protected her better. Turgon and Thingol, specifically.

"And what... what is he like?" he asked quietly, though he wasn't really sure he wanted to know. "Does he treat you well, at least?”

Aredhel glanced away at that, afraid of giving away anything her brother didn't need to know by the look on her face.

How did he treat them? Aredhel wasn't sure what to name it, but she was certain it was not how a husband or a father should be. She and her son were prized possessions he enjoyed controlling, at best. At worst, they were even lower than the game he liked to hunt. Her hand rubbed over a bruise hidden by the sleeve of her robe.

She and her son were Eöl’s to control as he wished. To hurt as he wished. 

It didn’t matter how often it happened. She had never seen her father or brothers treat their wives this way. Even her uncle Fëanáro, whom Eöl saw as a demon worse than Morgoth, had never raised a hand to any of his children or their mother.

The longer her silence drew on, the more tense Maitimo became. She practically didn’t have to answer his question at that point. He was fairly sure he could deduce what was going on, and his gaze darkened. But for her sake, he said nothing about it. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

"He is… obsessive,” she finally said. “I was allowed to freely roam the forest we called home, sometimes even the lands surrounding it. But after Lómion was born… he got... worse.

“And he hates us so much, Nelyo. More than he hates Morgoth, even. He didn't want Lómion to learn anything about us, his family or his culture. He is my son too, but I could not even call him by the name I had given him."

She purposefully left out her dear husband’s violent tendencies. Maitimo didn't need to know about those. No one did. She didn't want for him to beat himself up over something he had no control over, for she was sure he would. Her pride didn't allow it either.

She laughed, coldly and bitterly.

"You see what he has done to me, brother? I was once the daughter of the High King of the Noldor. I led my people alongside my brothers through the Helcaraxë and to safety. I was once called Ar-Feiniel. You must think me pathetic."

Maitimo shook his head in dismay. None of this made sense. So the husband of Aredhel simultaneously obsessed over and controlled her, while also seeming to hate her ancestry and even their child, and doing who knows what to them? Maitimo didn't even know this Elda and already wanted to have a strong word with him. More than a strong word.

"Don't blame yourself for this," he said gently. "From what you've told me, it seems like much of this was outside of your control. So—” he glanced around, even though no one was nearby, and lowered his voice. "Are you trying to escape him? You need not fear him anymore. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë would certainly offer you protection in Himlad, though I worry they might not be subtle about it. I'd be much more careful with your identity than they would, if you found yourself captivated by the eternal chill and bleak landscape of Himring." He smiled slightly, though he was aware that his attempt at a joke was lame.

His joke was really lame, but it was so Nelyo that Aredhel smiled despite herself. "I do not, but it seems that you do, and you're the lord of those lands."

Maedhros smiled slightly, but shook his head. "Well, not really, actually. I wish I had a kingdom somewhere warmer; the cold doesn't agree with my old wounds so much. But somebody has to guard the edge of Morgoth's territory, and I do not wish anybody else to bear that responsibility."

In a way, the placement of his kingdom was like a symbol reflecting the rest of his life. He had a duty to his late father, and before the Valar. Maedhros could not truly rest or have any peace until his mission was completed. His personal comfort was the lowest priority in comparison to defending his people, and fulfilling his Oath to recover the Silmarils from Morgoth.

Aredhel nodded, growing serious once more.

"He knows where we're headed to, and he will follow us there. I merely hoped to ask your brothers for an escort to accompany us to Hithlum. If it's not too much to ask."

Maedhros nodded and said, "I'm sure my brothers would happily oblige. But... how closely is he following you? Does he know where we are now, for example?" He had not seen anyone behind them on the road, but perhaps these sneaky Elves of the darker forests had their ways of following along undetected.

Maitimo wondered, too, what Aredhel's long term goals really were. What would she do upon reaching her family in Hithlum? Was she hoping for their aid in regaining freedom from her husband? And if so, why did it have to be them? Hithlum was a long way away from here, and Maedhros and all his brothers were very fond of Aredhel and would gladly lend their aid in freeing her of a stifling and oppressive husband. But he didn't ask her about any of this until he understood more about whether or not they were being closely followed.

"He had departed a few days before we left to feast with his Dwarven friends in Nogrod… but the messengers have already reached the city and he's on his way. It does not matter though… we will not stay in Himlad for long. I wish for my father and Findekáno to meet my son.

“Not that I think you care for us less than they would… but you know your brothers.

They are impulsive and unpredictable. If they get their hands on Eöl I don't know what they would do to him… I may not be very fond of him but he is still my son's father. And he is also Thingol's kin even though they have their own difficulties. Our relationship with the Sindar Elves of Doriath is already a mess. Imagine how much worse it will get if we hurt yet another one of his kinsmen."

And she still had a tiny, dying spark of hope that her husband would change.

She had always been a romantic, fantasizing about how she'd finally find her soulmate. She craved the deep and loving relationships her elder brothers had with their respective spouses.

And Eöl had come along and ruined all of her plans.

But, he had also given her Lómion… so no, she could never regret all the stupid decisions she made that brought her to this point in life. She loved her son more than anything in all of the wide world of Arda.

Aredhel's points began to make more sense to Maitimo as she explained them more fully. He knew well of the tense relationship his family had with Thingol, and it frustrated him how his brothers (primarily Caranthir) had ruined that diplomatic relationship. Maedhros would not harm Eöl unless he posed a physical danger to Aredhel or her child. His brothers, on the other hand, would likely be so overcome with rage that they might do something drastic to free Aredhel if they heard her story.

Now he could understand the situation was subtler than he had initially thought.

He asked her, in order to confirm what he was gathering based on her words, "So you are not aiming to flee from him entirely, then, but rather simply trying to visit your father and Findekáno? Why the secrecy, then? Is it because of his prejudice against the Noldor and unwillingness to give you permission to go?"

She sighed, frustrated. "I don't know Nelyo, I really don't know what to do... what I know is if I go back with him I can never even see the light of the stars again, let alone my family..."

Her eyes welled up with tears again.

"I can never wish for things to happen differently, for I would not have the joy to be the mother of my Lómion. Without Eöl there would be no Lómion. That I know well." 

Maitimo nodded, silent for a while as he turned ideas over in his mind. Aredhel seemed unsure of what she really wanted– to leave Eöl forever, or not? To accept his and his brothers' aid or not?

"I don't wish such a fate on you," he said. "And I am sorry such things have befallen you already. You cannot live in such a way, being isolated from your family and even the stars themselves. Perhaps in the morning, we can discuss a clearer plan. For example, maybe I could offer you some of my own men as an escort rather than depending on my brothers, since they may not treat this situation with tact."

Aredhel knew Maedhros was right. Maybe with a less sleep deprived mind, she could think more clearly and make a better decision. The thought of finally having a full night sleep made her yawn which she hastily covered with her hand. She grinned sheepishly. "You're right. And Lómion too has a say in this and I want to ask for his opinions as well."

She added, "I too know Curvo and Tyelko, and their people. They may wish to help me, but they aren't the wisest. I only headed to Himlad because it was closer than your lands and I had not expected to run into you at all. But it seems fortune has not abandoned me completely."

"It is the one upside to all this, isn't it?" Maedhros agreed. "It's because I discovered you that I am glad my brothers asked me to help with their irritating errand." He smiled slightly, a trace of mirth in his eyes.

Írissë turned to him and smiled a small, but genuine smile. "I hope you, too, will feel the joy of parenthood someday, brother. You would be the best father ever; I am sure of that."

Maitimo smiled at those words, though his eyes ached with a deep sorrow. "Thank you, sister. But as much as my heart yearns for such things, I do not feel it would be wise, given the way my life has turned out thus far."

The sad thing was, even though Maitimo was painfully aware of his many failures and didn't hold himself in very high esteem, he was at least confident that he would be a good father. After all, he was surrounded by young children during his years growing up in Valinor, being the eldest of all the grandchildren of Finwë. He practically was a third parent to his six younger brothers, and quickly learned how to be as mature as those who were years older than him. But he could not in good conscience bring an innocent wife and child into his life while the dark fate of the Oath still loomed over him. Besides, even without his cursed destiny, he had many enemies and hated to think of what would happen if one of them used his wife or child as leverage against him.

Perhaps someday, if the Silmarils were reclaimed and the wars ended, Maitimo would then be able to think about starting a family of his own. But as the years turned into centuries and the Silmarils seemed further and further away from reach, those dreams were growing increasingly hopeless.

Írissë’s heart ached as she saw the deep sorrow and yearning in her cousin’s eyes, but she didn't say more, afraid that she may hurt him more than she already had with her words.

She took his hand and led him back to the cabin where Lómion was still asleep, oblivious to everything that was happening around him.

Lying down next to her son, Aredhel patted the spot beside hers. "Come on, we will be safe for tonight so you don't have to keep watch. You were traveling alone so you must be tired as well. We have wasted enough time talking. Let's rest for a few hours and hit the road again."

At first, Maedhros was hesitant to agree with Aredhel’s suggestion that he did not need to stay up and keep watch. It was one thing when he was traveling alone in his brothers' lands and had little to fear on his own account, but with his cousin and her son potentially being in danger, he was more wary. But eventually he figured he would do them no good the next day if he didn't rest. And besides, he tended to sleep lightly enough when traveling that he would quickly become aware of any danger that came up.

So, reluctantly, he joined Aredhel and Lómion and fell into an uneasy sleep for a few short hours.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Maitimo insisted on offering his companions some more of his own lembas for breakfast. He had plenty enough for all of them, and it would give them strength to continue their travels for the day.

"Before we set out, let's agree on a plan," he told them as they sat near the fire and ate their breakfast. "I have an errand to do with my brothers in Himlad, and I hate to leave the two of you to travel alone again. I was thinking you could come with me and at least see Celegorm and Curufin, though we don't have to tell them much of our business. I'm sure they would be glad to see you regardless. Then, you could return with me to Himring where I could send some of my most trusted men with you as an escort to Hithlum. I'd prefer to go with you myself, but I didn't want to leave my post for as long as I already have. Those mountains can be vulnerable to the servants of Morgoth if I leave it alone for too long. What say you both to this plan?"

Lómion silently ate his breakfast and let his mother decide which path they shall take. She knew her own family better than he did, and if she wanted them to take Maedhros' offer, then he held no objections.

Aredhel chewed on the lembas as she thought of the offer Maedhros had made. Indeed she'd have felt safer if he accompanied them in their travels, but she understood the importance of her cousin's role in their defenses against the enemy.

She told him as much. "I know of the great responsibility my father has put on your shoulders.”

"Though I gladly lend your father my aid and service in guarding those lands, he does not compel me to do it," Maedhros explained. "It is a burden I have placed on myself, after seeing and experiencing all I did in Angband."

He didn't mind his post in Himring much except for its cold climate, and bore this duty with no complaints. Thankfully, he and his armies had not encountered any terrible assaults from Morgoth yet. And in fact, the Dark Lord seemed to avoid the area near those mountains.

Aredhel nodded in understanding. “Regardless, I do not wish for you to leave your lands on my account. I will accept your offer and I thank you for it."

Maedhros smiled in relief as she accepted his offer. He feared the idea of her traveling with anybody but him or his most trusted men until she reached Fingon and Fingolfin. "And what of you, Lómion?" he asked, remembering Aredhel's words about desiring her son's input as well. "Does the plan sound agreeable to you as well?"

Lómion's eyes snapped upward from the spot on the ground and looked at Maedhros. He hadn't expected to be asked for his opinion; no one but his mother ever cared.

He swallowed the food in his mouth quickly and answered. "If you and my mother think this wise, then I have no objections, my lord. You have my thanks."

Young Lómion looked startled at being spoken to, but once again his reply was well-spoken. Maitimo still found the boy difficult to read, since he was so quiet, but Maitimo guessed Lómion's quietness must have come from high intelligence and a complex inner world. Hopefully he would begin to feel less guarded soon.

Aredhel smiled, grateful for her son’s trust in her decisions.

They ceased talking and continued with their humble breakfast. It didn’t take them long to finish eating, pack their few belongings, and hit the road again.

The weather was slightly better than yesterday and they'd hopefully reach the stronghold of Himlad before noon. Though the morning was chilly, it was at least sunny and there wasn't much wind. Slowly but surely, the light of the rising sun burned off the layer of frost coating the grass. The flat plains stretched infinitely in front of them like a sea of green, broken up only by the silhouette of Doriath in the west.

Seeing the sun rise, though, always reminded Maedhros of Thangorodrim. It was frustrating to have such a persistent and stubbornly strong association with an everyday phenomena. No matter how many sunrises he had seen from a vantage point other than from that cliff, the association never faded. But the sun had risen for the first time while he was hanging there, and that had been such a shock to him that it was forever burned into his memory. He hadn't known what the strange new glowing thing was, and for years had nothing to do but watch it rise and disappear, and wonder what it was and how it got there. It scorched his fair skin, too, when Morgoth’s smoke parted enough that it shone directly on him. 

It was only some time after his rescue and well into his recovery when he finally had the presence of mind to ask about the new glowing light and find out what it was. And now he envied all those who could simply enjoy the beauty of a sunrise without any negative associations.

While Maedhros was lost in his thoughts, Aredhel turned to Lómion and said, "I believe young Celebrimbor is also in Himlad, my dear. You’ll find a kindred spirit in him, I’m sure. He is a very talented smith and you can learn a lot from him.”

Lómion's eyes lit up at the mere mention of smithery. Aredhel had told him about her half-uncle's family and how smithery was in their blood. As much as Eöl was a remarkable smith among his own kin, his knowledge was limited to what the dwarves had taught him.

Noldorin smiths' skill was on another level, though, for they had all been taught by the great Aulë himself.

He had longed to learn from his mother's talented cousin but never dared to ask, fearing what his father might do. But finally, he was about to get a chance. This Celebrimbor person sounded like a great candidate to teach him the ways of the Noldor.

His excitement quickly vanished as he remembered he wouldn't stay there for long. He hung his head to hide his disappointed face from Aredhel's eyes.

He could not be selfish now. If his mother thought they'd be safer in Hithlum with his grandfather then who was Lómion to question it? Nana was wise and only wanted the best for him, so he'd follow her anywhere as he had promised.

There were skilled masters in Hithlum he could always learn from. Sure, they were no Curufin or Celebrimbor, but it didn't mean they lacked the knowledge they carried. Lómion could be content with this.

“Speaking of him, how has he been, Maedhros? Do he and Curufin still fight regularly?" Aredhel asked, breaking the silence.

Maedhros was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed Aredhel's question. Aredhel was surprised to see him look startled and nearly jump. Based on the haunted look in his eyes, he likely hadn’t been thinking about anything pleasant. But it gladdened her heart he felt safe with her to let down his guard he had built up ever since Thangorodrim.

He was thankful for the distraction, though, and replied. "He lives in Himlad, yes, though unfortunately, he distances himself somewhat from Curufin and the rest of us. He buries himself deeply in his smithery work, which is admirable, but he and Curufin have their... disagreements."

This was yet another complicated and troublesome relationship amongst the Fëanorians. Though Maedhros sympathized with his brother for feeling disrespected by his own son, he was glad, in a way, that his young nephew had seen the evil implications of the Oath and wanted to stay far from it. Maedhros would do the same if he could do it all over again. But he wasn't eager to bring all this up in front of Lómion, who seemed to have enough issues with trust as it was, and understandably so. Hopefully the topic of the Oath would not come up around the boy.

Aredhel frowned as Maedhros explained Curufin's issues with his son. Thankfully, the boy's mother had stopped him from swearing the dreadful oath of his grandfather. And from what Aredhel had heard from rumors, Curufin and Celebrimbor’s disagreements had started from the burning of the ships in Losgar.

Not that she could blame the lad, of course. She herself had never gotten over the betrayal of her best friends and the consequences following it. Shortly after their arrival in Beleriand, when the hurt and anger still burned brightly in her heart, she had confronted both Celegorm and Curufin about it, since they were the Sons of Fëanor she had been closest with. Though it pained her to ask, she needed to know why had they done such evil, traitorous deeds. While seeds of distrust had grown between them over the years during the Fëanorians’ banishment to Formenos, was it strong enough for them to leave her and her family, their family, to death and ruin?

We– we never thought you'd follow us here! We thought you’d give up and stay in Valinor, not go on such a perilous journey after us!

We were only doing as our father, as our King, had ordered us to do!

Please believe us, Írissë! You don't really think we wish you dead, do you?

She had believed them then. Not because she had any trust in them, for she knew of her cousins’ decisiveness and loyalty to the dark whims of their father. She had believed them as a mercy to her own wounded heart. A sweet lie to herself to take away the bitterness of the truth.

So no, Celebrimbor was not at fault here for wanting to keep himself away from the promise of an everlasting darkness.

If she was the Aredhel who had never come to Nan Elmoth and wed Eöl, if she was the person she was before being blessed with her Lómion, Aredhel would have supported Celebrimbor’s decision wholeheartedly. But now being a parent herself, she could understand the pain Curufin was going through. If she and Lómion were in their place instead, she'd not have reacted any better.

She felt she could understand Curufin’s grief pretty well. It was likely not Celebrimbor’s mere disrespect that bothered him so much. It was the fear of Celebrimbor not wanting him as his father anymore.

One look at Maedhros' face was enough to tell Aredhel about his own conflicted feelings about this.

Trying to lighten the mood a bit, she said, "One of these days, he'll surpass his own father. To achieve Fëanor's level of skill is an ambitious goal, but what are the Noldor if not ambitious?"

Maitimo laughed softly. He wasn't sure that anyone could surpass Fëanor's skill in smithery, since it had rivaled that of the Valar. But if anyone were to come close, Curufin and Celebrimbor were certainly up to the challenge. "Indeed. My father taught us all excellence, and Curvo learned it from him, and even Celebrimbor has benefitted from that knowledge. Even if he wants to keep his distance from the family, he cannot deny where his skills came from."

He thought about how much Curufinwë had idolized their father growing up, and how it surely broke his heart that his own son held nothing but disdain for him in return. Yet Maitimo could understand both sides to the conflict and didn't fully know where he stood himself.

Aredhel smiled in agreement with Maedhros' words. Fëanáro's son and only grandson were indeed the only ones who could even hope to rival his skills. It was nice to be this comfortable with her cousin again now that he knew her secrets and there was no more awkwardness between them.

But Maedhros’ voice trailed off as he spotted a figure on horseback off in the horizon, slowly but steadily approaching them.

Aredhel’s gaze followed his, and when it fell upon the rider, she halted her horse. Fear. The only thing she felt at that moment was fear.

Lómion, too, immediately recognized the rider. Just a few days, he thought bitterly. Their hard-fought freedom had lasted for a few tragically short days.

"Someone's coming," Maedhros quietly told Aredhel and Lómion. "Let me ride ahead a little and see who it is."

He cued his horse to a slow canter, which would pick up the pace yet hopefully not look too aggressive to the rider. The rider picked up his pace as well.

Aredhel yearned to warn her cousin, her brother in heart. To tell him. To say anything. But her lips did not move as if she was paralyzed. 

Lómion, like his mother, was frozen with fear atop his horse. Worry gripped at his heart, both for his grim looking yet kindhearted cousin, and for his father. He didn't wish anything to happen to either of them. Eöl may not have been the best father out there. Pretty far from it, actually. But he was still his father.

He called out to Aredhel. Maybe she could do something to calm them both down. Maedhros seemed to be very protective of her so he feared if Eöl said anything disrespectful towards them and their family, he may not take it well. Even Maedhros’ kindness likely had its limits.

Only the terrified voice of Lómion brought strength and warmth back to Aredhel’s frozen limbs. She loosened her sword and told Lómion to ready his sword but to stay put. He obeyed, and she rode swiftly towards her brother and husband.

Lómion couldn’t help but worry as his nana rode off. Would Eöl dare to hurt Aredhel like he sometimes did back home, now that Maedhros was here?

Soon, Maedhros could make out the rider's features– a pale, grim-faced Elda with dark eyes and a deep scowl.

"Who are you and what do you want with my wife and child?" the rider snapped.

Maedhros' heart sank. So it really was him.

Chapter Text

The dark Elf's hostile words and sneering face already grated on Maitimo's nerves, but he restrained himself from saying anything remotely aggressive and spoke calmly instead. "I am a relative of your wife's, and I discovered her and her son traveling alone and wished to protect them. You have nothing to fear from me."

Unless, of course, you try to harm her or Lómion, he thought grimly, silently gazing over the dark Elf and mentally weighing the odds of getting into a fight with him. As much as Maitimo preferred to resolve things diplomatically, hundreds of years of war had taught him to never assume such an outcome could be achieved. No matter how calmly and politely he spoke to this Elda, he may itch for a fight regardless. Thankfully, Maedhros was fairly certain he could handle Eöl if it came to that. Eöl looked to be a tall and strong one, but he seemed hotheaded, and he likely lacked any refined training in fighting. Besides, Maedhros was fairly sure he was taller and stronger than this dark Elf, even with the loss of his hand.

Upon catching up with Maedhros, Aredhel moved her horse between Eöl's and Maedhros’. She spoke to her cousin in their mother tongue, not paying any attention to her husband at the moment.

"Are you alright, Nelyo?" She checked him over to be sure before turning to Eöl. "I wish I could say I'm happy to see you but I can't. And I don't want to. Move out of our way. We have places to be." She sneered at him, disdain visible on her face.

She was no longer the dove with clipped wings. This land was her family's domain. He had no control over her.

Maedhros winced slightly, wishing Aredhel had stayed back as he had asked her to. Now she was a liability, putting herself potentially in harm's way, forcing Maitimo to be much more careful in how he handled the situation.

"I'm fine, Írissë," he whispered, "but be careful–”

"You have no right to speak to my wife, stranger!" Eöl shot back, interrupting him. His dark eyes narrowed and his grim scowl deepened. Turning swiftly towards Aredhel, he continued his tirade. "And you! When did I give you permission to leave my home and my protection? Answer me this, elleth!"

Maedhros stiffened, his hand moving instinctively towards his sword, but he did not make a move yet. Though the words of the Dark Elf were angry and belligerent, even cruel, they still did not justify any violent moves. Drawing a sword could not justifiably be called defense yet. Still, Maedhros wasn't about to sit around and let someone talk to his cousin like that.

"She is your wife, not your servant," he said sternly. "The more you order her around, or try to, the less she will love you. You must speak calmly and kindly if you wish either of us to cooperate with you."

Eöl turned in rage once more towards Maedhros, and clearly seemed about ready to fight, based on the way his fists clenched and the veins seemed to be popping out of his neck. Maedhros gripped his sword tightly, though he was rather hesitant to draw it while Aredhel was nearby.

And he was not the one to unsheathe his sword first; Aredhel was. Enraged by her husband’s words, she unsheathed her sword and raised it high.

Strangely enough, she didn’t feel a single ounce of the fear she previously felt upon seeing Eöl. Perhaps this was because of Nelyo's presence. That would explain it.

In Nan Elmoth, the only person she could rely on, between everyone in the great household, was Lómion, but his skinny and small shoulders could not bear the weight of her loneliness. So she tried to shield herself, and more importantly her son, from Eöl's wrath.

The false obedience she had shown to him over the years might have gotten into her foul husband's head because he dared to talk to her like she was an object he owned, in front of her cousin and brother nonetheless.

Her feeling of shame soon hardened to fierce anger.

Sure, it was her uncle's family who were known for their great fury and wrath. but it did not mean the Nolofinwians had no share of this.

While the descendants of Míriel burned brightly and spontaneously when angered, the Nolofinwians were as cold as the ice they had traveled upon.

Eöl had seen Aredhel’s docile self and desired her for it. It was time to show him this rose had many unbroken thorns left.

She was ready to give Eöl a piece of her mind.

Maedhros’ eyes widened as his cousin drew her sword; things would surely escalate now. Yet Maitimo knew Írissë too well to think she would back down at this point.

Eöl surprised them both by reaching for Aredhel's sword arm and giving it a fierce yank, throwing her off balance and forcing her to drop the sword.

Now that he had laid a hand on her, Maitimo was quick to react. He drew his sword, rode closer to Eöl and pointed the sword at him. "Unhand the lady or I'll make you," he said severely, his eyes blazing with sudden Fëanorian fury.

Before Eöl could respond, Aredhel, though disarmed, quickly recovered from the shock of the sudden attack. She grasped the hand holding her arm and twisted it. Eöl's hands and arms had the strength of a smith, but hers were the hands of an archer and were not lacking in strength.

With the element of surprise on her side, she was successful in freeing herself. Eöl, in his shock, examined his arm for injury. In doing this, he failed to see the fist flying towards his face before it was too late.

Lómion, from where he watched, felt a sick feeling of satisfaction from seeing Eöl finally get what he deserved after hurting Aredhel with both words and hands.

Yes, Eöl was his father. And no, Lómion didn't want him dead. But it didn't mean he was blind to what Eöl had put Aredhel through. And Lómion may have loved his father, but he loved his mother the most.

Maedhros tensely watched this as well, keeping his left hand near his sword hilt, ready to defend her from her husband should he retaliate. It didn't surprise him much that Aredhel was able to free herself from the grip of Eöl. What surprised him more was that she chose to, since she had seemed to express mixed feelings about her husband up until this point. She must have been really afraid that he would hurt her.

Eöl nearly fell from his horse but he took the reins and righted himself. Touching his nose, he found it gushing blood and quickly swelling. It took him a few seconds to come back to his senses and clear his mind from the pain.

His wife had never… fought him before. He glanced first at the tall redheaded elf and then at his wife.

Eöl did not wish to hurt her, but if she didn't comply with his wishes and return with him, he had no choice but to do so.

But the other one, a cousin of Aredhel as he called himself… Eöl would have no regrets about hurting him and more.

He unsheathed his sword Anguirel and pointed it at the red-head. "You can't stop me from taking back what is mine unless you wish to fight to the death, Golodh."

He practically spat out the last word.

"But I do not wish to hurt one Aredhel calls family.” This wasn’t entirely true, of course, but Eöl had a plan, and for it to succeed, he needed to appear civilized just for this brief moment. “We shall have a duel, and if you lose, you prove yourself unfit to look after my family, and they will come back with me. They will come back home."

These words came as a greater surprise to Maedhros than Aredhel’s actions. The Dark Elf wasn't exactly being friendly, but he wasn't being violent either.

And Maitimo contemplated the possibility of a duel. If it did come to a true fight, he supposed he'd rather it be in the controlled environment of a duel. That way, Aredhel and Lómion would be less likely to get caught up in the action and possibly hurt. But was this Eöl honorable enough to abide by the terms of the duel if he lost, which he almost certainly would?

Forcing his voice to remain calm and controlled, Maedhros replied to him, "It need not come to a duel or any kind of a fight at all. I am not trying to steal your wife or child away from you. I simply wish to see their freedom and rights respected, that they may not be limited to the confines of Nan Elmoth if their hearts yearn to travel and see their relatives. If you can give Aredhel your blessings for her travels, I have no quarrel with you. Whatever arrangement the three of you make, as to whether they return home with you or not, is not really my business at the end of the day. However, I'll tell you what my business is, and that is their safety. As long as I feel they require protection, I will not leave them. So if you cannot agree to work peacefully with us, and you still yearn to duel with me, I will accept, though I do not wish to harm you because you are my cousin's husband."

With a darker look glinting in his gray eyes, he concluded, "I say all this not because I am afraid to fight you. Rather the opposite, actually. The Orcs of Morgoth flee before my face, and if you had any idea what I am capable of, you would be wise to do the same."

Aredhel glanced back and forth between her husband and Maedhros. Her brows furrowed further as she looked at Eöl in suspicion. Surely that idiot did not think he could beat Maedhros, right? Or perhaps he was that prideful.

Unlike many Noldor, especially the Fëanorians, Aredhel didn't think all Noldor inherently superior to Sindar. But Maedhros' mastery of the combat arts was just on another level. The only one she thought capable of defeating him was her own father.

Yet she also could not ignore this unknown feeling prickling at her skin. The same thing she had felt when she was being led towards the house she had called home for the last several decades.

She sensed danger.

Glancing back towards where Lómion was standing, she realized they'd never be able to reach Himlad without a fight. So maybe this duel was not such a bad idea. Nelyo would beat Eöl handily and they'd be on their merry way shortly.

She didn't want Lómion to witness his cousin fighting his father. But there was little choice here. And a fair win in a duel was the only way for Maedhros to deal with Eöl while not breaking Lómion’s fragile trust in him. It was Eöl who suggested this after all, so Lómion would understand.

She looked at Maedhros and nodded her head, subtly showing her agreement, as she tried to ignore her senses screaming of danger.

Eöl, however, wanted to smash that red head of this Golodh against a wall. Who did this colonizer think he was? If you had any idea what I am capable of, you would be wise to flee before my face, he had said. What nonsense!

Restraining his fists and his sword, he smirked and said, "I do not need your kinship nor mercy, Golodh. Cease making all these excuses and ready yourself to face me if you have the guts!"

So much for resolving this peaceably, then. Eöl rejected Maedhros' offer for peace with rudeness and arrogance, and Maedhros couldn't help but laugh out loud at the Dark Elf's claim that he had no guts. It was rather a stupid claim to make against a tall, strong Valinorian Elf with visible scars and a missing hand.

If only you knew what guts it takes to be willing to fight Morgoth and his servants after being tortured by them for thirty years. These were the words he would have relished in saying, but he held his tongue. Such provocations were unnecessary and would only heighten Eöl’s rage, which Maedhros was careful to avoid for Aredhel and Maeglin's sakes. If they weren't around and it was just the two of them, he wouldn't have had any reservations about throwing scornful, mocking words back at his opponent. But then again, he was confident enough in his fighting abilities that it wasn't necessary. In a way, it was more satisfying to remain silent, let Eöl speak his arrogant words, and then prove him wrong moments later.

Aredhel snorted as Eöl spoke his arrogant words and Maedhros laughed at them. This Sinda was either insane or he just had a death wish. Did he have any idea how foolish it was to call Maedhros a coward?

He had never seen Maedhros training day and night, throwing all his frustration and grief into every swing of his sword, to the point that he became more skilled and deadly with his left hand than he had ever been with his right.

Few knew what desperation was capable of. And Maedhros, the one handed, traumatized Maedhros, was desperate. He had lived to tell the tale of what was behind those Eru forsaken gates of Angband.

He was desperate to protect his family, his little brothers and cousins. These passions, fueled by thirst for revenge for what he himself had gone through, was enough to motivate him to become a new Maedhros. A one-handed Maedhros but much wiser than the young, innocent lad who followed his father to a land unknown.

He was ready to be the king he was meant to be.

Aredhel herself had borne witness to all of this. So when Maedhros spontaneously (to their eyes at least) had given up kingship to her father, Aredhel had been as shocked as Maedhros' brothers, except for Maglor maybe.

She had inquired of the reasons for his sudden refusal of the crown and jokingly told him his father's soul could never rest now. She assured him he would have made a wonderful king himself.

“So why, Nelyo?” she had asked him. “My father was ever loyal to yours. He would have been loyal to you too.”

“There’s no question about that, cousin,” he had replied, smiling gently but unable to hide the grief in his eyes. “But as gracious as you and your family have been to us– Findekáno more so than the rest– your people are angry. Rightfully so. The last thing we need right now is a civil war between my people and yours. And believe me, Íri, it would have happened sooner or later if I hadn't atoned for my family's crimes. If… if we could call this atoning at all.”

He had smiled then and embraced her like she was little again. Like they were back home. And for a moment, Aredhel could pretend that they were. That none of these awful things had happened.

“Thank you for believing in me though,” he had said.

She had returned his smile. “Always.”

With these thoughts in her mind, she watched with a wicked satisfaction as her brother prepared to put Eöl in his place.

With that, Eöl slid down his horse and turned his back to them, pretending to be busy tethering his horse and readying his sword. Instead he took out a small vial from his robes and subtly poured the contents of it on his blade. The poison was thankfully transparent and there was no way for Maedhros, Lómion or Aredhel to notice it.

None of them noticed his nefarious preparations. Maedhros was busy dismounting his horse, passing the reins to Aredhel, and speaking to her and her son.

"If I were you I'd ride some distance off, giving us plenty of space," he whispered. "Fights can get messy and I'd hate to see either of you hurt by the flurry of motion from clashing swords. It will put my mind at ease knowing I can fight freely without worrying about hurting one of you by accident."

After all, any sort of a fight, whether it was a swordfight or hand-to-hand, could be difficult for even the most skilled fighters to contain.

Aredhel reluctantly accepted the reins of Maedhros’ horse and bit back the urge to protest when he gave his request. She and Lómion would only be a distraction and liability if they got in the way of the fight, as much as she hated to admit it. She glanced at her son and motioned for him to stay close to her side, and he obeyed. Then they tethered the horses to a tree so they could carefully watch the fight.

Eöl finished preparing his sword and watched his wife interact with the Golodh. With contained rage, he gingerly touched his throbbing nose. He would show that elleth what would become of her if she ever disobeyed him again.

And her cousin too. Both would come to know the consequences of their actions, but it would be too late for them to repent.

Chapter Text

Maedhros walked some distance away from Aredhel and Lómion, drew his sword, and nodded to Eöl. "Fine, then. If you scorn the offer of mercy and peace I made you, make your move. Our fight shall not be to the death, but to disarmament. You will regret this."

He only hoped, for the sake of Aredhel and her son, he would be able to take Eöl down swiftly without hurting him too much, if at all.

Aredhel nodded grimly, threw a scathing look Eöl's way, and spoke in a loud yet cold voice:

"I'll keep my eyes on you. I’ll know if you try something funny. And believe me when I say I won't leave an unbroken bone in your body if something happens to my cousin. You heard him loud and clear. You both will continue until someone is disarmed. No more."

Eol was silent as Aredhel hurled her threatening words at him. She would regret it all soon enough.

He took a fighting stance instead, which encouraged Maedhros to draw closer to him.

Eöl planned to aim at the Golodh’s right side where he lacked a hand. He noticed he was wearing mithril mail. This was going to make Eöl’s job harder, but all he had to do was deliver a small cut, just enough to break the skin, and that would be enough for the poison to enter the other ellon's bloodstream.

Maedhros carefully watched Eöl as he prepared for his first attack. He followed the dark gaze of his opponent and noticed the somewhat calculated look to it. Eöl must have been studying him before making his first attack, which possibly indicated he was marginally less stupid than Maedhros had originally believed. He made a mental note not to underestimate the Dark Elf or be overconfident in his own abilities. That could often lead to sloppy mistakes, and for Aredhel's sake he could not afford a single mistake.

Whether or not Eöl wore armor himself, Maedhros couldn't tell. If he was, he must have been concealing it under his clothing. Since he was a smith, there was a chance he could have had at least some.

With a shout, Eöl lunged forward, swinging his sword at Maedhros' right leg. But he was met with the unbreakable defense of Maedhros’ sword, effortlessly blocking the blow.

Aredhel watched as her husband, prideful as ever, made the first move and attacked her cousin on his right side. A beginner’s mistake. After Maedhros’ return from the enemy’s den, those who had never fought him before thought him weak now that he lacked a hand… and they were all proven miserably wrong.

Maedhros then delivered several heavy swings, powerful despite being wielded with only one hand. He was not aiming for Eöl's body so much as his sword, hoping to wear down his grip on the sword and knock it out of his hands. To Eöl's credit, he maintained his grip on his sword, but now he was on the defensive and giving ground. He seemed to have no time to make any attacks of his own.

Eöl tried to hide his sudden terror as the Golodh threw blows at him left and right with little effort.

He had no experience in fights. He hadn't even participated in the only battle Thingol fought against the enemy.

This Elda was far more powerful than Eöl had expected, considering his scarred appearance and his missing hand. Where the redhead was attacking him with little to no discomfort, Eöl was already panting. He had never been terrified of anything in his life until he beheld the rage in the glinting gray eyes of this elf.

Maedhros could tell Eöl was weakening, and rapidly, which was a good thing. This meant the fight would be over quickly and with little to no harm done. It was a bit surprising given the strength in the Sindar Elf, but he must have had very little experience in fighting and no knowledge of how to conserve his energy. He didn't seem to know any of the theory of fighting like Maedhros did– anything about points of leverage or footwork or proper form.

But Eöl found it strange how Maedhros clearly didn't wish to hurt him badly, as he was only aiming for his sword and not his body.

What is he trying to prove here? I don't need him to go easy on me. We're not family.

His string of thoughts was cut short, because with the next blow of the redhead's sword, he lost his balance. Staggering backwards, he fell to the ground. 

Aredhel, watching this, couldn't help but snort. That's what you get for underestimating Nelyo, she thought. And Lómion let out a breath of relief at seeing Eöl fall.

But Eöl hadn't dropped his sword, so the fight was still on.

Perhaps it was Maedhros’ continued desire for mercy, or even some pity for his opponent who had fought so ungracefully, but he offered his right arm out to help him up.

That was a mistake.

You trusting fool, Eöl thought as he slashed at Maedhros’ right forearm, leaving a clean, somewhat deep cut.

Maedhros snatched his arm away as Eöl got up. He gritted his teeth, but uttered no cry, being very well used to suppressing pain.

Aredhel swiftly drew her bow and picked an arrow from her quiver. Two could play this game. If Eöl wanted to do this the dishonorable way, Aredhel had no shame in giving him a taste of his own medicine. She would do that for Nelyo.

Being too trusting of the enemy was the reason why Maedhros had gotten stuck in Angband, and he cursed himself for having made the same mistake again. Though the cut to his arm was not by any means the worst injury he'd ever suffered, it wasn't insignificant either. It didn't hurt much yet because of the adrenaline from the fight, but if the fight dragged out much longer the effects of it would eventually catch up to him.

It's time to stop playing around and take this more seriously, he thought to himself. Fueled by adrenaline and determination to protect Aredhel and her son, he swung another powerful blow at Eöl's sword, but this time with a twisting motion so that Eöl's arm was painfully twisted behind him, and he could not maintain a grip on his sword.

Perhaps it was cruel and vengeful, but Maedhros couldn't help but take some satisfaction in his opponent's resulting yell of pain, primarily since he had grabbed his own wife's arm earlier.

His sword clattered to the ground. Breathing heavily, Maedhros kicked it aside, out of Eöl's reach, and pointed his own sword at Eöl's neck. "Yield and go back to the foul woods from whence you came."

Maedhros' sonorous voice was loud enough for Aredhel and Lómion to hear from where they stood.

Aredhel lowered her bow. It seemed her help was unneeded after all because the victorious gleam in that dark elf's eyes didn't last a moment longer.

Eöl tried to reach for his sword again but his attempt was cut short by the cold kiss of the Noldorin sword against his neck.

Begrudgingly, he nodded but his fierce glare did not drop for a second.

His glare screamed of vengeance and Lómion shuddered from where he watched. Something was not right but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Eöl had underestimated this Noldo and paid for this mistake with a humiliating defeat.

Or… had he?

After the dishonorable way Eöl had fought, Maedhros did not trust him one bit to keep his word or fully accept surrender. So Maedhros watched him carefully, not taking his eyes off him as he sheathed his own sword and bent down to pick up Eöl's. He had no place to put it, so he just held onto it.

"Normally I would return my opponent's weapon to him," he said coldly, "but you have fought dishonorably and forfeited the privilege. Go on, then, and get out of here, as was our agreement."

Eöl sniffed loudly, wiping away some of the dried blood in his nose, and his scowl somehow seemed to deepen. Slowly climbing to his feet, he muttered, "You're one to talk about fighting honorably, Kinslayer."

Maedhros tensed up at that statement, tightly clenching the sword of Eöl. But thankfully, the Dark Elf turned and walked away, heading for a small cluster of trees and tall plants nearby.

With his back turned to the redheaded Noldo, Eöl smirked to himself. His wife's arrogant cousin wouldn't be so boastful if he knew what was coming to him. Eöl knew he did not have to go far or wait long. In no time at all, he'd have Anguiriel back... and so much more.

Satisfied to see Eöl really was leaving, Maedhros turned and walked back towards Aredhel and Lómion, relieved that the blow to his arm, though it was beginning to grow painful, was the worst thing that had come out of all this. So why did it seem like all this had been suspiciously easy?

He glanced down to examine the wound a little more carefully, and his eyes widened. His arm was practically covered in blood already; the wound was pulsing much more blood than was normal for a wound that size. It was a fairly long and deep cut, so some blood was to be expected, but a life entrenched in war told him something was wrong.

Aredhel frowned in concern as Maedhros approached her. Was the wound deep enough to have affected him already?

By the time Maitimo reached Aredhel and Lómion, he was fairly lightheaded. And he wasn't sure if it was his imagination but he almost felt like the pain was climbing up the rest of his arm.

This was just great. He already struggled almost on a daily basis with chronic pain in that arm, and this was only adding to his difficulties.

"I think... he's gone..." he said breathlessly to Aredhel, speaking in their native tongue out of habit. He handed the dark, glittering sword of Eöl to her. "But we must be careful still. He fought dishonorably..."

He staggered a little, but Aredhel reacted quickly, taking his arm and placing it around her own shoulders. Motioning for Lómion to help her, she helped her cousin sit on the ground.

Meanwhile, his nerves were rising. He didn't want to take a moment to rest; each passing second was crucial. But he was already growing so dizzy that he couldn't stand anymore, so it seemed he had no choice. He tried to think of some sort of a genius plan to somehow get out of the situation, but he couldn't come up with anything. 

Himlad wasn't far, but Aredhel and Lómion were counting on him to lead the way there. What if he wasn't able to do that? And why was a somewhat minor cut to the arm affecting him like this?

Maitimo realized he needed to take care of this quickly if he wanted to avoid losing so much blood that he couldn't stay conscious. "I'm sorry about this,” he told Aredhel, “but I need you to help me wrap this as tightly and quickly as possible. Go fetch my horse. There are bandages in the saddle bags."

Aredhel wasn't faint of heart, and Maitimo trusted her to keep a level head in this situation. As for Lómion, hopefully he wouldn't be too frightened.

“Don’t apologize, Russandol,” Aredhel said shortly, her voice coming out tense and irritated due to her worry for him. Glancing at Lómion, she said, “Go get the bandages as he said. And fetch the medicinal pouch from my saddle bags too.”

Aredhel’s voice was enough to snap Lómion out of his frozen panic. The boy nodded, his eyes wide with worry, and he took off running towards the place where their horses were tethered.

While Lómion was off fetching the supplies, Aredhel took hold of Maedhros’ wounded arm to take a closer look.

Her frown deepened. Why was the wound infected already? It had only been a few minutes.

It was plainly obvious now to all of them that this wasn't an ordinary wound and there was some poison at work. Maitimo realized he definitely wasn't imagining the pain crawling slowly up his arm. It had reached his shoulder already, and was growing in intensity. And Aredhel's touch felt cold to him. He didn't realize it was because he himself was growing feverish. His heart never stopped pounding after the fight ended, either. If anything, it was racing faster and faster.

Swirling black dots encroached on the corners of his vision. He was now forced to face the reality he had worried about most: Írissë and her son would be left to fend for themselves, and possibly face Eöl and whatever dark and dangerous schemes he had planned.

He cursed himself for having fallen for Eöl's trickery. This would have never happened against an honorable opponent. Even the Orcs of Morgoth had their own code of honor when fighting, and never deviated from it.

"Írissë... I'm sorry... I have failed you," he whispered in their native tongue.

Then he sighed, fell limp, and knew no more.

Chapter Text

Maedhros' head fell against Aredhel’s shoulder, his eyes rolling back. He became limp in her arms.

She cursed Eöl loudly and called for Lómion to hurry up in fetching the supplies. They had to act quickly if they wanted Nelyo to live through this.

When she received no response from her son, she turned back angrily, about to shout at him again. They were losing time.

But the scene in front of her caused her angry words to die on her lips.

There stood Eöl, holding a knife against her son's throat.

A cold sweat ran down her back. What could she do now?

Eöl smirked at her as he held the knife to Maeglin’s throat. This had been easy– too easy.

Maeglin had been in such a terrified haze as he rummaged through the saddle bags that Eöl had no difficulty in snatching him and putting a blade to his neck. It was so pathetic and disappointing. How did he go so wrong in raising his son to be such a weakling? He didn't even put up a fight as he was captured. This only affirmed Eöl’s confidence that he was making the right move in taking such drastic measures to win his family back. If they were too stupid to agree to come back willingly, and too defenseless to fend for themselves in the wilderness, it was only logical that Eöl assert his dominance over them and show them their place. That redheaded Fëanorian may have known how to put up a good fight and survive in the wilderness, but he fell prey to the most basic form of trickery, proving himself not competent enough to lead his family. This would be painful for everyone in the short term, but it was necessary.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Eöl hissed as he pressed the cold blade of the knife against his son's neck. "But you have your mother's insolence to thank for all this."

Lómion tried to call for his mother, alarm bells clanging in his mind. But Eöl gripped a handful of his hair, pulled at it, and pressed the knife against his neck, closely enough to draw a drop of blood.

He trembled from both pain and fear. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t need to see his captor or hear his voice to know who it was.

Some distant part of Eöl’s heart stung with guilt, but he shoved it away. This was better for the boy in the long run; it was well past time he learned about the consequences of rebellious disobedience, and the foolhardiness of leaving the protection of one's own home and family. Perhaps Maeglin would hate him for this now, but young ones were resilient. He would get over it quickly, and perhaps even thank his father later for teaching him the realities of life before the cold, cruel outside world did.

Meanwhile, Aredhel was so occupied tending to her cousin that it had taken her a ridiculously long time (in Eöl's opinion) to notice her own son was missing. When she finally did appear, her wide-eyed horror made Eöl smile in grim satisfaction. He wouldn't have a hard time getting his way.

"Listen carefully to me, wife," he said coldly. "You are to do exactly as I say, or they'll both die. How would you like that? So first, lay your weapons down. Your bow, my sword, and any small daggers which I know you keep concealed."

She complied, and he nodded in satisfaction, relaxing his grip on Maeglin ever so slightly.

As this took place, Lómion could practically hear the sound of his own heart breaking. 

Eöl was not one to bluff. He was a liar but didn't make empty threats. He made promises.

And if he was telling Aredhel he'd kill Lómion, then there was no doubting his words.

He knew his father was an absolute monster. But even monsters didn't even consider hurting their own children, let alone actually do it.

No. Eöl had sunk much lower than the minions of Angband.

Lómion’s mind drowned all his useless apologies as the hate infested in his heart grew.

Eöl continued to speak to Aredhel: "You are to return home with me, as is your duty as my wife. Once we arrive home, then I can make the antidote for your poor pathetic cousin. So as you can see... there is need for haste. I did not wish to do this to any of you, but it seems you will only learn lessons the hard way."

Keeping one arm around Lómion, Eöl reached into a pocket and held out a needle and thread to Aredhel. "Now, stitch him up. He will bleed out if you don't."

Intentionally, he did not provide any herbs with which to clean or numb the wound. Aredhel would surely know this, but if she wanted her cousin to live she would have no choice but to do as Eöl said. After all, Eöl did not want Maedhros to die just yet, or else he would lose his leverage over his wife. But he did relish in the Noldo's suffering after the way he encouraged rebellion in his wife and child, and fought with such boastful arrogance.

Aredhel's grip tightened on her bow, but she reluctantly put it away. She pulled out the daggers she had hidden in her secret pockets, and placed them in front of Eöl, since he would know she had them.

With hands trembling with fear and rage, she snatched the needle and thread from her husband's hands. She willed her hands to stop shaking and began to stitch the wound.

Eöl put away Aredhel’s weapons and watched in silence as she worked. He didn't tell her, though, that he doubted Maedhros would survive long enough to get to Nan Elmoth. Ordinarily, this poison could kill mortal men within hours and, while not deadly to grown Eldar, it would still cause them agonizing pain. However, this was no ordinary form of the poison, as Eöl had enhanced it with his own magic, making it just as deadly to Elves as it was to Men. Now, Maedhros likely would live a little longer than the few hours it took to kill an ordinary Elf, due to his impressive height and Valinorian strength. He would hopefully live long enough that Eöl could use him as leverage against Aredhel and Maeglin, forcing them to make haste in returning with him to Nan Elmoth. And if he died, Eöl could simply blame it on his wife and child being too slow, and then he’d be rid of the tiresome Fëanorian and have his family back.

With Aredhel’s raven-black locks hanging in front of her face, concealing it, she softly chanted a song of healing her aunt Lalwendë had taught her. Eöl had deprived her of using any herbs to lessen the pain and suffering of her beloved cousin, but he had not thought about this.

Her hands glowed with a faint white light as the spell started working. The crease between Maedhros' eyebrows softened a bit. Aredhel wished she could do more for him, but she could not risk attempting to take all his pain away for fear of Eöl finding out, and her troubled fëa likely couldn’t handle such a task at this time anyway.

Once she was done with the wound, Eöl tossed her the bandages from Maedhros’ bags, which he had taken from Maeglin. Aredhel glared at her husband, but caught the bandages and used them to dress the wound as gently as she could.

Eöl ordered her to get away from Maedhros so she, not having any choice in that matter, slowly put him down and moved towards her husband.

Carelessly pushing Lómion aside, he quickly and harshly bound her hands with a rough rope but left Lómion's unbound. Lómion sighed in relief as the pain in his scalp was lessened.

Now, he could breathe freely again. But he lightly touched the spot on his neck where blood was drawn by the blade of his father.

As soon as Eöl left to do the same with Maedhros, Aredhel found herself with a face full of Lómion's hair as he finally lost the battle against his tears, sobbing into her shoulders. If he were the Lómion from a few minutes ago, he would have tried his best to not look weak in front of his father, for fear of disappointing him. Eöl didn't like it when he cried.

But that Lómion was not almost killed by his father. He didn't know the full capacity of his cruelty.

This Lómion, though, didn't care. So he wailed in his mother's arms as if he were an elfling of twenty again.

Seeing him cry caused her own tears to finally fall. She cursed Eöl and her own bound hands for preventing her from comforting her little boy. All she could do was kiss the side of his head.

She had no words for comfort either. Her worries for their fates, especially Maedhros', left her tongue numb inside her mouth.

What would happen to him once they reached Nan Elmoth? Could he even survive until then?

She glanced at Eöl, her eyes filled with hate. If anything were to happen to Nelyo, he’d better know she'd go to the ends of Arda after him to get her revenge.

As Lómion finally sobered from his tears, he and Aredhel watched as Eöl bound Maedhros' arms, so harshly that he moaned in pain even in his unconscious state.

Eöl then hoisted Maedhros on his shoulder with some effort and put him upon his horse like he was an animal killed for sport.

"Stop it! What do you think he is? An animal?" Aredhel shouted.

All she got in response was a slap across her face. It was only because of Lómion holding her that she didn't fall on the ground.

Eöl held her chin between his fingers and hissed at her. "You and your kinslayer cousin deserve to be treated worse. Do not think just because I haven't killed him yet that I wouldn't! One toe out of line, Aredhel, and he. Is. Dead. Am I clear?"

Her chin and cheek throbbed with pain, but she refused to cry out. Instead, she smirked coldly. "Do not think this is over just because you have leverage over me now. Sure. You can kill him. But do not expect your pathetic forest and yourself to stand another day. If you beg enough, his brothers may grant you a painless death for what you have done to me and him already. I can make no such promises if you hurt him any further."

With this, she jerked away from his touch and stood to her full height.

"They are labeled as slayers of their kin already. What's one more to them?"

She let her words hang in the air as Eöl threw her a murderous look.

He made no more moves to hurt her and turned to Lómion instead, who, feeling Eöl's attention on him, shrank away.

"Don't do that now," he said, cupping his cheeks in his hands. "I didn't want to do it, ion nín. Your mother, though, didn't leave me any choice."

Eöl inspected the cut on his son’s throat, which had already stopped bleeding.

"Remember this. It's not me who wants to destroy our family. It's her. I'm trying to save it. Once we get home, I'll make sure we will stay together forever. But for that, I'll need your help."

He held Lómion's face in his hand and wiped the stray tear away with his thumb. "If she ever comes to you with another crazy escape plan, you will tell me right away. Alright?"

His gentle tone didn't fool Lómion. This was no request. It was an order.

He could only nod but it seemed Eöl was not satisfied with this because his hold on his face tightened.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Words, Maeglin! Words!"

"...Yes."

His voice was barely a whisper, but Eöl, having lost his patience with him, let go of his face and left to fetch the horses. Lómion thought he heard his father muttering “pathetic” under his breath.

"Maeglin!"

His head snapped upwards. "Yes, Adar?"

"You will ride with your mother. I do not want her falling off her horse and breaking her neck because her hands are bound."

"Yes, Adar."

Lómion took the reins of his own horse before climbing up the saddle. He reached down and, holding his mother's waist, hoisted her up and placed her in front of himself.

Eöl held the reins of Aredhel's steed, and with Lómion holding Maedhros', they turned around and headed south. Towards Nan Elmoth.

Aredhel could only melt from exhaustion in her son's embrace.

What could they do now? Nelyo's wound couldn't be left like this and every second brought him closer to the Halls.

There was no way for them to contact Curufin and Celegorm. or was there?

Blinking her eyes open, she estimated the distance between them and Eöl. It wasn't enough for them to be able to whisper without him noticing it.

She leaned back against Lómion's arms again and whispered close to his ear. "Slow down."

Lómion subtly complied and Aredhel became more relaxed. "Reach down as if to check the horse's leg. There's a knife hidden in my right boot. Take it."

"Nana–”

"Do it."

Lómion did as she told him, subtly reaching down and running a hand over the horse's muscled leg. He could feel Eöl's eyes on him and a cold sweat trickled down his back.

As he returned to his upright position, he swiftly took out the small hunting knife and hid it in his sleeve.

"What's this for? You can't expect me to fight Adar with this little thing, do you?"

"No. I don't."

"What, then?"

"When we camp for the night, I'll distract him and you'll leave. With this."

"I can't leave you here alone. He will know it was your plan. Nana, please! It's too risky. Besides, where can I go? I don't know the way."

"You can and you will. Head north. You'll stumble upon one of Tyelko's hunting lads in a day if you go straight. Tell them to take you to him. Once you reach there, you'll show him this and reveal your identity. He would know I'd be dead before I let anyone take this from me. You will tell him everything and I mean everything. Don't hold anything back because he'll find out and will grow more suspicious of you. Remember, bring a healer with you too. I don't know how long Maitimo can last with poison in his blood. And do not worry about me. Your father won't kill me. He wouldn't dare."

She wasn't so sure about the last part herself, but Lómion was their only chance now.

Lómion eyed the bejeweled knife in his hands. It was a beautiful piece of work. Small glittering diamonds formed the shape of a white rose with emeralds to act as the leaves. It suited Aredhel. Whoever made this must have known her well.

"Alright. But what if they still did not believe me?"

She smiled despite their situation. "You have my and your grandfather's bearings. The blood of Finwë runs through your veins. You're his kin. He can't ignore it."

Lómion nodded and for the rest of their ride, Aredhel drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Vague sensations began to return to Maitimo before he could fully regain consciousness. Sensations of hanging from something, of something digging into his wrist. His whole body ached, but especially his arm, which throbbed and stung with a mighty vengeance.

His first thought was that he was back there.

His eyes shot open, he nearly screamed, and his heart raced, in his confusion and panic. He had no memory of anything other than Thangorodrim in that moment.

But something was enough to confuse him enough to snap him out of his disoriented terror, and that was the sight of upside-down trees moving slowly by, and upside-down horses' legs moving in front of his face.

Now, what was all that about?

Slowly, his memories returned. He wasn't at Thangorodrim; that was hundreds of years ago. He was on his way to help Celegorm and Curufin with some negotiations, and he had found Aredhel and her son along the way there. They'd gotten into an unfortunate confrontation with her husband, Eöl, who had fought dishonorably. And then... and then... what had happened?

The last few minutes following that fight were fuzzy to him, but he remembered enough to realize with dismay that he had indeed failed. Based on all the pairs of upside-down horse legs walking around, Maitimo figured they must have all been on their way to somewhere. He must have been ungracefully and carelessly slung over his horse's back.

And now that his senses and lucidity were returning, so, too, was the pain. The worst of it was in his arm, with the ropes digging in roughly against the wound. But he also got the distinct feeling that something foul and bitter was pulsing through all his veins, causing every inch of his body to ache with a dull pain. And he somehow felt both too hot and too cold at the same time.

This definitely wasn't anywhere near as bad as what he had endured at Thangorodrim, but it was by far the worst he'd experienced since then.

So, as he was accustomed to doing, he tried to distract himself by focusing on other sensations. The sounds of the horses' hooves crunching through the grass, the rustling of the wind in distant trees. But there was something else, too. Whispering voices. Aredhel and Lómion were quietly conversing with each other.

And Maitimo was very glad he managed to hear what they were saying, because they were discussing plans to escape. So there was a plan; not all was hopeless. Well, Tyelko would have eventually noticed that Maitimo had missed the meeting with the Dwarves. And hopefully, Tyelko had enough sense in his head to realize something was wrong. But searching for Maitimo in these wide lands would have probably taken far longer than what they could afford.

As Aredhel and Lómion discussed their plan, Maedhros wondered if he could somehow be the distraction instead of Aredhel. He certainly did not want to keep riding uncomfortably like this (if being slung over a horse's back like a dead animal could even be called riding). And every second was precious, and lessened their chances of finding Celegorm or being found themselves.

He managed to turn his head slightly, enough to look ahead and see that Eöl was riding ahead of them. He couldn't see Aredhel or Lómion, but based on the direction of their sound, their horse was right next to his.

Always one to calculate a move, even when dazed with pain, Maedhros contemplated how, exactly, he could distract Eöl. He would need the ropes around his arms cut, but he discovered he could at least still move the rest of his body, even if it hurt. And he was already well used to fighting through pain. 

In fact, shortly after being rescued from Thangorodrim, he had picked up a sword well before the healers ever deemed it wise. The recovery process had almost been more painful than the torture itself. For some time he hadn't been able to use his right arm at all and had to build the strength and range of motion back. His body had been riddled with wounds from all the times Morgoth or one of his servants were bored and used to jab at him with a pointed spear or heated rod, and all those had to be stitched up. Most of the wounds had been infected, too, and to have them all cleaned by the healers was an agonizing process. He’d had to get used to eating normally again and relearn how to walk. And obviously, he had to cope with the fresh loss of his hand.

In fact, he had longed for death for some days, even weeks, after being rescued. It all seemed unbearable, too much to endure. He had thought he would never be well or whole again. It was only the desperate pleading of his brothers and cousins, but most especially Findekáno, that kept him hanging on to life by a thread. Maitimo had refused to let his valiant cousin's efforts be in vain.

And things did get better, slowly but surely. From the very moment he could summon enough strength to stumble out of the room and venture out onto a nearby balcony, the very first thing he did was pick up a sword. He had still been so weak that all he could do was lift it a few times. But as his strength slowly returned, he kept up with the sword practice no matter how painful it was. And looking back on those times, he felt that practicing with the sword actually helped him recover quicker. To be able to move freely again gave him hope, and that renewed strength in fëa was what really gave him vigor for life again.

So he figured if he could survive those horrors and come out stronger for it, in more sense than one, so too would he survive this, and make sure Aredhel and her son survived it too. Relative to what he had already overcome, jumping off his horse and dragging Eöl off his, even with all the pain of the poison, seemed an easy task. He might not have the strength to do much more than that, but if it was enough to give Lómion a head start, that was all that mattered.

Maedhros tapped his horse on the side, cueing it to move a little closer to Aredhel and Lómion. The steed was intelligent and noble, and knew its master's commands well, and responded with ease. But Maedhros kept very still so that Eöl wouldn't notice he was awake.

"Lómion," he whispered as quietly as he could, speaking in Quenya and hoping Eöl wouldn't overhear. He managed to glance in the boy's direction, though it was awkward because of his position. A fierceness glinted in his eyes despite his obvious pain. "Do you think you can cut these ropes from where you are? If so, there is no need to wait till nightfall. I will be your distraction."

The barely audible voice of Maedhros almost made Lómion jump in his seat.

He tried not to let his nervousness show, but he was sure his heart was beating loud enough for even Eöl to hear.

He subtly glanced down to his struggling cousin. Maedhros was still in visible pain. But as much as his face was crumpled up from all his hurts, his clear gray eyes were burning brightly with determination.

He had said he could take Eöl down. But could he? And even if he could, what then? He could do some damage to him but could he kill him? Lómion wasn't sure about this.

What would happen to him and Aredhel once he was gone? Would Eöl...kill him?

Now past his previous shock, he could think clearly. Eöl wouldn't kill him because with Lómion gone, Maedhros was the only thing Eöl had to use to control Aredhel. But again,it didn't mean he wouldn't hurt him further.

If Lómion was being honest with himself, he preferred this to Aredhel being hurt. He knew this made him an awful person, but he wasn't in a situation to have much choice in that matter. Whatever he chose would result in someone being hurt. And he was sure even in this state, Maedhros could do more to hurt Eöl than Aredhel could. Lómion could come up with a reason to cut Maedhros’ binds, but if Aredhel were to try and attack Eöl, she would easily be taken down. And Lómion couldn't really cut her binds without a good reason.

Lómion kept analyzing the situation in his head and came to the same conclusion as Maedhros.

Maedhros could see the boy's eyes widen in alarm and confusion, so he urged him, "Know I have seen much worse things than this, and I can cause him some great shock if you just cut me free. Do you trust me?"

Lómion considered this question. He wanted to trust his mother’s kin. He really did. But being threatened with death by one’s own father left the mind in a fragile state, apparently. The only person he could trust now was Aredhel. He knew she loved him to the end of Arda. He was her first priority and she had proven this to him, over and over.

He knew this was not the case with Maedhros. Not that he expected this of him. They might be cousins, but they were as good as strangers. 

Lómion's silence was long and uncomfortable at first, causing Maedhros to wonder if he would agree with the plan at all. He didn't blame the boy for being untrusting, especially after what he had seen today. Maedhros only hoped the fact that he had fought Eöl hadn't caused Lómion to hate him. He didn't know what Lómion's relationship with his father was like, and he certainly wasn't aware that Eöl had earlier held a blade to his neck, having been unconscious at the time.

At the same time, Maitimo yearned to be trusted at least a little on his own merits, for what he had sacrificed in his vain attempt to protect Lómion and Aredhel.

After thinking a little longer, Lómion realized Aredhel trusted Maedhros. So he supposed that was enough for him too.

And that was what he whispered back. “Nana trusts you. And I trust her. I will see what I can do."

Maitimo nodded, relieved that Lómion was willing to agree to the plan. He must have been terrified of his father indeed if he was willing to aid Maedhros in attacking him.

Lómion glanced down at Aredhel, sleeping in his arms. If Aredhel were to know of their plans, she would definitely disagree. He couldn't tell her anything. No. It was better if she was not aware of any of this.

"We can't tell my mother anything, though. You and I both know she will not allow you to get hurt any further. And you are going to be hurt. And I know you're aware of this."

Maedhros wordlessly nodded. This was true; Aredhel would have thrown herself in harm's way if it was up to her. She wouldn't willingly accept someone else putting themselves in danger for her. And Maedhros understood this; he was inclined that way himself. But he was so much taller and stronger than her, and used to war and pain, so he would gladly bear the violence of Eöl for her sake.

And he didn't doubt that Eöl would hurt him again. Lómion was right about that. After all, Maedhros was well aware that in his current state, he wouldn't be able to do much. He could count on perhaps a brief burst of power, and that was all. He wouldn't be able to kill or incapacitate Eöl, but he could at least distract him long enough for Lómion to escape.

"You have been unconscious for a few hours now,” Lómion continued. “I don't think it will be suspicious if I ask father to allow me to redress your wound. And for that I'd need your binds cut. Remember, you only have a few seconds to do this. And it may not look like it, but my Adar is a decent healer. At least try to look unconscious so as to not blow your cover."

He watched as Maedhros tried to control his breathing and became limp again, doing his best to feign unconsciousness.

Lómion nodded in satisfaction. It was good enough to fool Eöl for now. They'd be quick with it.

"Adar! We should halt for a moment!"

Eöl turned back and raised a questioning eyebrow,but stopped his horse. "What is it?"

Lómion pointed at Maedhros with his chin. "I need to change the bandages or the wound will get infected."

Aredhel woke up slowly but Lómion paid her no mind for now and tried to look nonchalant. She could read him like an open book, and Lómion would do his best to deny her the chance to realize he was up to something.

Eöl frowned but nodded, watching them closely. Lómion slid down slowly and put Aredhel down as well, with her still being in a haze from sleep and watching him questionably.

"So you can stretch your legs a bit,” he whispered to her. “I'll be quick."

She nodded and got away from his steed to walk for a bit, her legs already cramped from the few hours riding the horse and the uncomfortable position thanks to her bound wrists.

Lómion walked up to Eöl, his hands stretched out in front of him, in demand of a blade.

"What do you want now?"

"I need his arms unbound so I can work comfortably."

Eöl gave him a look so as to remind him not to do anything stupid and handed him one of the daggers he took from Aredhel earlier.

Lómion walked back towards his and Maedhros' horses, and pulled him down from the horse as carefully as he could, though it was awkward given Lómion’s small stature. Thankfully, Maedhros still looked convincingly unconscious, despite the discomfort of this movement.

Maedhros was skilled at feigning unconsciousness, being well practiced from his days in Angband. Sometimes, if Morgoth and Sauron thought he was unconscious, they got bored and left him alone.

Now, he was carefully listening to every word spoken by Lómion and Eöl, waiting for his opportunity to strike. He was mentally preparing himself to make his move, too, trying to anticipate any of the resulting pain and dizziness.

Though it took a few tries, Lómion managed to cut the thick ropes, and he was ready to do his work. Taking some cloth from his medical pouch, he quickly cut the slightly bloody bandages and, throwing them away, he cleaned the wound gently. Though, in order to keep up pretenses in front of Eöl, he pulled on the ropes and bandages somewhat harshly. It stabbed Lómion’s heart with guilt when Maedhros gave a soft moan of pain, but since Eöl hated his wife’s kin, he expected Lómion to share in his hatred. He would be suspicious if Lómion was too gentle with Maedhros.

Once he was finished, Lómion could feel Eöl's hard gaze on them, ready to bind his captive once more.

Lómion seized on the opportunity. “Now!”

At Lómion’s sudden cry, Aredhel’s gaze snapped towards the scene unfolding in front of her, though she could do nothing but helplessly watch and struggle against her bonds.

Lómion just barely had enough time to jump out of the way as Maedhros sprang up with surprising strength and swiftness. Though, he crouched low to the ground so he wouldn't collapse from dizziness. 

Seeing Eöl right beside him, he grabbed him by the ankles and gave them a fierce yank, causing the Dark Elf to fall flat on his back with a heavy thud.

"Run, Lómion!" he cried in his native tongue, but the sound of galloping hoofbeats behind him told him Lómion was already on his way.

While Eöl was somewhat stunned on the ground, Maedhros spotted a heavy rock, grabbed it, and pounded him on the head with it. His eyes were wide and blank for a minute before they rolled back and he fell unconscious. If Maedhros were at his usual strength, he could have easily killed him with a blow like that, probably smashing Eöl's skull to pieces. But in his current state, the blow was only strong enough to stun Eöl for a few seconds.

And that burst of strength was short-lived indeed. Gasping for breath, Maitimo crumpled to the ground, the bitterness of the poison seeming to pulse harder through his veins with his increased heart rate. He wished his strength hadn't failed so quickly. Otherwise, he would have killed Eöl without hesitation, even without the knowledge that he had threatened to kill his own son. With the suffering this Dark Elf had already inflicted on his own wife and child, and his clear intent to treat all three of them with barbaric cruelty, he deserved to die.

Meanwhile, Eöl stirred awake, and his eyes shot wide open. He had never been so terrified in his life. To be attacked by someone he had poisoned was like watching a corpse dig its way out of its own grave. A Man or an average Elf would be totally incapacitated, if not dead, by now. What was going on with this insane Noldo? Was he not affected by the poison at all?

No, that wasn't the case. After watching Maedhros for a minute, Eöl could see he was short of breath, pale and clammy, and nearly unconscious once again. That Valinorian Elf had just managed to fight through the agony of the poison, somehow. Eöl had never seen anyone do that.

Eöl felt like he was trying to kill a particularly stubborn bug; one of those bugs that kept twitching and crawling even after being stepped on or crushed.

Except he didn't want the Noldo dead. Or did he? He was turning out to be a lot more trouble than he was worth. Wincing and holding his sore head, he slowly stood up and drew his sword. Maedhros had fallen unconscious once again, so he was perfectly vulnerable to whatever Eöl had planned.

But he heard his wife's voice call out, "Eöl! Stop it!"

She had no choice but to resort to begging. Nelyo's life was at risk now. Her pride be damned.

Glancing up, Eöl realized that Aredhel was stumbling towards him, looking disoriented, but terrified. And Lómion was nowhere near to be seen.

Eöl cursed loudly and threw his sword into the dirt. So maybe the Noldo was not as stupid as he had thought. He must have known he couldn't kill or incapacitate Eöl, so all this was simply a distraction. What a stupid, insolent boy that Maeglin was! He had promised to report any of his mother's schemes, and then turned around and done the opposite, stabbed his father in the back.

So, he still needed the Noldo alive, for now. He had to exert as much control as he possibly could over Aredhel. Who knew what she had planned?

In the meantime, he wanted to make sure Maedhros would not be able to try such an attack again. Eöl considered carefully what he should do. He didn't want to draw blood, because then he would have to stitch up the wound. And while Lómion was missing, their need for haste was all the greater.

So, he took the same large rock Maedhros had used to hit him, and bashed him in the leg with it, with all the strength he normally reserved for pounding metal with a hammer.

The resulting pain was enough to wake Maedhros, who let out a cry of bitter agony.

Aredhel sobbed and closed her eyes, seeing Eöl with the rock in his hand, unable to bring herself to look as Maedhros' cries of pain rang out in the clearing.

She blinked an eye open, afraid of what she might witness, but breathed a sigh of relief. Maedhros' head had not been smashed to pieces on the ground as she had feared.

Eöl waited a few seconds to see if there was any blood. Not seeing any, he dragged Maedhros back onto his horse, and tied his wrists once again, even more tightly and painfully than before.

"There is a fine line between valor and stupidity, Golodh," he hissed. "You have crossed that line firmly into stupidity. Movement agitates the poison, you know."

But Maedhros didn't respond; he had fallen unconscious again.

"Stop it, please!” Aredhel cried, resorting to pathetic begging once again, since she could do nothing else to stop Eöl from treating Maedhros so barbarically. “You're hurting him! Nelyo!"

Eöl turned towards Aredhel, his eyes full of a fiery wrath. Pulling his fist back, he struck her firmly across the face again, much harder than last time, so that she sprawled to the ground. No Lómion was there to catch her this time. The breath was knocked out of her lungs.

He grabbed her, pulling her up off the ground, and hoisted her up in front of him on his own horse. 

"Get your hands off of me! Put me down!" she cried, struggling fiercely in his arms, but he ignored her.

Before setting out again, Eöl tied a rope to the reins of Maedhros' and Aredhel's horses, and then tied it to his own saddle, so he could hold Aredhel with one arm and hold his own reins with the other.

"I hate to do this to you," he said harshly. "I hate to see your pretty face marred. How much will it take for you to learn your lesson? Do you have a liking for pain and suffering, not just for yourself but for your cousin? Do what I say from now on. He's a strong one, and I could wound him even further and he would still survive. I'd rather not hurt you again, but I will do what I must to maintain order in this family. We will make haste for Nan Elmoth, and then I will set out again and look for your stupid boy."

Aredhel wept and sobbed quietly as he spoke, his breath brushing against her ears. She felt disgusted with herself. Feeling his hands on her body and his breath on her neck brought back all those memories she had tried so hard to keep away in a box, not to be opened.

She whimpered as he called her pretty, no longer strengthened by the confidence brought by Nelyo's presence.

When he mentioned Lómion, though, she was able to break through the panic and think more clearly.

Her breathing calmed down a bit as she realized Lómion had done exactly what she had asked him to do but with some help from Maedhros.

They probably had planned out everything when she was sleeping.

Rage built up slowly in her heart. What was even the point of it? To protect her? She had ended up hurt anyway. Why must her idiotic cousin think he just could throw himself to the wolves every damn time? Why didn't he let anyone protect him?

She trembled as Eöl's hand tightened around her. She really needed those hot baths right now, to wash her clean of his filthy touch.

They rode in silence and Aredhel tried to get as comfortable as she could in her husband's embrace. She wanted to scoff at her own thoughts from the previous night. Dying spark? How could she even hope for a better future with her husband? How could she forget? The embers of what she once thought was love were as cold as Helcaraxë now. Was it love even then? Or spells controlling her mind?

She had hoped for what her brothers had. But Eöl was nothing like Turgon or Fingon. The comparison was just ridiculous.

She knew deep down she had given up on him long ago. She had better stop lying to herself.

~~~

Lómion, once again armed with his sword and bow, which he had managed to take from his father’s horse just before riding off, rode as swift as the wind. 

He galloped blindly for a few minutes, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the rest of his companions.

Once he was sure no one was following him, he turned north just as his mother had said. 

Their fates depended on him now. He was not allowed to make a single mistake.

Chapter Text

It was almost night time when Lómion allowed himself and his poor steed a break.

He had no food left, having run out of it last night. But thanks to the lembas he’d had for breakfast, he was still on his feet, and he would likely continue to keep up his strength even through the next day. He took out his water skin and gulped down a few sips.

He led his horse, a mare named Durien, to a nearby stream so the poor thing could rest for a while. He himself bent down beside the proud and loyal mare, filling up the water skin.

After that, he practically collapsed on the grass, dead on his feet. Durien nudged his face, forcing him to open his eyes. She was restless and alert, which wasn’t a good sign. She pointed towards the east with her head, whining and stomping her hooves.

"What are you trying to tell me, girl?" He stroked her velvety muzzle, trying unsuccessfully to calm her. If anything, she became more anxious, and even bit his arm, and pointed towards the east once more. 

He cried out in pain and cursed her. "Stupid horse!"

At that moment, he heard them. 

The sound of dozens of heavy feet made the ground rumble slightly. Bushes rustled in the distance. Muffled, gravelly voices muttered to each other in some unknown language.

They were no Elves. Elves did not make this much sound while moving. Lómion got up, leaning on Durien for support. He clumsily climbed up the saddle, grabbed his bow, and strung it, but did not pick an arrow yet.

If he tried, he might be able to outrun them.

But before he could make another move, a group of Orcs emerged from the clearing. Having spotted Lómion as their prey, they fired some arrows in his direction, just barely missing him as they whizzed by.

Lómion could barely dodge the arrow aimed at his neck. Durien was not as lucky though.

With a black feathered arrow nestled in her neck, she neighed loudly and reared up, throwing Lómion to the ground.

With this, she unknowingly saved his life too because the second waves of arrows aimed at her would have lodged themselves in Lómion's body if he were not unhorsed just now.

Arrows locked the poor beast full of bloody holes as she gave out a loud whine and fell down.

Lómion, still in shock, could only watch.

Another arrow piercing the earth next to his hand was enough to bring him back to the present. Running away was out of the question now.

He needed to pick out as many of them as he could with his bow before they reached him.

Standing up, he picked up his discarded bow.

Hiding behind one of the few trees in the area, he notched arrow after arrow, killing and injuring as many of these foul creatures as he could.

He was so busy looking out for the enemies in front of him that he forgot to look behind. But once he felt a presence behind him it was too late.

Behind him stood an orc. His face was covered with ugly scars, and he held an even uglier piece of steel he called a sword. A giant, very sharp sword.

Frozen in terror, Lómion could only close his eyes and await the blade that would be slicing him in half in a matter of seconds.

But it never came.

The sound of a whizzing arrow pierced the air, and then the orc fell on top of him, his sword on the ground. The only thing he could see as he was being crushed under the weight of the orc was the arrow nestled on the back of the foul creature. An elven arrow. The sound of a horn could be heard nearby. The pounding of the hooves shook the ground.

The rest was blurred as he fainted, falling as limp as the orc still lying on him.

~~~

Meanwhile, someone else was hot on the Orcs' trail.

Celegorm had heard reports from his men about sightings of a band of Orcs nearby. Never one to pass up a hunting challenge even in the late hours of the evening, and determined to protect his kingdom, he had taken some men and rode out to track them. Huan helped with that, of course. Though in all fairness, Orcs were not that hard to smell; Celegorm was pretty sure he could pick up on their foul scent from a few leagues away himself.

Besides, he was a little annoyed with Nelyo for not having shown up yet. The meeting with the Dwarves wasn't until tomorrow, but some of them had already arrived and Tyelko was forced to entertain them himself. Why couldn't he get his copper head here a little faster and work his diplomatic charm or whatever it was?

So, Celegorm didn't at all object to the distraction from having to make light chit-chat with the Dwarves.

It wasn't long before he and his men had located the band and had them surrounded, though they had no idea they were surrounded.

But something strange was going on. There was a lone rider out, and the Orcs noticed him quickly and fired at him.

Celegorm snorted with disdain. The cowards, always one to pick on some weak and lonely prey when they got the chance. He wasn't going to let them get away with that, and he and his men fired back at the Orcs, and a few of them fell.

However, the Orcs still continued to shoot at the lone rider. Celegorm winced when he saw the rider fall and the horse peppered with arrows. The poor beast... it was surely dead before it hit the ground.

And Celegorm assumed the rider himself must have been dead too, but then something incredible happened: he got back up and began to fire back at the Orcs, and a few more fell by his hand.

Elbowing his commander next to him, a warrior named Vórion, Celegorm smirked and said, "I like this fellow, whoever he is. He's got guts. Let's be sure to find out who he is after all this is over."

So they fought on, focusing on the Orcs closest to themselves at first. But then Celegorm realized that one had gone after their lone rider friend, who seemed to be struggling to defend himself.

"Oh, no you don't," Celegorm muttered, loading his bow and aiming carefully. His arrow hit the creature square in the neck, but Celegorm winced when he saw the Orc toppling forward, falling on top of the rider and crushing him with his weight.

The few remaining Orcs were retreating, so Celegorm ran over to the fallen Orc, Huan following closely behind him, and pushed its foul and rank body aside.

He blinked in shock at what he saw. This young ellon, lying unconscious, was barely older than a boy, certainly not of age by Elven standards. And something about him looked vaguely familiar, though Celegorm couldn't figure out exactly what.

"Hey, wake up," he said, shaking the boy awake. "Are you all right?"

Lómion winced as someone shook his body. He didn't want to wake up. His body hurt everywhere.

But this person was relentless because he kept telling him to get up. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked in confusion.

That person turned out to be an ellon who bore an impossible resemblance to Maedhros, except his hair was a pale silvery blond, not red. 

Lómion's mind was slow to catch up so he made the huge mistake of voicing his thoughts. "Mae-edhros? Why are you here? What happened to your hair?"

In a second, he found himself pulled upright, his collar in this Maedhros-like person's fist.

The stranger was screaming at him, demanding to know how he knew his brother. How come he called him so informally by his name, without any titles.

But… wait! Did he just call Maedhros his brother? 

Lómion stared at the strangers' silvery blonde hair as the puzzle parts slowly fell into their places. Was this Celegorm? Did it mean he had succeeded?

He jolted out of his thoughts as the stranger– no, Celegorm– started shaking him. “Are you dumb?” he demanded.

"No." His voice sounded small even to his ears.

Celegorm's suspicious face turned annoyed as he let go of him and opened his mouth to ask him questions again, probably about Maedhros' whereabouts.

But Lómion beat him to it. Taking a step back, he bowed deeply. He wouldn't let his mother down by failing to show proper etiquette. He had to make Celegorm believe he was a prince of the line of Finwë,so he should act like it too.

"Greetings, my lord. I am Lómion Maeglin, son of Aredhel. My mother and your brother are in grave danger. They have sent me to ask you for your help."

Suddenly remembering his situation before the arrival of his cousin, he bowed once more and even lower. "Thank you for saving me now. I don't know how to repay you."

But Celegorm only scoffed at his words, and Lómion looked up, wide-eyed. Just as his mother had predicted, he didn't believe him.

Celegorm grew more and more suspicious with every word out of the boy's mouth. Why did he seem to know Maedhros and use his name so casually? Why was he out riding alone? And then he claimed he was a son of Aredhel, and she and Maedhros were in danger.

A shiver ran up his spine. No one had seen or heard from Aredhel in years, so some doubt arose in his mind.

For all he knew, this boy was a scammer sent by an enemy, perhaps trying to lure Celegorm away from his home kingdom and thwart these negotiations so they wouldn't successfully get this weapons deal secured.

But then again... it was very unlike Maitimo to be late, or even uncomfortably close to being late, to anything. If anything, he was always perfectly on time and often unnecessarily early, and over-prepared, for just about everything. Tyelko and his younger brothers used to tease Maitimo endlessly about it. He was an overthinker and so serious all the time. It was very surprising that he was not here in time to see the arrival of these Dwarven guests, so perhaps there really was something serious going on. But Celegorm wasn't about to take some stranger's word at face value, either.

"Why would I believe you are you claim to be?" he said with a note of irritation to his voice. "Speak quickly, and don't waste my time."

Lómion quickly nodded his head. "My mother thought you may not believe me. So she gave me this."

He took out the knife hidden inside his robes and gave it to Celegorm, watching with relief as recognition shone in his eyes. Hopefully, Lómion wouldn't be accused of being a thief now instead of just a scammer.

Celegorm's eyes widened as he took the dagger. This blade meant a lot to Írissë, and he remembered when it had first been forged and how she had prized it. She swore once that no one would ever take it from her unless they beat her in a fight, and as far as he knew, no one had yet managed to do that.

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the boy. It was possible he had stolen it, but how? He was young and somewhat scrawny looking, and it seemed doubtful he would have the skills to steal Aredhel's prized possession from her.

And Celegorm couldn't deny that this Lómion did indeed resemble his favorite cousin.

"How did you get this?" he asked. "Tell me exactly what happened and what you want me to do about it."

From there, he'd make his final decision on Lómion's trustworthiness.

Lómion looked away at first. Even though he wanted to explain all the day’s horrors since it was the only way to get help, it was still hard for him to voice it. But his mother had asked him to do so. And if it was the only way to convince Celegorm, so be it.

"What I am about to tell you may sound unreal, but I beg you to think about it with an open mind."

Celegorm frowned but nodded. It was the best he could get from him.

"Your...your brother came across me and my mother on the road yesterday evening. Since we were both heading this way to your stronghold, he...he offered to accompany us so we wouldn't be alone."

"And you claim your mother is Aredhel. You were out with her?" Celegorm cut in, practically interrupting Lómion. "How did she come to be married, anyway? Who is your father, and why have we, her own kin, never heard of this till now?"

Meanwhile, as the young ellon spoke, Huan padded up to him and sniffed him thoroughly all over. 

Lómion was startled and shrank back as the giant hound sniffed him. Once he moved away from him and next to Celegorm again, Lómion could breathe freely again.

Huan then began to whine, and he sat down beside Lómion, staring at Celegorm with wide, doleful eyes.

Celegorm's voice trailed off. Huan had definitely picked up on some sort of a scent on Lómion. "Nelyo?" he muttered.

Huan inclined his head slightly, almost like a nod. Celegorm swallowed hard.

Lómion watched in confusion and amazement as the dog, the weirdly smart dog, communicated with Celegorm and somehow became his voucher.

"Never mind about that," Celegorm said brusquely even as Lómion opened his mouth to answer his question. "I'll discern the truth about your parentage some other time. You said she and my brother are in danger. What kind of danger are they in?"

Lómion was happy he didn't have to continue wasting their precious time by explaining his questionable birth and parentage. Yes, Aredhel had tried to shield him as much as she could from the truth of how he came to be born. But he wasn't stupid. He knew there were no sane reason for Aredhel to have married Eöl willingly.

"They're being held hostage."

He looked into Celegorm’s eyes when he said the last words. "By my father."

Celegorm scoffed at Lómion's words once again.

"My brother? Held hostage?" He rolled his eyes. "Please. Maedhros can singlehandedly take out a band of Orcs bigger than this, and I mean that quite literally. Nobody but Morgoth can manage to hold him hostage. I don't know who your father is, but I'm willing to bet Maedhros could take him out as easily as you could squish a bug."

Huan seemed to stare reproachfully at Celegorm as he said this. He grabbed the edge of Lómion's tunic between his teeth and gave it a slight tug.

"Stop that, be nice," Celegorm scolded him, but Huan only continued to tug more fiercely.

Lómion screamed as the dog latched himself on his sleeve and didn't retreat even when his master commanded him.

He didn't dare aggravate the dog though. He wasn't exactly hurting him. But Lómion had despised dogs since he was a child.

Back home, Eöl kept a pack of his own hounds. But unlike this one, they were always aggressive and only let Eöl pet them. Once, one of them had bit Lómion's hand when he had reached out to pet it. Eöl, instead of scolding his dog, had praised its loyalty and left his crying son to be comforted in his mother's arms.

It was only after seeing the bite marks left on Aredhel's legs he had found out the reason for those monsters being kept there. He was stupid for not seeing the signs really. His mother feared nothing, not even Eöl, but she didn’t dare provoke those beasts after that. And Lómion could not fault her.

Seeing as how the boy looked utterly terrified by Huan's presence, Celegorm moved over to try to free him. Normally people were a little fearful around the giant hound, but not fearful to the point of screaming, so Celegorm found his reaction a little strange.

But upon examining the fabric, he paused. There was dried blood on it, far too old and dry to be a result from an injury from this Orc attack just now. And the fabric wasn't torn, so the blood wasn't Lómion's.

It was only then when Lómion noticed the blood himself. Maedhros' probably, when Lómion was changing the bandages.

"Don't tell me... it's Maitimo's?" Tyelko stared at Huan, and his voice trailed off. Huan let go of Lómion's tunic and seemed to nod again.

Celegorm turned to face Lómion once again and his eyes narrowed. "Is he hurt? How did this happen? What exactly am I walking into here?"

He still wasn't sure how much to trust the stranger, cousin or not. But Huan seemed comfortable around him, so that was worth something.

The question was, who or what was powerful enough to take Maitimo down?

"Even your brother is not immune to foul tricks, my lord. And my father is not below using them."

He looked away in shame. Eöl called him a disappointment, all the time. As much as it hurt, Lómion could perhaps understand his father’s feelings of shame now, for he felt the same way towards Eöl. 

"My father demanded a duel from Lord Maedhros. If he won, we would have had to go back with him to our home in Nan Elmoth. And if he lost, we could leave for Himlad with your brother. Lord Maedhros, out of respect for my mother I assume, was reluctant to accept at first but he eventually gave in for our sake, seeing that he couldn't free us without a fight. And as you yourself said, he is a mighty warrior, and my father, inexperienced as he was, was down on the ground in a matter of seconds. He was yet to be disarmed though,and Maedhros was not familiar to the extent of my father's ungratefulness. My fa- Eöl–”

He couldn't bear the shame anymore now. And Eöl didn't deserve to be called a father.

He continued, "Eöl slashed at his right arm when he offered it to him. This alone wouldn’t have been enough to take him down, but Eöl didn't come unprepared."

He took a deep breath to ready himself for Celegorm's possible reaction. He wouldn't be happy to hear about this.

"If the blade wasn't poisoned, nothing Eöl did could have taken Lord Maedhros down."

Celegorm’s face fell as he listened, a deep frown etching his features. He hadn't wanted to believe that some stranger could just take Nelyo down like that, but unfortunately the story was making sense. It did seem a lot like Maitimo to be too much of a gentleman when fighting a potentially dishonorable opponent, allowing himself to get taken advantage of. Very, very few in these wide lands could even hope to match him in a fair fight, so if it was to be done, it was to be done with dishonorable trickery. And that same susceptibility to trickery was what had brought Maedhros to Angband. It wasn't that he was naive; he always was wary of his opponent, and surely he had been with this Eöl. But Maedhros was the type to fight with honor and expect honor in return, and being received with dishonor caused him to stumble.

Whereas if Tyelko had been in Maitimo's place, he probably would have cut Eöl's head off the moment he was disarmed, if he was as vile as Lómion was making him out to be.

And when Lómion mentioned the poison, Celegorm's face paled, his irritation and suspicion giving way to genuine worry.

Putting his hands firmly on Lómion's arms, he looked him intently in the eye and said severely, "Could he die?"

Lómion gave a tiny, terrified nod. His heart broke for Celegorm, and he almost didn't want to tell him that his brother might actually die. But he had promised his mother to be truthful, so he did.

Celegorm's heart seemed to crash into the pit of his stomach as he realized that, depending on this poison, Maitimo could be dead already.

"We've wasted too much time!" Turning swiftly towards his men, he ordered one of them to go fetch a healer from the castle, and another to explain to the Dwarves what was going on.

"What should I tell the guests, my lord?" the guard asked.

"The truth: that I have to go save my stupid brother. You'll figure it out. Hurry!"

The confused and panicked guard turned and rode swiftly back towards the castle. Celegorm huffed, his irritated words and mannerisms masking his dread and terror.

As he waited for the guard to return with a healer, Celegorm decided to take the entire guard along with them on the trip. Lómion and the healer would need protection, and Celegorm didn't want to try to protect them, and Aredhel and Maitimo, all by himself. It was better to be safe than sorry.

With Celegorm busy preparing to leave, Lómion was finally left alone for a while. Having the time to look around, his eyes fell on the dead body of his horse. Arrows pierced Durien’s dark coat everywhere, turning it a bright red. Tears fell from his eyes as he quietly mourned one of the few friends he had ever had. She had tried with all of her power to save him, and he, being nothing but a disappointing fool, had ignored all her efforts to save them. Her death was on him.

He owed her a proper burial, but there was no time for it. Not too far off, there appeared to be a shelter, much like what he and Aredhel and Maedhros had stayed in the night before, and beside it there was a large heap of firewood. He silently disappeared from the crowd of guards, heading towards the shelter and gathering some of the firewood. It took a few trips, but he soon had enough to burn through the night until there was nothing but bones left of his friend's body.

He could feel the eyes of the dog on him, but couldn't care less. He needed some time alone before he was ready to face anyone, especially Eöl.

Placing the cuts of wood all around Durien, he approached one of the warriors, asking for his torch. The warrior, Celegorm’s commander Vórion, glanced at Durien's body, his grim face softening as he saw the grief on Lómion’s face. He handed the torch to him, as well as his wineskin, patting him on the shoulder.

"So it will catch fire easily. We don't have much time left until we have to leave and rescue your mother, lad. Be quick."

Lómion nodded and smiled lightly, thanking the rough-looking but kind warrior.

Pouring the wine all over the firewoods, the floral smell of it mingled with that of the wood, soon to be replaced by the odor of smoke.

Taking a few steps back, he threw the torch towards the pile of wood and horse’s corpse. He watched with emotionless eyes as the fire spread quickly, covering Durien's smooth coat. His tears had stopped by that point.

Lómion didn't know how long he stood there, watching the fire but not seeing anything really. The same kind guard approached him once again, telling him they were ready to depart.

Lómion nodded and followed him silently. When he reached the group of horses, he found Celegorm kneeling beside Huan, with his forehead pressed against the great hound’s.

"Can you still smell him?" he whispered. "We need you to show us the way."

Huan didn't hesitate before bounding down the road, heading south.

"After him!" Celegorm cried. He hastily informed Lómion he would be riding with him, and effortlessly hoisted him up onto his white stallion’s back. Then Celegorm mounted, kicked his horse into a gallop, and everyone else followed the hound. Lómion sighed in relief, knowing his part was done here.

Tyelkormo, though, had already lost Maitimo once. He was not about to let it happen again.

Chapter Text

Eöl did not speak a word to his wife as they rode on. She did not speak to him either, and he was glad for that. Perhaps she was finally learning her place, which had been his goal all along. He sincerely regretted that it had to come to such aggression on his part, but Aredhel was such a rebellious spirit and was seeming to pass it on to her son. Clearly, a spirit of rebellion lived in her entire family, given the insolent behavior of her cousin. Eöl hoped that these disciplines, harsh as they were, were enough to quell the rebellion.

Maitimo, mercifully, was unconscious for the majority of their ride for the rest of the day. During those rare times where he did wake up briefly, he was so overwhelmed with pain that he quickly lost consciousness again.

As the sun began to sink over the horizon and the air grew chilly, Eöl decided it was time to halt and make camp for the night. He dismounted and tied the horses to the trees, and then pulled Aredhel down. Somewhat reluctantly, he sat her down with her back to a tree, and bound her loosely to it.

"Show me that you can behave and I might consider untying you," he said gruffly. Based on how quiet she had been on the ride, he doubted she would try anything, but wanted to err on the safe side.

Then he took Maedhros down from his horse and dragged him over close to Aredhel, so she would be aware of his every ragged breath and painful grimace. He didn't tie him, knowing that with his injured leg he wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Besides, his wrists were still bound behind him.

After setting up a fire, he picked up his bow and left to go hunting for some dinner.

He had been gone for a little while when Maitimo began to stir. It was a relief to him to be off the back of his horse, but he immediately wished himself unconscious again when overwhelming pain crashed all over his body. The poison seemed to have increased in intensity, and now his left leg throbbed with a vengeance in addition to everything else. His leg felt like it was repeatedly being bashed with something hard and blunt, and he would have screamed if he had the strength. The pain was focused below the knee. He didn't remember very well how the leg injury had happened. And there was no escaping it right now; he was staying awake, for some reason. Despite his exhaustion, his heart was racing.

Blinking in confusion, he tried to understand his surroundings. He was laying on his side with his wrists bound behind his back, and to his dismay, his hand felt rather numb.

Not my left hand too, he thought despairingly. After Thangorodrim, Fingon and the healers had told him that, even if he had managed to break the steel chain of Morgoth, Maitimo would have never regained use of his right hand, and they almost certainly would have been forced to remove it anyway. Being held high up and mostly deprived of blood flow, much of the tissue in that hand had died. Maitimo could vividly recall the feeling of numbness in his chained hand, which had set in within hours of his being hung from the cliff.

A fire glimmered nearby, but it wasn't close enough to give him relief from the chills of the poison, and he still shivered visibly. Aredhel was nearby too, though glancing at her, he realized she was bound up too.

"Írissë," he mumbled, his voice strained. "Are you alright? Is he gone? Please, talk to me..." He shut his eyes tightly, eager for any sort of a distraction.

Now that his lucidity was somewhat returning, he did find it concerning that it was nightfall, and Lómion had not yet returned.

Aredhel looked up slowly when Maedhros called out for her. Her eyes red from crying for the last few hours and her disheveled appearance would have worried anyone, let alone Maedhros. But she didn't care. She was still mad at him.

His painful breathing, though, made her take mercy on him and not mention his previous interference.

"He is gone hunting. And before you ask, no. Lómion isn't back."

She didn't answer his first question though. She didn't think she had to. Her face was visibly bruised, surely. And her tear stained cheeks and dead eyes didn’t help in that matter.

Maitimo thought Aredhel's response sounded a little terse, but that was understandable enough given what they had gone through today. No doubt she was probably trying to watch her words while Eöl was potentially around, too. He may have been hunting, but he could reappear at any second.

He nodded, figuring it made sense, actually, that Lómion was not back yet. Even if he had made it to Himlad in decent timing and turned around quickly, they had still been traveling for a full day, and Lómion and presumably Celegorm had to catch up with them.

"Good thing he left when he did then... imagine if he couldn't leave till now. I hope... I hope he's safe..." His voice trailed off, too overwhelmed with pain to say anything more. Guilt stabbed at his heart, too. If he had just been more careful with Eöl and not treated him as an honorable opponent, Lómion would not be out riding alone in unfamiliar lands, and Aredhel's face would not be bruised by her own husband.

The question of whether or not Lómion was alive and safe had occupied Aredhel’s mind ever since he left to bring help.

But Maedhros talking about it made it seem all the more real. Was it wise of her to do this? Should she have left herself?

But then, without her here, there was no need for Eöl to keep Nelyo alive. And Aredhel couldn't have left Lómion with that monster alone.

She shook her head. She should trust in her son's valor and abilities. He was no weakling. He could do this. And Celegorm would certainly protect her son at all costs.

"I'm sorry it all... turned out... like this..." Maitimo muttered, tears coming to his eyes.

As he blamed himself, Aredhel felt her blood boil.

"Stop blaming yourself for every damn thing happening, you big stupid carrot top!" she shouted before she could stop herself.

Maitimo's face was frozen from shock, surprised to see such an outburst of what seemed like deep anger to him, but her "insult" was so silly and ridiculous that he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. This was much more like the old Írissë he remembered, back in the innocent days they had spent in Valinor, before they cared about Morgoth or the wars in Middle-Earth. 

Aredhel couldn't help but smile slightly, her anger slowly fading. It had been centuries since she had seen Nelyo laugh like this.

"Carrot-top?” he scoffed. “Come on, Íri. You must admit you've never seen such a rich, dark red carrot that could even begin to do the comparison justice. My hair isn't orange, after all."

He sighed deeply, feeling perhaps a tiny bit more relaxed.

"You're right, though," he added softly. "I tried my best, and I don't regret trying to help you, even now..."

Aredhel sighed. "Just...stop blaming yourself. We should not despair now. Lómion may lack the experience but he is a smart boy. And Eöl, for all his faults, has trained him well to survive in the wild, even though I never approved of the methods he used. Have some faith in him."

Maitimo wanted to argue back that it wasn't unjust to blame himself for the things he was responsible for and failed to do. But he kept his mouth shut, sensing her growing stubbornness on the subject.

"I have faith in him," he reassured her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. It wasn't that he distrusted Lómion himself, or Aredhel's confidence in his skills, but he also knew the dangers of this wilderness. Even a simple danger like a group of hungry wolves could pose a serious threat to the boy.

"Besides..." He shuddered as an intense wave of pain passed over him, but fought to keep talking. "Tyelko is the best hunter I know... he'll... he'll find us."

Aredhel nodded. Tyelko had Huan and his senses had never failed him. Lómion was carrying their scents. They might be still far from the fortress at Himlad, but these things would not deter the loyal hound from finding them.

She told Nelyo the same thing. "If not Tyelko even, Huan can. Don't lose hope yet, brother."

Maitimo could only nod, finding it too overwhelming to speak anymore, though he agreed with her words. That dog certainly could find anything or anyone, even across many leagues.

For a while they both remained silent, and Aredhel fidgeted with her bonds, trying to find some sort of loophole in the knots. As she struggled, she remembered with dread how Maitimo’s arms were tightly bound with rough, dirty ropes. How she had been forced to crudely stitch his arm up without cleaning it.

She sighed and stared at him, her gaze a mixture of anger and sorrow. "Your arm’s going to get infected, Maitimo, if it's not already. I'm so sorry... he gave me nothing to clean it with, and intentionally so. He used me as an instrument of your suffering."

"It's not your fault, Íri," he tried to reassure her.

"Stop being so nice all the time!" she snapped. "You should be mad at me, and rightfully so! Maybe not for doing the best I could under these circumstances, but for being stupid enough to marry such an evil excuse for an Elf. None of this would have happened if I had just listened to my brother and stayed in Gondolin. Or if I had at least seen Eöl for who he really was..."

"But then... Lómion would not be here," Maitimo said quietly.

That seemed to soften her, and she nodded, dropping her gaze. "This is true... I wouldn't wish away his existence for anything."

Maitimo nodded, satisfied. "So then, can you agree to stop yelling at me for being nice?" he asked with the slightest hint of a smirk.

Írissë smirked slightly in return, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "No promises there, Russandol."

Moments later, Eöl returned, carrying a couple of dead rabbits. Upon seeing him return, Maedhros quickly closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness. It would just be easier for all of them if he could avoid any interaction with Eöl until Lómion came back.

Aredhel could tell Maitimo wasn’t really unconscious because his breath was too irregular, but Eöl was too far away to notice.

Eöl, not even paying attention to Maedhros, placed the rabbits down by the fire and studied Aredhel closely. She was quiet still, and everything looked just as he had left it, so he approached her and untied the ropes binding her to the tree. Though, he still left her hands tied. He wasn't stupid enough to allow that at this time. But still, though he had wanted to discipline his wife, he didn't want to treat her like a prisoner. The Fëanorian, on the other hand, had no rights in his mind except to suffer and possibly die.

"You can have some of this meat too," he said gruffly to Aredhel, "if you continue to behave."

He set to work skinning and cooking the rabbits, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye.

Aredhel turned away, refusing to look at him. She didn't want to aggravate him any further. She could be patient. The time for revenge would come. For now, she just had to focus on survival. But the thought of eating anything from his hands made her want to throw up.

"I'm not hungry."

He didn't even look up from the rabbit he was skinning as he spoke. "Doesn't matter to me. As long as you live."

Aredhel was not surprised by his reply. Not anymore.

Maedhros listened tensely to the conversation. He wasn't sure it was wise for Aredhel to oppose Eöl when they were just trying to lay low and survive. But, to his great surprise, Eöl didn't seem to care. At least he didn't seem to indicate it with his words and tone of voice. He let out a small sigh of relief when Eöl seemed to remain silent.

He realized, too, he had not had so much as a drop of water since that morning. And he was essentially stuck like that, since he and Aredhel were both bound at the wrists, and neither of them wanted to ask Eöl for anything. Hopefully Lómion and Celegorm would reach them sooner than later... But now that he was aware of his dehydration he couldn't stop thinking about his dry, burning throat. His head pounded with a vengeance, too.

Eöl finished his meal, and then laid by the fire and closed his eyes, though he didn't go to sleep just yet. He was listening for anything funny those two might try to pull– though by "those two" he primarily meant Aredhel, since he was confident that Maedhros was completely incapacitated.

Though, he was fairly certain even Aredhel wouldn't be stupid enough to try to escape. Eöl was more curious how far she would take her stubbornness. She was playing a risky game herself in refusing the food he offered her; she might not have the strength to withstand the next day. And Eöl certainly wasn't about to give Maedhros water or change his bandages or any of that. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that even if Aredhel asked; he was growing to deeply despise the redheaded Fëanorian, and scarcely cared if he died, even if that meant the loss of some leverage. After all, Eöl could then blame Aredhel and her pride if he died like this, which would further reinforce the lessons he was trying to teach.

The night grew still and dark, with bitterly cold air settling in. Írissë and Maitimo could do nothing but endure it and wait for it to be over.

Chapter Text

Maitimo had barely survived the night.

Being far away from Eöl's fire, and deprived of water and medicine and all other comforts, had caused his fever to spike to a dangerous level.

He lay shivering, slipping in and out of consciousness. And he was starting to see things... confusing things. Things that weren't really there.

"Maitimo..." A soft, familiar voice seemed to echo from far away. A voice he had not heard in centuries.

"Ammë?" he whispered, recognizing Nerdanel.

He thought he could make out the vague form of a redheaded elleth, clad in white and vaguely glowing. He couldn't see her individual features, but knew it was her.

"Maitimo, my son... how I miss you. You've fought so hard."

"I wish I'd never left you," he blurted out, trying to reach towards the vision, but unable to move, forgetting that in reality his arms were still restrained. "I want to go home..."

"Not yet, my love." The figure seemed to be gradually fading. "There are those who need you still. Just hold on a little longer. I love you, Maitimo..."

Both the voice and the figure dissipated into a thin mist. Maitimo would have wept if he had any tears to spare.

The last time he had seen Nerdanel, he was still hanging from Thangorodrim, he recalled. Fingon had rescued him not long after that.

This thinking brought him back to reality somewhat. The strange flashing lights disappeared, and his actual surroundings of the sprawling plains and scarce trees returned.

Glancing over, he saw Aredhel watching him with tears streaming down her face.
Nerdanel's words now made sense. Írissë and Lómion still needed him. He would fight his hardest to survive, if only for them.

All this time, Aredhel had been watching him struggle through his delirium, powerless to do anything about it. The only thing she could do was call out to him using their ósanwë connection. Just hold on a little longer. I love you, Maitimo, she had said. She had no way of knowing whether or not he had heard.

All she knew was that she couldn't lose him now after all they'd been through.

As his eyes refocused once more and actually seemed to see her this time, she breathed in relief.

"Don't lose hope," Maitimo whispered, trying to smile. He could barely speak because his throat was so dry, but he forced the words out. "We'll make it out of this... your son is brave, Írissë. I know he and Tyelko won't fail us."

A faint rumbling sound emerged from the distance, the sound of dozens of thundering hooves. Aredhel glanced up hopefully, and Eöl was already up and alert.

His face was terrified and terrifying at the same time as he slowly put the pieces together. He slowly looked back at his captives, murder in his eyes.

Aredhel smirked slightly, not noticing his stare. They were going to be free and Eöl was going to get what he deserved.

"Nelyo! They're here! Tyelko is here! Lómion made it!" she whispered to him. Oh, how she longed to embrace him and tell him everything was going to be alright now. They would be safe.

Maedhros, though, could only smile weakly at her, too exhausted to say anything. He couldn't hear the distant sound given his state.

Suddenly, she felt a fierce tug on her hair and a yank on her bonds. The cold blade of a knife was at her throat.

"You'll stay quiet now or I'll have no regrets sending you ahead of your cousin there." Eöl pulled her behind the cluster of trees, concealed from the view of the newcomers.

~~~

Celegorm and his warriors rode straight on through the night, pausing only to rest their horses. Huan seemed tireless, confidently leading them farther and farther south, only pausing when the horses tired. Quite the opposite, though, was Lómion. Whenever they stopped, he fell asleep quickly, and sometimes even when they were riding, Celegorm could feel his arms go limp, and he had to nudge him back awake so he wouldn't fall off.

Though he didn't know all the details of what had happened, Celegorm pitied the boy. He must have ridden all day to reach Himlad, based on how far Huan was taking them. And he had just seen his mother abducted by his father, and his horse brutally killed.

By the time the dim orangey light of the sun was beginning to poke over the horizon, they spotted campfire smoke coming from a small cluster of trees. Huan bounded after it, and Celegorm cued his horse to follow after him.

A bright pop of red caught his eye, and as he rode a little closer he immediately recognized the still form of Maitimo, bound and laying on the ground. His eyes were closed and his face white as death, and dried blood was splattered all over his clothing.

Whether Tyelkormo was looking at his brother or just a corpse, he didn't know yet.

He jumped off his horse, his stomach churning with dread, and ran towards Maitimo. But Huan reached him first and let out a whine of distress. The hound then snuggled up beside Maitimo, trying to keep his body warm, and gently licked his face, trying to revive him.

Maitimo stirred, just awake enough to be vaguely aware of this. "Huan... stop..." he whispered, not being all that fond of dog slobber. Back home in Valinor, he used to tolerate the hound's gestures of affection despite being somewhat disgusted by them.

Celegorm saw Maitimo's slight movement, and sighed in relief. He was about to go to his brother's aid when another movement caught his eye, one that made him pale in horror.

An unfamiliar Elf with dark hair and an even darker expression stepped out from behind a few of the trees. In his arms he held none other than Aredhel... and held a knife to her neck.

This wasn't the way Aredhel had imagined she would be reunited with her favorite cousin.

Celegorm immediately readied his bow, and his warriors behind him drew their weapons, but he hesitated to shoot while there was such a strong chance of accidentally hitting her instead. He gazed into her terrified eyes, conflicted.

"I'd put that bow down if I were you, Golodh," the Dark Elf hissed. "One move from you or your warriors and she dies. Now listen to me carefully, because that pathetic redhead whom I can only assume is your brother is about to die too, and my patience has been tested beyond its limits. I see you have my son with you." He nodded towards Lómion. "Give him back to me, and both he and my wife will live and be unharmed, and I'll give you your brother back. And I am the only one who knows how to cure the poison running through his veins right now, so if you want him to live you'd better do what I ask."

At this proposal, Aredhel felt a sliver of fear in her heart. She knew her cousin cared not for the fate of those he had no interest in. But still, Lómion was his cousin. His kin.

That didn't stop him from leaving you and his family to cross that icy hell.

No! I can't doubt the only ally I have now. I can't doubt my friend now that he is here to save us.

She watched tensely, scolding herself for her doubting thoughts, as Celegorm motioned for his guards to cover Maedhros and tend to him. They obeyed quickly, and the healer they had brought, a young Sinda named Elion, rushed to his side. Elion couldn’t do much for now, but he was at least able to cut the ropes and give Maedhros some water. The latter gave a small sigh of relief, but didn't wake fully and remained limp. Elion realized he would die soon without the antidote to the poison, whatever it was.

Meanwhile, Celegorm called Huan to his side. He didn't drop his bow, but rather, his grip tightened.

"I don't take orders from a Dark Elf. But how about this. You'll let go of my cousin and I won't order my hound to tear your throat out. You don't get to order anyone around here, as a matter of fact. Lómion!"

The boy had not taken his eyes from his mother's figure since he saw her, so Celegorm’s voice startled him a bit. He glared daggers at his father before tearing his gaze away and focusing his attention on Celegorm.

"Yes, cousin?"

He stressed the second word just to spite Eöl. To show whose side he was on.

"Do you want to return with your father to his woods?"

"No."

Celegorm stared directly into the Dark Elf's eyes and smirked. "You heard him. No one is returning anywhere with you."

Aredhel looked at her son, standing to his full height yet much smaller than Tyelko, and tried to give him a smile, as genuine as she could.

By Eru! He was too young to be seeing such horrors. Done by the hands of his own father, no less.

She promised herself at that moment to make sure that he'd have a better life from now on. She would protect him better. She had to.

Eöl's eyes widened in shock as his son, his own son, called that kinslayer a cousin. So, he would turn his back so quickly on his own father, the one who had raised him and provided him with food and shelter, and taught him everything he knew? He would forget all that in a heartbeat to ally himself with these evil murderers? Why would he do such a thing, betray his own family? His true family?

So Lómion had made his choice, then. He stood alongside a kinslayer as he and his men pointed weapons at Eöl, threatening to kill him. Clearly, the boy knew what he was doing and where he stood. And that could mean only one thing: the rebellion in his heart was untamable. There would be no restoring it, no bringing Lómion back to his innocent and loyal old self. Even if Eöl were to take him back by force, there would always be tension between them from that point forward. And Lómion would only grow bigger and stronger as he got older, perhaps one day surpassing Eöl in his strength...

Eöl made his decision then. One he hated, and knew he would regret, yet felt he had no choice. Aredhel would hate him forever, but he barely cared. He would take her back home easily enough and then they could have another son whether she liked it or not. And then Eöl would be much more careful in raising a son to be loyal.

"Perhaps you are right," Eöl said to Celegorm, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "Perhaps no one will come back with me after all!"

Shoving Aredhel downwards, he raised a dagger. Seeing as how he would not be able to make it past Celegorm's guards, he would have to throw swiftly and accurately.

He threw the dagger forward, aimed directly at his son's heart.

Maybe it was the force behind Aredhel’s silent vows to better protect Lómion, or the instinct of a mother, but when Eöl shoved her aside and aimed his dagger, she did not hesitate for a moment.

She pulled herself to her feet swiftly and jumped on the way at the moment the dagger flew from Eöl’s hand.

The pain, she only felt it for a moment as the cruel blade cut through her throat.

The last thing she saw was her own blood, spouting from the wound on her throat before her vision darkened and her eyes closed.

The first and the last thing Írissë Nolofinwiel witnessed upon these cursed lands of Beleriand, was a fountain of blood. One her brother's. One her own. Some may call it poetic. Makalaurë could have composed ballads about it, but would it hurt him to sing songs of her death?

Maybe.

She didn't know. It was getting difficult to think now, so she stopped.

She felt her body hit the ground, but the pain from the impact never came.

Was it a small mercy from Eru in the last moments of her life? Hey… she would take it.

Drawing her last few breaths was hard, but it would be over soon. Very, very soon.

Chapter Text

When Eöl admitted defeat, Lómion knew something was wrong.

When he threw Aredhel down and appeared defenseless, Lómion knew he was about to do something everyone here would regret.

And when he readied the dagger to throw at him, aimed at his heart, Lómion could only close his eyes and accept his fate. For nothing would be fast enough to stop Eöl, and his aim was always true.

Lómion was wrong. So wrong. And he'd hate himself forever for being so.

As he heard the low gasp of pain from an all-too familiar voice, his eyes shot open. He could only watch as his mother staggered backwards and fell down, her throat cut open by a knife meant for him.

He could hear someone screaming in agony. It didn't take long for him to notice it was his own voice.

The pained gasp of Írissë and the cry of horror from Lómion quickly snuffed out Tyelkormo’s smugness at Eol’s defeat.

The dark elf, as Tyelkormo came to know at a bitter cost, was not one to give up so easily. Perhaps he should have figured this out himself from the account Lómion had given him earlier.

Írissë was shoved down. Írissë stood up right back. Írissë jumped in front of a thrown dagger. Írissë fell down. Írissë was dying.

The panic, the thirst for revenge slowly building up, and all his swirling emotions were enough to signal Huan to do what Tyelkormo would have done if he could only will himself to move.

As the dark elf was getting ready to throw another dagger, Huan pounced on him and latched his teeth to his throat. He used his claws to tear deep gashes in Eöl’s chest and arms. Within seconds, he stopped twitching.

Eöl the Dark was no more than a pile of torn muscles and broken bones now.

Tyelkormo stared at those dark, unseeing eyes. At Eöl’s broken neck, angled in such a way that would have made anyone else sick. But Tyelko felt nothing but satisfaction.

He watched as Huan left the dead body of Eöl alone and instead, sought out the unmoving body of Írissë, held in her son's embrace as he begged her to open her eyes.

Lómion barely noticed the gruesome death of his father. His first desire upon seeing his mother fall was to run to her, to hold her, to beg her to stay with him. But strong arms closed in around him, restraining his movement. He couldn't break through the crowd of guards as they made a circle around him to protect him.

"Let me go! Please! Please let me go to her!" Lómion screamed. His throat felt raw and hoarse already, but he didn't care. His nana needed him.

He could hear the howls of pain coming from his other parent as his limbs were torn apart, but he didn't care. His nana needed him.

The guard holding him back finally let go, and he stumbled forward and fell down in a pool of blood. Aredhel's blood.

He carefully pulled her into his embrace, whispering in her ear, knowing deep down she could not hear him. He knew she would want to, though.

"Nana. Nana, wake up. It's your Lómion. Please! Will you not hold on? For me? You said you never can say no to me! So please? I swear I'll never ask anything more of you. Please! Nana!"

His voice broke as sobs racked his body. His pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Someone call for the healer! Please! She needs help!"

Everyone kept staring at him, offering nothing but pity.

He barely paid attention as the hound came closer to them, sniffing and howling.

Tyelkormo watched the pitiful scene with a numb stare. Írissë was… gone?

That couldn't be right… they had just gotten her back after all these years and now she was gone again? Forever this time? Was this some sort of twisted joke? He could not find the humor in it.

His weapons fell from his hands as he slowly walked towards his cousin and the boy. He fell to his knees. 

Lómion jumped at the movement and then stared hopefully at him. Surely these guards would listen to their own lord even if they didn't listen to Lómion’s pleas for a healer… wouldn’t they?

Tyelko knelt down to examine his cousin’s wound. In Írissë's neck nestled a dagger, covered in blood. Her white dress had turned red from the blood. And her cheeks, always the color of a spring rose, were now a marred mix of black and blue bruises, and a deathly paleness as white as the snowy peaks of Himring.

And she was not breathing. She was not breathing. She was no-

Tyelkormo screamed. A howl of pain and grief not that different from Huan's.

He had failed her! Again!

Was this the answer for his crimes in Alqualondë? To never be able to keep to any of his oaths? Why Írissë, though? Why was she the one to be punished for his sins? Where was the justice in that? It should have been him, not her.

And his cry was enough to kill Lómion’s hope that there was any aid to give his nana. His hold on Aredhel's body weakened as his head suddenly felt light, too light.

For one to live, one had to breathe. And Nana wasn’t breathing.

Lómion held his hand in front of her nose, then mouth. Nothing. Nothing.

"She is not breathing."

These were his last words he whispered before losing the battle to unconsciousness.

Celegorm sensed a movement nearby and looked up from Írissë's cold hand in his, just in time to see her son fall limp.

He called for Huan and asked him to support Írissë's body as he himself held the young boy in his arms. His eyes fell on the dagger again. He'd have to remove it at some point.

But it would increase the blood loss– 

She is already dead!

This mental argument with himself was forgotten once he felt the sudden limpness of Lómion's body.

He touched the lad's brow and pulled away his hand immediately. He was burning with a high fever. Did he have an injury of his own he had hidden from them?

But then Huan would have smelled the blood and told me…

So what?

Then the realization hit him. He was little older than an elfling. An orphaned elfling.

Oh Eru! Please, not her son too! Not now that she had bought his life with her own. Let him stay… Nienna... please…

Tyelkormo prayed then to the Valar. Something he hadn't done in centuries and wouldn't have done if he weren’t so desperate.

This boy was the only legacy left of the cousin he loved like his own sister. He was the only thing Irí left behind for them. Tyelkormo would not fail her again.

"Healer!"

Elion looked up from what he was doing. "My lord?"

"He is...he is fading. Tell me what to do! How can I help him?"

As the words left his mouth and the look of utter helplessness the healer gave him, he scolded himself for asking.

There was nothing they could do to save the lad. Only someone with a strong connection to him, someone he trusted could reach his soul now and call it back. Like a… parent. Lómion had no such person anymore.

Tyelko stared down at the boy. A single tear fell from his eyes, but he turned his face away from the view of his soldiers.

I'm sorry, Írí. I'm so sorry…

At that moment, something strange happened. He could feel Lómion's body gradually cool, and his breathing became more regular.

Can it be?

~~~

Maitimo was not-so-blissfully unaware of the horrors taking place just beyond the guards.

Being mostly unconscious, he only vaguely made out some shouting here, some clinking of weapons there. He thought nothing of it. He wasn't thinking much about anything at this point. The only true, coherent thought in his head was wondering how long this would last. How long would it be till he could finally be released from this life? Or until something gave him some meaningful relief from his agony?

But suddenly, he became aware of something. He didn't wake, but he sensed something in his fëa as clearly and vividly as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his face.

It was the presence of Írissë.

Gone.

He had no idea how he knew this, or even how he knew what Aredhel's fëa presence felt like. He had witnessed so many deaths in his lifetime, including those of his own father and brother, yet he had not felt their presence like this before. It must have been because he was on the threshold of death himself.

Írissë! he cried out, not verbally, but in his mind. What... what happened? Where are you going?

He almost hadn't expected a response, yet one came anyway.

My time here is up, Nelyo, she replied, her voice sounding calm, gentle, and almost slightly amused. Do not despair for me. It was meant to be this way. I saved my son, and I am at peace.

No, it was not meant to be this way, he argued. It was supposed to be me, not you! I wearied of life long ago. To die for you and your son would have been a gift to me. Take me with you! Let not my efforts be in vain!

But it was not in vain, Maitimo. Without you, he would have found and killed both of us already. Besides... I must ask you a favor. I think you'll agree that this is a very good reason for you not to follow after me.

Maitimo paused, silent and listening.

Lómion is an orphan now, Aredhel continued, the twinge of mirth gone from her voice, replaced with grave sorrow. I need someone to look after him. To protect him, take care of him. And to love him as a son ought to be loved. You, Maitimo... you're the only one I fully trust to do this. Though I love your brothers, I don't have complete trust in their character. My brothers are too far away, and Lómion has never even met them. You, though... you were the last one, the only one, to whom I told all my secrets. Will you do this for him? For me?

Maitimo didn't even hesitate before replying, Yes. Of course I will. Anything for you.

Somehow, he could sense she was smiling. He felt a slight warmth around his chest as though she had embraced him.

Good, she said, her disembodied voice growing slightly fainter. And with the same merry spark she had once had long ago, she said, Now, you'd better not show up here in Mandos anytime soon, or I'll kill you, Russandol!

He laughed heartily at that, at the ridiculous concept of killing someone who had already died. How was it that Írissë managed to make him laugh even in death?

As her presence left him, he remained unconscious, still deathly ill from the poison. But he continued to fight it and did his best to hang on, for Aredhel's sake and for Lómion's.

Meanwhile, there was another in danger of giving up on life, whose grief seemed so great that the rest of life was tainted and meaningless.

Lómion... the voice of Aredhel whispered in her son's mind.

Lómion was dreaming. It was one of those dreams where he was vaguely aware it was all in his mind, yet it still felt real.

He was sitting on a grassy hill, clad in a white tunic and trousers. He felt calm. Peaceful. Even though he remembered everything happened that day. As if he knew that if he stayed there, nothing could hurt him anymore.

He glanced to his side, feeling a presence.

The person was also clad in white, but it was hardly an unusual color for her. It was her favorite, after all. She was staring off into the distant scenery, and as Lomion followed her gaze, he noticed that even though this hill they sat on looked like any other normal hill in Middle Earth, the sky was nothing similar to that of his world. It wasn’t day, for he could not see Anor shining. Nor was it night, for Ithil was gone from the sky too. It was only light. Not overwhelmingly bright like the sun, nor faint like the moon. It was just there. Warm and welcoming.

"Mother,” he said, breaking out of his musings.

She turned away from the mountains and trees beyond, her gaze falling on him. "You're not supposed to like it here, íon. Not yet."

"But nan-"

"No buts!"

He would have cried there and then again if he could. "How am I supposed to go on now? You're gone! I told you I'd follow you anywhere!"

He voiced the oath he had taken in a time that felt so long ago, rather than a few weeks when they had first set out from Nan Elmoth.

"Not this time, my love. You can't. You have to live. For me."

He shook his head, not accepting her words. She couldn't stop him.

"I have something to ask of you. Will you grant me this final wish?"

He nodded. Anything for her.

"You have to survive, my son. Remember your cousin. Remember Maedhros. He needs your knowledge of Eöl's doings to live another day. We owe him for what he needlessly went through for our sake. If not for my word, live so you can repay our debt. I could never be at peace if I knew I were the cause of his demise. Please?"

All of her words hit him like a brick. Of course! Maedhros! Maedhros who dueled and got poisoned so he could free them. Maedhros who had got hurt so he could flee and bring help. Maedhros who… who had been nothing but kind to him and here he was, being selfish once more.

As much as it hurt him to admit it, he could not in good conscience follow Aredhel to these blessed shores knowing he could have saved his kind cousin from the very same fate.

When he finally glanced back at Aredhel, he saw the glint of victory shining in her smiling eyes. She knew she had won.

They both stood, and he threw himself into her already open arms. "I'll miss you."

"So will I."

He pulled away and looked into her eyes. "I'll follow you soon. I promise."

Her smile turned sad. "Try using the ships, will you? I've tried the other two ways and let me tell you... They're not pleasant."

She planted a gentle kiss on his forehead then. "Try to find a will to live, my twilight. The world has so much to offer you and you've only just begun your journey. Don't be hasty in throwing it away."

She glanced back to the way she had came from.

"It's time for me to go. Live, my son. And make me proud."

With that she turned her back to him and walked away. And Lómion woke up with a start.

Chapter Text

Celegorm gave a deep sigh of relief as Lómion awoke and his body seemed to be cooling down. So the passions of his fëa wouldn't consume him after all, hopefully. All this brought back memories of watching his own father disintegrate into a pile of smoldering ash; so bright and hot was the intense passion of his fëa...

He shook the memories away. This was not Lómion's fate, it would seem. Something, or someone, had brought him back.

Lómion blinked slowly. Remembering what he had returned to do, he tried to stand upright but his weakened body gave out on him. If not for Celegorm still holding him, he would have surely fallen again.

"Maedhros... Maedhros… where is he?"

His voice came out very hoarse, probably from all the screaming, but just loud enough for Celegorm to hear. 

A feeling of dread crashed down on Celegorm's heart. He hadn't exactly forgotten Maitimo in the midst of all this chaos, but he had no time to so much as check on him or to try to comfort him at all.

Trying to help Lómion calm down, Celegorm pointed at a corner of the camp near the trees. "Come on. Let's go see if we can help him.”

He held Lómion’s arm, supporting him, and together they approached the healer and Maedhros. As soon as they got close, Lómion stumbled towards Maedhros and fell to his knees next to the healer. "I have to help him..." he said to no one in particular.

Lómion’s face grew nearly as pale as Maedhros’ now that he could see the state he was in. He didn't have much time left. Lómion was much more amazed that somehow, he was still hanging on.

Can I even do anything now? Is it too late?

Tyelkormo fought back tears and tried to conceal his worry as he gazed at his brother's still, deathly pale form. Maitimo had survived much worse than this before, so surely he would make it through… wouldn't he? He had to!

"How is he?" he asked the healer, his voice rough and hoarse.

Elion glanced grimly at him and Lómion. "Not very well, I'm afraid. Without knowing the poison or how to cure it, I fear there's little to nothing I can do to save him. I fear to give him any sort of medicine at all, not knowing how it would react to the poison."

"Well, there's got to be something you can do!" Celegorm shot back, his face flushing and his voice full of sudden rage. Why did fate have to be so cruel as to make him lose both his favorite cousin and his oldest brother in one cursed day?

Lómion snapped out of his despairing thoughts when Celegorm finally lost his patience and shouted at the young healer. He looked at the poor ellon, no more than a few centuries old. He probably didn't have much expertise when it came to poisons. Didn't have any reason to until now.

His arms felt weak, no doubt resulting from his almost fading. Even though he himself hardly felt stronger than Maedhros in this moment, he would live. He had to make sure Maedhros did too. He had promised to.

Lómion took Maedhros’ left wrist to check his pulse and almost dropped it in shock. His pulse was much quicker than it should have been. Definitely not a normal occurrence. Lómion touched Maedhros’ forehead, and his fingers recoiled at the burning sensation.

A quick pulse and a high fever. This narrowed it down much less than he hoped to. If only he could have access to the poison. But how?

Eöl's sword? No. That wouldn't help him. He would have cleaned Anguirel already.

Perhaps he'd have something in his pack that could give him a clue.

Even turning his head made Lómion feel lightheaded and nauseous, but he ignored it the best he could.

"Eöl's pack. Will...will you bring it here?" His voice came out as a whisper, but Celegorm heard him. A few short seconds later, Huan came back, holding the pack in between his giant jaw. He dropped the pack at Lómion’s feet.

He searched the pack but to no avail. Nothing there.

It didn't make sense. Eöl had to have carried the poison in something. Unless the blade was already poisoned before he decided to duel Maedhros.

No, that didn't make sense. Eöl didn't know there would be any Maedhros for him to fight and he… he wouldn't want to poison Mo- Aredhel.

Lómion shook his head. It still hurt to think about her. It was too soon for him. For anyone.

He pulled himself up with the help of Celegorm and dragged himself to where Eöl's body lay. Once his eyes fell on the mangled form that had once been his father, he quickly looked away and buried his face in Celegorm's chest, trying to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

It hurt to look at him. It hurt. But why? Didn't he try to kill him? Wasn't he the reason his nana wasn't there anymore?

Then why? He didn't deserve Lómion mourning him. He didn't.

Yet he couldn't stop the tears from spilling.

Celegorm put an awkward hand on his back, comforting him as well as he could. “Are you alright?”

No, I'm not.

Lómion could only nod weakly, but it seemed to satisfy Celegorm. He lowered the boy down next to the body but didn't let Lómion search Eöl's robes. Celegorm gingerly probed around the mess over his chest and all his hidden pockets but again, nothing.

Lómion was starting to lose hope again. How was he supposed to save Maedhros when he didn't even know what he was dealing with here?

Come on! Any vials or containers? He couldn't have carried it in his fists!

It was at that moment when his eyes fell on an ebony black container somewhere beside the body.

In his excitement and happiness he threw himself down and reached for it, ignoring the feeling of weakness accompanying his sudden burst of energy.

He hastily opened the empty vial and held it in front of his nose.

At first, it was nothing.

Lómion almost panicked, scared the odor of the poison would be gone by now after a day, or worse, Eöl had used an odorless one, leaving it traceless.

But then he started getting hints of a faint sweet fragrance like… like apricots. And vanilla!

His excitement vanished as he realized what poison Maedhros had survived all this time. Oleander.

It made sense now. The raging heartbeat. The high fever and now the smell of the oil Eöl had used to poison his blade.

He stared at Maedhros in shock. How?

If it was only the poison derived from the plant, Lómion wouldn't be as shocked. Most people could survive it for a day but no more. But Eöl was not content with that. He liked to tamper with his poisons, enhance them with magic where he thought necessary.

This poison would have killed any grown Elda in less than a couple of hours. And Maedhros had survived it so far and continued to cling to life.

He startled out of his thoughts when someone shook him. That someone turned out to be Celegorm, asking if he had found something useful.

"Foxgloves. I… I need foxgloves to cure him!"

Celegorm’s eyes widened and his face fell. Being a skilled woodsman, he knew well what foxgloves served as a remedy to, and the knowledge of what poison they were facing filled him with horror.

But thankfully, it seemed they were in luck for once. It shouldn’t have been hard to find foxgloves in this area.

Celegorm didn't waste any more time. Leaving Eöl’s body, he gathered a few warriors to aid him in his search, but made sure there were enough left to protect Lómion and Maedhros. 

With difficulty, Lómion walked up to where Maedhros lay and collapsed next to him again. After taking a moment to let his dizziness subside, he turned to the young healer. "Have you brought any poppy milk with you?"

Elion nodded hesitantly.

"Good. Pour some in a cup of water. enough to lower his heart rate and reduce his pain. Try making him drink it."

With a new spark of hope alive in his heart, Lómion promised himself Maedhros would live. He'd see to that himself.

~~~

The way Celegorm had shouted at Elion rattled him. He was already under tremendous pressure, trying to save the Lord of Himring from some strange poison which he had no idea how to handle. He was not unused to death. Countless Eldar came in and out of the healing halls at Himlad, most of them brutally injured from the war. Some of them, Elion had been able to save. Others, he hadn't. And though it grieved him to see so many Eldar succumb to death, the reality was that they were mere warriors. Their lives were not worth less than the lords and princes, but their deaths did not receive as much attention.

Whereas Elion knew that if he failed to save Maedhros, who had once been High King of the Noldor, and had a reputation for being able to survive anything... everyone would turn to Elion and blame him. It wasn't his fault that he knew nothing about poison, since it was so rarely seen. It was considered an underhanded and nefarious form of warfare amongst the Eldar, and to use it was seen as a dishonorable, dishonest means of killing. But that didn't matter. The Lord of Himring was dying and it was Elion's responsibility to heal him.

Someone older and more experienced would have surely been better equipped to handle this situation. Or perhaps not, since very few healers had ever seen or had knowledge of poison. But Celegorm's guard had burst in, shouting frantically for the immediate need for a healer, and Elion had been available, and he was the first to volunteer to help.

So he was quite relieved that this young ellon, who was younger even than he was, somehow knew about the poison and what to do about it. So he did as he asked, not fully certain that the remedies the boy suggested were going to work, but what was he supposed to do? Fold his arms and refuse to try it, and then Maedhros would die anyway?

He prepared the poppy drink as Lómion directed. Helping Maedhros sit up slightly, Elion gently tried to rouse him. It took a few minutes, but to his relief, Maedhros stirred awake, and dazedly sipped at the liquid he was offered.

Maitimo was confused, not remembering where he was, and not knowing the person who insisted on making him drink whatever was in that cup. He trembled, both from the fever and his racing heart, feeling like his heart was pounding so hard it was going to shatter his ribcage. Pain still pulsed through his veins.

Darkness started to close in on his vision again, and he was about to give in to it when he recognized Lómion next to him.

Everything came flooding back.

"Lómion..." he whispered, his voice weak and barely audible. "I'm so sorry... she..."

His voice trailed off, his strength failing him, but tears came to his eyes as he looked with grief on Lómion, his cousin's son who was now an orphan. He longed to tell him everything– that he spoke with Aredhel, and she had asked him to be Lómion's new guardian. But he couldn't manage anything more than those few short words right now. But with his left hand he reached weakly for Lómion's hand, trying to offer him what tiny shred of comfort he could.

Lómion was quite startled by this. He didn’t think Maedhros would have the strength to open his eyes yet, let alone move.

He shook his head, holding his hand in return and smiling at him. His cousin was so full of surprises.

"Don't apologize, cousin. And please, for my sake, don’t move at all. We have tried so hard to lower your heart rate. Don't make my and–”

He just realized he didn't know the healer's name. He looked at him questionably, and it took the healer a few seconds to catch on and tell him his name.

"Yes. Elion. We are trying to stabilize you until your brother comes back with the antidote. Try to hang on until then. And here. Drink more of this."

Maitimo gave a tiny nod and tried to do as they asked. It wasn't hard for him to keep his body still, since everything hurt so much and his strength was utterly spent. And he sipped at the liquid Lómion held to his lips, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever was in that drink seemed to help, at least for a few minutes. He felt a little more relaxed, and a little less shaky.

Seeing Maedhros seeming to relax and grow less tense, Lómion smiled in relief. Maedhros also seemed to be staying awake, which Lómion was glad for. This way he could be sure he was alive.

But... something wasn't right. The soothing effect of the medicine lasted only for a few minutes before the struggles from the poison came back. Maitimo’s heart raced uncontrollably.

He tried to ignore it. But Elion and Lómion being concerned about his heart rate caused him to worry as well, and thus his heart rate to go even faster.

He employed all the mental tricks he normally used to cope with pain, everything from imagining Makalaurë singing a song, to taking deep breaths and trying to physically force himself to relax.

But his heart simply could not keep up with it all, despite his intense will to live. A sudden weakness and dizziness washed over him.

Please, Eru... not now... he prayed silently. He had not prayed to Eru Ilúvatar or any of the Valar since taking the Oath. He had made himself their enemy, and could not take those fateful vows back, and felt he did not deserve to ask any of them for anything. But looking at Lómion, who seemed to look hopeful for the first time since his mother's death, Maitimo was desperate.

Not now... I don't care for my own life, but Lómion needs me... I cannot leave him...

How cruel to shatter that young boy's heart again just after he got his hopes up! He yearned to tell Lómion he was sorry, one last time, but darkness took him before he could say another word. 

It wasn't fair that anyone should lose both their parents, and the one who was to be his guardian, in one brutal day.

And so it was with desperation, grief and bitterness that Nelyafinwë Maitimo's heart stopped, and his fëa drifted.

Chapter Text

Lómion had not let go of Maedhros' wrist since he took his hand, monitoring his condition. So it didn't take long for him to notice something was not right. The medicine they gave him seemed to work at first. But it didn't take long for his heart rate to increase drastically again, even more so than before.

Though Elion had accepted this young prince’s help, that did not mean he had relaxed in his vigilance, so he immediately realized what was going on. He saw the muscles of the Himring lord's left arm spasming from the pain and his breathing being cut short. All of these signs were enough to tell him what they had feared the most was happening.

He looked at the boy, limply holding Lord Maedhros' hand, too weak and terrified to be anything but a distraction here.

Elion subtly signaled the guards to take Lómion some distance away so he could do his job here. He couldn't let down his lords by letting their brother die on his watch.

The guards were quick, for the young elf had neither strength nor will to fight them anymore. At first, Lómion was too distracted with Maedhros’ condition to understand why there was a sudden pull on his arms and he was dragged away from the guards, who were forming a protective circle around Maedhros. But he didn’t ask them to stay, realizing he wouldn’t be of much use here.

As soon as he was gone, Elion got started. He put his hands on Maedhros' chest, right above his heart, and with controlled strength, pushed heavily and repeatedly on his chest.

Lómion exhaled in relief. Elion was not as inexperienced as he seemed.

"It's wise for you to stay here for now my young lord. Elion is a good healer. He knows what he is doing,” one of the guards told him gently.

Of course, he knew that himself. He had nothing but his knowledge to offer here and that was not needed anymore.

So he could only lean back against the tree behind him, clutch the folds of the guard’s clothing, and weep quietly.

He prayed then to Eru, to any Valar listening, to not take Maedhros from them. He couldn't bear it if the only person left in this world who actually cared for him was taken from him.

Meanwhile, Celegorm, being skilled at surviving in the wilderness, didn't take long to find patches of foxglove just as Lómion described. He picked as much of it as he could, not sure exactly how much they would need, and made a mental note of where the place was located just in case he needed to come back later and get some more.

But he returned to yet another scene of horror and panic.

Lómion was clinging to a guard and sobbing, and the healer was pushing heavily and repeatedly on Nelyo's chest.

Celegorm had sometimes seen the healers do that before on fallen warriors, so this could only mean one thing. And sometimes they were successful with such a treatment, and sometimes they weren't.

"What are you doing?" he cried, horrified and angered, and ran towards the scene.

Elion didn't respond. The look of concentration on his face was fierce, and he didn't look up from his task. He was breathing heavily from the effort of giving the chest compressions.

"My lord," a guard said quietly to Celegorm, approaching him. "Your brother's heart, it... stopped, I'm afraid..."

Celegorm clenched the flowers in his fist and could only watch, frozen and helpless, as Elion worked hard to revive Maitimo.

"No," he muttered out loud, talking to himself in Quenya. "It can't be-- it's not too late! I got the flowers! This can't really be happening... first Íri, and now Maitimo..."

He fell to his knees and let out a loud cry of rage and grief.

~~~

When Aredhel woke up again, it was in the Halls of Mandos. She had just died… hadn’t she? So it made sense for her to be there.

This place was empty and glassy, with a labyrinth of seemingly endless corridors, marked by high vaulted arches. It was dark, but not pitch black; more of a dim, dark blue in color. And it was quiet. Too quiet. Aredhel couldn’t even hear the sound of her own breathing. She… wasn’t breathing, as she noticed after a minute.

She glanced down at her hands to see they were translucent and faintly glowing. The rest of her body seemed like that, too. She wore a pale-colored robe, much like the white gowns she wore when alive, but rather than pure white, it was more of a faint silver.

Aredhel was also greeted by the sight of a curious looking redheaded cousin, translucent and faintly glowing like she was. He emerged from one of the halls, peering at her. A lot of people, even family, often mistook the twins to be each other. But not Írissë. Never Írissë.

This was Pityafinwë Ambarussa, or Amrod as he would have been called, had he survived the trip to Middle-Earth and learned the Sindarin tongue. As the younger of the two, he was much more innocent than his twin and it was always visible on his face. Pityo had been dead for more than four centuries. So this killed any doubts Aredhel had about her own death.

"Hello, Íri. I wish I could say I'm happy to see you,” Pityo said with a sad smile. 

And he indeed wasn't thrilled to see her here of all places. He liked his cousin well enough, but no one would be glad to see one of their family members in the halls of the dead. When one of Námo's Maiar told him of another one of his cousins joining them, though, Pityo knew it was up to him to welcome whomever they were to the halls.

He himself had no one, not even his grandfather, to greet him after death. So when Elenwë and Arakáno joined them here, he felt obligated to do something for them no one cared to do for him. The Halls were scary enough on their own at first. No one deserved to be alone when they finally reached here.

The reproachful lecture he received from his youngest cousin and the disdainful glances from Elenwë did not deter him. He'd do his duty. Especially now that both Argon and Elenwë were released from the Halls and grandfather was too grieved to do anything for them. And his Atar. His Atar never cared for his brothers' children, be it in life or death.

He had many dead cousins, so no one could fault him for not caring to take a guess. But when the said dead cousin turned out to be Írissë, Pityo couldn't say he was surprised. Ammë always worried for her fate considering her impulsiveness and her adventurous soul, fearing she may find her demise in one of her trips she loved so well.

And Ammë was never wrong.

Írissë rose from her lying position and looked around with wariness and curiosity.

"The halls are not as dreadful as people often imagine. Dull, maybe. I'd think you of all people will grow tired of them soon."

"Maybe I can break through them and find a way out," she said, already smiling. She then threw herself in his embrace–or, she tried to. Without any of the fëar in Mandos having physical bodies, they couldn’t actually make contact with each other. It was strange to Íri to realize her form was right against his, yet she was only met with a cold nothingness. 

Amrod wasn't expecting this, but it didn't mean he disliked the gesture either, pointless as it was. “We don’t have physical bodies anymore,” he said with a matter-of-factly nod. “That means hugs don’t work the way they used to.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty sure I figured that out myself,” Íri said, her translucent figure appearing to roll her eyes.

He seemed to grin, but Aredhel changed the subject. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, cousin, but do you perhaps know where I can find my brother and sister in law?"

She didn't ask after Finwë.

He was not surprised. None of the Nolofinwians, except Findekáno maybe, were fond of Finwë for what he did (or didn't do) when Fëanáro threatened Nolofinwë.

Didn't matter if Nolofinwë hadn't cared back then, or pretended he didn't. His children never forgot this betrayal.

In all fairness, Pityo wouldn't have either if the roles were reversed.

"They were released from the halls a few years ago. It's just you and me here,” he explained.

Her face fell for a second, but quickly returned to her happy self. "Your father?" she inquired.

"He is around too. Somewhere. You know he can't sit in a place unless he is working, and there are no forges here."

She suddenly became very still and her smile gave way to a cold emotionless face. “Half-uncle," she called out to the person standing behind her cousin.

Fëanáro ignored her sarcasm. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for my son,” he said with a cold sneer.

"What do you need, Atar?" Pityo turned to look at him.

Fëanor's eyes softened as his eyes fell on him. "Not you, yonya. Your brother."

Pityo felt cold all of a sudden. Another one of them? So soon? "Wh-"

"Nelyo! No he can't be here! He promised me..." Aredhel mumbled to herself, ignoring them both.

Fëanáro's eyes hardened with rage again. "How do you know?"

Írissë had no time to answer before a tall figure emerged not so far away from them. And it was none other than Maitimo. 

For some time, Maitimo saw nothing except a silvery-blue mist of some sort. But then, three vague shapes emerged: one tall and black-haired, one smaller and redheaded, and the last one black-haired and female.

Fëanor, Amrod and Aredhel.

Maitimo could vaguely make out voices coming from the three figures, and the voices became slightly clearer to him as he drew closer. It certainly was Fëanáro, Pityo and Íri, all right. Which could only mean that this was really happening... it wasn't some strange dream.

It was cruelly ironic that after Maitimo had longed for death for so long, ever since Thangorodrim really, now that he was faced with it he wasn't happy about it. He could only think of Lómion, all alone in the world after having witnessed three gory and traumatic deaths in one day, with no one who truly cared for him. Maybe Tyelko would, but he was temperamental and unpredictable, so Maitimo couldn't count on him to rise to the responsibility.

"Atar?" he said softly, managing to find his voice, and feeling that it came out more freely than it had while he was in agonizing pain a few minutes before. It felt so refreshing to be free of the confines of a body, especially since his was so marred from decades of torture and centuries of war. "Pityo? Íri?"

"Nelyo!" came the enthusiastic voice of Amrod. "How did you get here? And how come you're fuzzy? I can't see you fully."

"He's not really here yet. Be patient," responded the deep, resonant voice of Fëanáro. Despite everything, it made Maitimo's heart ache with bittersweet nostalgia to hear his brother and father's voice again. "Nelyafinwë, my son... welcome home."

If Maitimo were still in his physical body at that point, he would have been brought to tears. Yet as much as he wanted to draw closer to his loved ones, all of a sudden he felt a pull in the other direction. He backed away, slowly.

"Íri was here in an instant," Pityo said, his voice inquisitive and almost cheerful. "She died pretty quickly. You must be dying pretty slowly then, Nelyo? That's rough."

The blunt curiosity of his questioning made Maitimo feel like he was back home again. After all, Pityo had not even set foot in Middle-Earth.

He glanced at Írissë, who seemed to be glaring at him, even though her figure was just as blurry and vague as the others. She had to be furious, surely. She had sworn she'd kill him if he died, after all.

Aredhel was indeed furious and despairing.

What was Nelyo doing here? He had promised her he'd take care of her Lómion. Her little son, so alone in the vast world. And yet here Nelyo was, not long after her.

She made a move towards him, but he was drawing back for some reason. If she could, she would have grabbed him and shaken some sense into him. So she opted for calling out to him in words.

"You promised me, Nelyo! You promised to take care of my son! He… he only survived the grief because he felt indebted to you! He won't last long without you there–"

Her voice was cut short. She would have wept if she still had the ability.

But a dim light caught the corner of her eye: the form of Pityo, coming close beside her. He couldn’t offer her any comforting touches, but he could give her the closest thing they had to it in these halls.

"Something is pulling him back," Fëanor observed, watching as the form of his eldest grew fainter. "Do not give up your fight yet, my son."

Maitimo yearned to say something to all three of them. How he wanted to plead with his Atar, tell him he was doing his best, and he was sorry for being such a failure of a High King. And to Pityo, he yearned to tell him how sorry he was, how sorry they all were, about the burning of the ships. And he longed to apologize not least of all to Írissë. For failing her. For failing her son. He had tried so hard to hang on for him.

But the voices of his family grew fainter and fainter. So too, did the appearances of their forms. Everything seemed to be fading to darkness.

Then, in a flash of silver light, Maitimo was gone from the Halls of Mandos.

There was another form resting against hers. A hand at her shoulder, too large to be Pityo's, yet still close to her.

She looked up at the owner of the hand, who was not paying her any mind. Her hal– no– uncle was watching the spot Nelyo was standing in not a few moments ago with a look of relief.

She didn't try to pull away. It was not often someone would receive any form of affection (small as they were) from Curufinwë Fëanáro. And as much as she hated to admit it, his gesture might not have been loving, but it was grounding. And she needed that reassurance.

"Who knew little Íri would be a mother one day. Have you starved the poor child with your terrible cooking yet?"

She smiled despite the fact she was being insulted and shrank a little closer to Amrod.

Fëanor looked down as if suddenly realizing whom he was comforting before awkwardly pulling away his hand. "His fëa has returned to the land of the living, most likely. Come now. We should leave as well."

Drifting a short distance away from them, he stopped suddenly and added, without turning back: "You should not worry for your son any longer. You have left him in the care of the best person you could have found. I say that from experience."

With that, he tarried no longer and moved ahead of them. Pityo drifted after him, and Írissë tentatively followed as well. "Come on. Let's go get you a room."

"A room?" she asked, confused. She hadn't thought they would have rooms here. But then again, she hadn't spent much time thinking about what exactly the halls were like.

"We all have separate compartments here so we...well... avoid any feuds with the Teleri.” Pityo paused until Fëanáro had gone far ahead of them, out of earshot. “They weren't very welcoming of me and Atar here when we arrived and we were forced to stay in our own rooms until most of them were released and back in Valinorë. I personally find them very peaceful. Atar didn't like them much at first but he now uses them to come up with ideas for… new projects he'd want to work on once we leave the halls. He still believes we'll be allowed to return one day."

"And you don't?"

The changes Pityo had gone through amazed Írissë. He was the old Ambarto yet not at the same time.

"We'll be allowed to be reembodied once we have let go of all our hate and negative feelings and repent. Atar doesn't want to accept he had done people wrong for most of his life. Until the day he comes to this realization himself, there's no hope of him being allowed to leave."

She watched him carefully, noticing the grief in his face. He looked too worried for someone who had been murdered by his own father.

"And you have, haven't you? You have let go of all your grudges. You have forgiven him, right?"

He looked down at her, smiling sadly. "Observant as always, aren't you?"

Írissë was confused. Hadn’t Pityo just said that once the fëa was cleansed of every bitter feeling, the dead were allowed to go back home?

"So why are you still here then?"

"I can't leave him here alone now, can I? I wanted to forgive him so badly at first, just so I could return home to Ammë. But after I actually did, I realized I can't leave him here in good conscience. So I stayed. And I will until he is ready to forgive and be forgiven."

He drifted past her, once again heading down the path Fëanáro had gone through.

"Come. Let me show you around. You're going to love the tapestries! I love the one from you and your family in Helcaraxë! So epic!"

She snorted and let herself be led towards wherever her cousin intended for her to see.

The three figures were silent for a while as they walked down the halls to the compartments with the tapestries. Pityo's thoughts drifted back towards what he had just seen, and eventually he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself.

"I've never seen anyone just... disappear from here the way Nelyo did," he blurted out. "That's amazing! That means he technically died for a few moments, but came back to life... I wonder what he's going through down there? It must be terrible!"

His curiosity and excitement over having new information to think about brought an unintentionally irreverent excitement to his voice.

Fëanáro frowned with disapproval at him. "Pityo, you must not speak so lightly of your brother's suffering."

"But I wasn't speaking lightly of it," Pityo said, sincerely confused. "It's just fascinating, that's all."

Fëanor glanced at Aredhel with a look that wasn't quite apologetic, but almost.

Eventually, they arrived in their compartment, which was filled with massive, richly colored tapestries just as Amrod described. These all portrayed different aspects of their lives, including the Helcaraxë as Amrod had described. But there were also some new ones depicting the shady forest of Nan Elmoth, and Aredhel raising Lómion from infancy onward.

Eöl was conveniently missing from these. It was best not to dwell on his memory for now.

There was another tapestry too, a brand new one, but it was concealed from Aredhel until she was ready to see it.

Chapter Text

Lómion watched in relief as, miraculously, Elion's method of reviving Maedhros seemed to work. After Elion blew into Maedhros’ mouth, the latter began to breathe again. He coughed, but did not wake.

Elion gave a deep sigh of relief. That was one disaster averted, for now at least.

Celegorm sobbed in relief when Maedhros started breathing at last. His brother was alive. He wouldn't lose him. He wouldn't lose him like Íri–

He glanced at the spot where Aredhel's body was just a few minutes ago and started when he saw nothing. The Dark Elf's body was gone as well.

Vórion, his captain, the one who had been comforting Lómion when he had arrived with the flowers, noticed his frantic looks. "We moved the princess' body out of the way of the camp. I have some of our men guarding her and… the other body until you decide what we shall do with them. I assumed you might want to have her buried in Himlad rather than out here in the wild."

Celegorm nodded. "Thank you, Vórion. Írissë… we will have her buried in Himlad for sure. I'll leave it to Lómion to decide what we will do with his father's body. Whatever is left of it, anyway."

He spoke the last part with an emotionless voice and a blank stare. If it were up to him, he would have left that monster's corpse here in the open air for animals to feast upon.

The boy, even though he seemed to not care for his father in the slightest, had grieved upon seeing his dead body. Eöl was his father. Of course he'd grieve. No one could decide whom they loved.

Fëanáro, too, hadn't been the best father out there, and they’d had their difficulties with each other. But Celegorm had still grieved for him and his heart ached in his chest whenever he thought of him.

But my father never hurt my mother with anything but words.

They had both hurt each other that way so Celegorm couldn't take anyone's side here.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to think about these things.

He looked down at Maitimo again. Pale he was, almost as pale as Írissë. Íri had turned a greyish color towards the end because of the blood loss though–

No! Don't think about her! You'll have time to grieve later.

But Timo was alive. He was alive and Tyelko would make sure he stayed this way.

Tyelko noticed his brother lacked warm clothes, only wearing ordinary clothes and mithril mail. His fur cloak, which he always wore on journeys in the cold weather, was missing. Nelyo had never liked the cold, more so after he had returned from Thangorodrim.

And that Dark Elf! Even if he hadn't killed Íri, Tyelko would have made sure he never saw the light of day again for what he had done to his gentle brother.

He took off his own fur cloak and covered Maedhros' body with it. He himself was only clad in a rather thick tunic and leather armor, so it didn't take long for him to start shivering slightly, but he paid it no mind. Nelyo's comfort came first.

Lómion climbed to his feet with some difficulty and returned to his place beside Maedhros and Celegorm. The guards did not stop him this time. He turned to Celegorm, and, seeing the flowers in his hands, he quickly snatched them. "I need your help, cousin! We have to dehydrate the leaves first. These flowers are toxic on their own. We have to make sure all of the toxicity is gone before we can feed them to him!"

Elion nodded in agreement, at least knowing enough about herbs to be aware of the toxicity of foxgloves. But his concern was that the flowers would not be dehydrated in time to do any good. Maedhros’ pulse was already racing again. He might have been breathing again, but the poison was still raging through his veins.

"Get a fire going, close to this spot, then," Elion said breathlessly to Celegorm and Lómion. "That can help us dry the plant faster, and help warm him up in the meantime."

While Elion was busy stabilizing Maedhros, Lómion was trying to figure a way out to dry the herbs faster. Usually it would take at least two weeks for any herb to dry naturally, but they didn't have that much time.

He looked around, trying to find a solution. His eyes fell on a giant rock not too far from their camp. Maybe if they laid the leaves on the rock and put it in the fire pit, they could manage to dry the leaves in a couple of hours.

He glanced at Maedhros who, having drank the dosed up poppy milk, looked to be less in pain and no longer on the verge of death. At least for now.

Not wanting to delay any longer or make everyone think he was a useless liability, Lómion stood up, walked towards the stone, and picked it up himself, but with great difficulty.

Even if he weren’t slightly ill because of his almost dying experience and not having a proper rest for more than a week, he would have had a hard time moving this stone, which was much heavier than it looked. He had bulked up a bit since he had started working in the forges with Eöl, but his arm still looked like a twig compared to these seasoned warriors around him, especially Celegorm and Maedhros.

I should have just asked someone else to help me move it, he thought before almost dropping it on his own feet.

But thankfully, Celegorm had seen the boy wander off, and had figured if he was anything like his mother, he might get into trouble. He’d better make sure the boy wouldn’t try to do anything stupid like dying of grief again. So he arrived just in time to catch the rock before Lómion could break all his toes.

"What do you think you're doing? You could have crushed your feet if I weren't here now!"

Celegorm regretted the words almost before they were out of his mouth. His fear had made his tongue loose.

Lómion shrank away and looked down as Celegorm yelled at him. "I'm so-rry...I just wanted to help..."

He felt his nose burn and a lump rise in his throat. Idiot! why are you crying? he scolded himself as he swallowed back the tears.

What he didn't see because he was looking down was the look of guilt on Celegorm's face. Tyelkormo, hasty in his fury, his mother had named him.

No one understood that he was hasty in guilt as well. None but Írissë. And Írissë was gone.

Tyelko would do well to remember it. As much as Lómion resembled his mother, he was not Írissë. He was not his best friend.

So he tried to be gentle, as much as he was capable of, but he wasn't Nelyo. Neither was he Kano. He was Tyelko, who could not speak without offending or hurting someone.

He softened his tone, trying to sound as sorry as he felt. But he doubted he could. He never did. "What did you need this for?"

Lómion, despite Celegorm’s doubts, picked up on the almost apologetic tone of his voice. "To… to dry the leaves. If we just hang them over the fire they'll only burn."

Celegorm thought about it and nodded eventually. He felt stupid for not thinking of this himself. If it weren't for Lómion, he would have burned all the flowers, wasting precious time and resources.

If it weren't for him you wouldn't even know how to cure Timo...

But if it weren't for him Timo wouldn't have been hurt in the first place.

Timo would've died saving Íri as you would have. Don't blame the boy for something he had no say in.

He mentally argued with himself as he carried the stone over to the spot where Elion had requested the fire.

To Lómion’s amazement, Celegorm looked to be completely unaffected by the weight of the stone even after holding it for far longer than Lómion, whose arm still hurt from picking it up.

Lómion glared at him and looked at his own arms. Twigs indeed. 

He huffed irritably and went to help Celegorm gather some firewood. Together they arranged the wood around the stone, and Celegorm kindled the fire. While he did that, Lómion worked to separate the leaves from the flowers and lay them down on the stone, which was heating up slowly.

Meanwhile, Elion prepared more of the poppy milk. He couldn't get Maedhros to wake this time, so he had to be especially careful slipping a small amount of the liquid down his throat. But thankfully, he swallowed it, and Elion took some time to slowly and gradually give him more of the medicine until it seemed like his heart rate had slowed down to a more reasonable level.

With his adrenaline fading, Elion sat down suddenly. He was exhausted after having ridden all night, endured the immense mental stress of this horrible situation, and now having rigorously performed the chest compressions. It was unfortunate that there wasn't another healer around, because he needed rest, but at the same time he needed to maintain constant vigilance over Maedhros. So he tried to take advantage of this relatively calm moment and rest himself. He would do Maedhros no good if he was collapsing from exhaustion.

Having finished the fire and seeing Elion practically collapse, Tyelko came over and sat down next to Nelyo, holding his wrist to check his pulse.

He ordered a guard to bring him a bowl of water and a clean cloth. When he received those, he soaked the cloth and placed it on Nelyo's forehead, trying to cool him down a bit.

Celegorm felt bitterly useless as his brother laid in front of him, battling for his life, and he wasn’t doing anything.

"I wish I were the one hurt and you were the one taking care of me. you would know what to do at least. I'm not good at this. Or if you could have Kano here… or certainly Aranya… they’d know what to do…”

He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice as he thought about Maitimo’s favorite brother and his… favorite healer. He would have adamantly denied that he had a favorite brother, or a healer that he regarded as anything more than just a healer. But it was true. Tyelko had been painfully aware of this for most of his life.

“I'm sure you would have preferred this,” Tyelko choked. “Right, brother?"

He almost expected a response, but his brother's lips remained sealed. Yet the rise and fall of his chest gave him some comfort as he fought back tears.

With the fire now going thanks to Celegorm and Lómion, and having had a moment to rest, Elion prepared a tea with calming herbs. He poured some for himself and offered some to Celegorm and Lómion as well.

Lómion sank down against a tree and gratefully accepted the cup of tea Elion offered to him. As he drank it, he could almost immediately feel a soothing effect on his mind as his worries eased, even for a short time. But his stomach felt hollow. He realized he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and the sun was in the middle of the sky already.

Celegorm noticed this, realizing that while he and the rest of the guards had dinner at least since last night, Lómion hadn't eaten anything. That wasn’t a good situation, given the distance between the place they found him and here. He fished out some of the remaining lembas from Nelyo’s pack, offering it to the boy and Elion, which they both accepted gladly.

Lómion still felt a little nauseous, but he forced himself to take a few bites, and his dizziness began to fade. So much had happened since yesterday, he hadn't even felt the hunger up until now.

As they sipped the tea, Elion took some time to think about what to do next. There was still much to do; Elion had yet to properly clean and redress Maedhros' arm. And based on his left leg being bent at an unnatural angle, Elion figured there must have been a fracture there. It would have to be set, but that would be tricky given the complexity of the knee joint. He was hesitant to do any of that while Maedhros was in such a fragile state. He decided all that would wait until the antidote was ready.

And in the meantime, it was a chilly day and it would surely develop into an even colder night. And Maedhros had been laying on the cold ground all night; this surely wasn't good for his fever. Elion decided that while he was waiting for the foxgloves to finish drying, he would try to see if he could get that fever to go down.

What Maedhros really needed, though, and what Elion could not currently provide, was breathing mist. Such mist could have kept him comfortably asleep, eased his breathing, reduced pain, and helped his fever go down. But to create it took considerable effort from several healers, since it relied on passion and energy from the fëa. Elion didn’t have much of that to spare at the moment.

"My lord," he said, addressing Celegorm, "do you think you could call your hound over and have him lay beside your brother? We need to try to keep him warm."

Celegorm didn’t even get the chance to speak a word before Huan bounded over to them, cuddling close to Timo but still careful to not move him.

Tyelko chuckled and shook his head. Huan, despite being such a big intimidating hound, was only a giant fluff ball at heart, and didn't even have to be asked to cuddle someone, especially Timo whom he adored most between all his brothers.

Elion smiled faintly, but all this brought up another question in his mind, so he went ahead and asked Celegorm directly. "And when do you think we shall return to Himlad? I do not like how cold this day and night will surely be, and I need more supplies and the assistance of other healers. Yet at the same time I am hesitant to move Lord Maedhros even by a few inches, let alone try to safely bring him all the way back to Himlad."

As they spoke, Lómion leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He agreed with Elion’s points. After Maedhros' heart had stopped for a few minutes and Elion had revived him successfully, Lómion had been much more hesitant to offer any help or knowledge to Elion.

Maedhros' body had battled the poison with such fierceness, Lómion had forgotten he was just an Elda like them, and his resilience didn't make him a god.

Celegorm nodded, also agreeing with Elion. Nelyo almost dying had scared him enough that he refused to take the slightest risk in moving him too much or too quickly.

And Curufin would be worried now for sure. They'd need more guards for protection in case of an attack, and Elion needed help from other healers, according to his own claims and his disheveled and tired appearance.

Celegorm called Vórion over. "Head back to the stronghold and come back with at least fifty of our best. Elion here needs more supplies and some assistants to help him take care of my brother until his health improves enough for him to be moved. Tell Curvo to come himself and leave the castle in care of Tyelpe for a while if he can. Ask him to provide enough supplies for all of us. We'll be staying here for a while. And… make sure to bring... two carriages."

He said those last few words with great difficulty, still hardly able to believe what had happened.

Vórion bowed to him wordlessly, yet his face was grief stricken. He left to prepare his horse for the journey back.

"You can go get some rest, Elion,” Celegorm added, turning to the healer. “You'll be no use to my brother while you can barely stand. Me and Lómion here can take care of him ourselves for now. He seems stable enough. We'll call you if he needs you."

Lómion, though, wasn't sure if he wanted to accept this responsibility. He had been careless while treating Maedhros, and if he had actually died from his sudden stroke, Lómion couldn't have forgiven himself.

After all, what did he know of the healing arts? Nothing but what Eöl had taught him of poisons and Aredhel's lessons about treating minor wounds. He was barely out of childhood and the fact that Elion had even trusted him enough to take his advice amazed him.

Elion smiled gratefully as Celegorm gave him permission to go and rest. He and Lómion seemed competent enough in keeping Maedhros stable for now, so it seemed a good trade-off to take the slight risk of letting himself sleep for a little while. He would be much more useful after getting some rest.

“Very well, my lord,” he said with a bow. “Please wake me, however, if anything changes, no matter how small. If he wakes up, or if his pulse speeds up or slows down, I need to know about it. Do not feel guilty or hesitant about waking me.”

Celegorm and Lómion nodded in agreement, and Elion went a short distance away and laid down near a fire one of the guards had started. As he drifted off to sleep, he worried a little about Lómion too. The boy had been through a great ordeal today and seemed to be handling it well so far, but hopefully it wouldn’t overwhelm him again.

Lómion, though, looked tense. Tyelko wondered if it was because they were alone now. He might have scared him away with his outburst earlier, for all he knew. He sighed, frustrated with himself.

"You can go rest as well. I can take care of my brother on my own."

Even the words he meant to say so Lómion could be at ease in his presence came out biting because the boy started at his tone, yet didn't leave.

"I can't leave him alone. I owe him my care for what he did for us. Thank you for the offer, though."

His sarcastic tone made Tyelko smile. Írissë's son indeed.

"Suit yourself. " He went back to Nelyo and soaked the towel again, putting it back on his forehead.

He couldn't wait for Timo to wake so maybe part of this nightmare could be over.

Chapter Text

The benefit to strong substances like milk of poppy was that they were effective in reducing pain and aiding in sleep and relaxation. The downside to them was that they also messed with the mind, and Maitimo had no shortage of nightmarish memories to fuel the vivid dreams produced therefrom.

He found himself hanging from Thangorodrim again. This wasn’t such an uncommon occurrence; he dreamed about it often, and even though he wasn’t aware he was dreaming, he resigned himself to his fate. He vividly remembered the pain shooting down his arm and shoulder, the numbness in his hand, the wounds yet unhealed from torture decades prior. Yet he was oddly calm about it. He had been hanging here for as long as he could remember, and would until the end of time.

Except, there was something different this time. Findekáno never came for him.

The decades turned into centuries. Many centuries. The time passed agonizingly slowly. Maedhros’ perception of real time was distorted by the powerful drug, so the dream indeed felt like many centuries to him.

And over those centuries, he began to change.

His skin turned a dull, rotten-looking gray. His hair became brittle and eventually fell out entirely. His teeth sharpened into animalistic fangs. And his lips could no longer utter the pure vowels or clean consonants of Quenya or Sindarin, but only harsh, gravelly growls and snarls. And he lost all memory of who he had once been before.

It was only after this transformation was complete when Morgoth released him.

Though this creature who had once been Maedhros had lost his memories, his language, his beauty and his very identity, he retained his strength and cleverness, making him much more powerful than other Orcs. And so he was unleashed on all those who had once been his family. He led armies into battle against Amras. Caranthir. Celegorm and Curufin. Maglor. And even Fingon.

None of them recognized him, of course, nor he them. He only knew he had an insatiable rage against them for some reason. They… abandoned him. That was all he knew.

Their struggle was endless, since he was too clever and strong for any of them to kill easily. And he never managed to kill any of them either. He dealt them bitter wounds whenever he could, yet they survived.

The only one he did manage to kill was a maiden named Aredhel, who had gotten lost in a dark forest. He had no reason to kill her. He had vaguely heard that she was inciting a rebellion amongst the Noldor or something like that.

Throughout all this, he always sought after something. He knew he could not rest until he found… what was it? Something shiny. Whenever someone held a rock in their hands, he killed them without fully understanding why.

One thing remained consistent: he was trapped in a foul, senselessly violent, and painful existence with no way out.

Eventually he came across a young boy, who strikingly resembled the maiden who had incited the rebellion. The boy was struggling to pick up a heavy rock, so naturally, the creature had to kill him.

He drew his sword, but the boy only gazed calmly back up at him.

“You can’t really kill me,” he said with an air of defiant confidence. “Because none of this is real.”

None of this is… real?

That boy… the boy was… Lómion.

The realization was enough to cause Maitimo to jolt awake, gasping, his heart racing.

He examined his left hand, which was shaking visibly and scraped up from being bound with ropes earlier, but still a normal, natural fair skin tone, and not gray. And reaching for a lock of hair, he was relieved to find it was still long, thick and healthy.

It had only been a dream. He was Nelyafinwë Maitimo, an Elda, and not an Orc.

But the horror of the nightmare burned in his mind even as his senses reawakened. Somehow his mind had merged together the horrors he had personally lived through alongside an even more horrifying story which had never been personally relevant to him… but perhaps it almost had. The story of the deceived Elves who were corrupted and distorted into Orcs had always frightened him when he was young, and it hit much closer to home after he himself had been held captive in Angband. Despite his scars, both physical and mental, and his lost hand, he considered himself lucky relative to those unfortunate creatures.

However, he held very little pity for modern Orcs. Being generations removed from the original Elves, they willingly served Morgoth and loved senseless violence, raiding lands all over the realm and plaguing the people who lived there. And they loved to beat and taunt anyone held captive in Angband. So Maedhros never had qualms about decapitating or impaling them by the dozens.

As the confusion brought on from the medicine faded, so, too, did some of its protection from pain. Maitimo’s breath caught in his throat as he was hit with a severe, pounding pain in his chest. Now it hurt even to breathe deeply. What was that all about? There were still his other injuries to contend with, and his heart rate picking up once again. And he wasn’t sure if he was too hot under this fur cloak or too cold under the wet cloth on his forehead.

And why did his situation seem to be getting worse and worse with time, and not any better? And… what was “this situation” all about in the first place? His memories were choppy, with only a few random images here and there to guide him. There was a gleaming, dark blade. A struggle on the ground against some Dark Elf. Aredhel tied to a tree.

Aredhel… Írissë… something bad had happened to her too… and there was someone else… someone important…

Overwhelmed with it all, tears fell from his eyes.

Beside him, there was a slight movement from something soft and warm. It took Maitimo a second to realize that it was Huan curled up next to him, and he let out a soft whimper, seeing Maitimo’s distress.

Huan… that’s right, Tyelko is here too… how did he get here?

Maitimo managed to put his arm weakly around Huan. The hound’s tail thumped slightly behind him, but he kept very still otherwise.

Tyelko and Lómion, who weren’t far off, heard Huan’s soft whimper and ran to him.

Meanwhile, these past few hours had passed both swiftly and slowly in the mess that was Celegorm's mind.

The weather, much to their dismay, hadn't improved much and it seemed to be getting worse if those dark rainy clouds had any say in it. Strong winds came to pay them a visit, resulting in Nelyo's teeth chattering madly. The fur cloak and Huan's presence were proven useless. The only thing Celegorm could do to protect his brother from the cruel whips of the wind was to cover him with his own body.

Even though the wind came and went eventually, Celegorm didn't move from his place beside his brother, trying to offer as much warmth as he could.

And in all honesty, he didn't want to move either. Despite lying on a cold, hard ground, he was comfortable holding on to his brother and listening to his heartbeat. Timo always felt like home, and holding him made him feel like he was back in their house in Tirion, an elfling again. His Atto was there. So was his Ammë, and their little Pityo. They'd fight and argue, but at the end of the day, they were a family.

Írissë's boy had left them at some point, for which Celegorm was thankful. Few people were allowed to see this weak side of him, and Lómion, despite being the son of his best friend, hadn't earned it yet.

Lómion spent those hours lightly dozing as they waited for the herbs to dry, but he didn't dare to fully fall asleep in case the leaves burned when he wasn't paying attention. He also monitored the movement of the sun in the sky, at least until those alarmingly dark clouds concealed her from view. The weather had been anything but kind to them, and those relentless, cruel winds had made him anxious about Maedhros' condition yet again.

As he watched Celegorm shield his brother with his own body, Lómion had realized this was the Celegorm his mother talked about.

His tongue is as venomous as a viper’s fangs, and he will sting you. But you'll get used to it after you’ve been stung enough. Only then will he allow you to see the kind heart beating under all the armor he wears. You just have to be patient.

Lómion could see it now. Celegorm hadn't treated him as awfully as he imagined he would. Nana had died because of him, after all. Lómion had taken Celegorm’s best friend from him.

But Lómion could see he hadn't been stung enough for Celegorm to show him his other side. Maedhros had, though.

As soon as the wind began to blow a little harder, Lómion grabbed some of the guards’ shields and used them to protect the fire. Thankfully, it was enough to keep the fire going and prevent the leaves from being blown away by the wind. By the time the leaves were ready, the weather had calmed down, so Lómion didn't waste any more time in filling the kettle, which he placed over the fire. With what little strength he had left, he had picked up the leaves from the stone– gingerly, as they were still hot– and put them all in a piece of cloth to cool down. Once the water boiled, he returned to the leaves, but he found Elion already there.

Elion had not rested long, but the few hours he took were helpful. He was pleased to find the herbs mostly dry when he woke, and Lómion was already working to prepare the antidote. Elion looked at him with pity; the poor boy was clearly exhausted. Elion stood up from his bedroll and approached him.

“Go get Lord Celegorm and tell him the antidote is nearly ready,” Elion said, putting a gentle hand on Lómion’s shoulder. “I’ll finish the preparations from here.”

Lómion nodded and hesitantly walked towards Celegorm. Despite lying there on the cold ground, he looked all too comfortable as he protected Maedhros’ unconscious form, which brought Lómion some guilt to disturb him. “Lord Celegorm? The antidote will be ready soon.”

This news, Celegorm thought, was definitely worth disturbing his momentary peace. At least one aspect of Timo’s suffering would be lessened soon. Still holding Timo, he sat up carefully and noticed Elion busy around the fire they had built for drying the foxglove leaves.

He looked at Lómion then. Really looked at him. Celegorm’s mind had been so full of thoughts of his brother's fate and his grief for Írissë, that he had forgotten he was supposed to look after her little son too. The said son wasn't looking good. He looked to be barely standing on his feet, with dark circles under his eyes, not only from all the crying he did today.

"After Maedhros drinks the antidote, make sure to get some sleep. I will look after him. You need not worry for him anymore."

The boy must have been exhausted, for he didn't object like he did earlier. He merely nodded and walked towards the fire, to help Elion crush the leaves into the water they had boiled.

Celegorm reluctantly left Maitimo’s shivering form and joined the others by the fire, unsure of his role here. He knew little to nothing of healing, so he could only stand there, awkward yet impatient for them to finish with it. Impatient for Timo to be alright again.

Once the antidote was ready, he heard the soft whimpers of Huan. These whines sounded distressed and… happy?

Tyelko! Look!

Celegorm turned to look at them then. At his brother's figure panting but thankfully conscious. He, Lómion and Elion all hurried towards him, but Celegorm reached him first.

Seeing Lómion caused many of the missing memories to suddenly hit Maitimo. This was Írissë’s son. And now she was dead.

And he knew this for certain because he had sort of drifted into Mandos, not too long ago, and he had seen her there, alongside people he knew to be long gone like Fëanáro and Pityo.

Most importantly of all, Írissë had entrusted Lómion’s care to Maitimo. He had a duty.

With the nightmares, pain and grief all in overwhelming force, Maitimo’s anguish could no longer be contained to a few tears, and he wept quietly yet bitterly, his body trembling. If he had the strength, he would have screamed or cried out.

As Tyelkormo and Lómion and Elion came beside him, he whispered faintly, with every word strained and painful, “Please… do not put me to sleep again…”

Lómion glanced uneasily at Celegorm, deeply unsettled by seeing this strong willed ellon weeping like that. Tyelko must have felt similarly, given the way his normally-proud gaze lost its battle to tears. He sat down next to Maitimo, pulling him into his arms so he was leaning back against his chest. 

Elion and Lómion, though neither admitted it, both felt like intruders as they watched the brothers share a tender moment. Lómion could only stand and watch uncomfortably. Elion wasn’t sure it was very wise of Celegorm to move him to a sitting position like that, but then again, it was good to get Maedhros away from the cold ground as much as possible. But there was still work to do on the antidote, so Elion quietly led Lómion away so they could finish brewing the tea.

"Hush! It's alright. You're safe. I'm here..." Tyelko whispered in Maitimo’s ear, trying to comfort his brother like he comforted him, a long time ago. He held him a little tighter and planted a soft kiss on his hair.

Another, more childish voice echoed in his mind then, in a distress similar to Maedhros'.

~~~

Little Tyelko woke up with a jerk, screaming and clutching his blanket for dear life.

His voice though sounded small compared to the yelling and screaming coming from his parents’ room. Good, then. He didn't want Makalaurë to have heard him or even worse, little Carnistir.

The echo of the screams resembled the voices he so frequently heard these days.

Going to his parents was out of the question. Not that he wanted to either. If he went to them, they might think he was not old enough to sleep in his own room and make him share one with Moryo again.

Even so, he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

As his quiet weeping had turned to sobs, he decided there was no calming down on his own. But who could he go to?

Kano? No. He'd tell him to just forget it and go back to his lyre again.

Nelyo? But he had spent all day hunting with Atto and Haru Finwë. He'd be sleeping by now. But then again, who could sleep with all this screaming? He'd be awake for sure. With that, Tyelko decided he had no choice but to seek out his eldest brother. Tying the blanket around his neck like a cape, he left his room quietly.

It wasn't hard to go through the corridor to reach Nelyo's room unnoticed, considering how his parents had no plans to give up on whatever they were fighting about.

Holding the handle, he opened the door slowly. Nelyo never locked his room in case of the nightmare emergencies like now, or for when they were just sad and needed some Nelyo time.

Inside, true to his assumptions, he found Nelyo behind his desk and holding a scroll, his back to him. He wasn't actually reading it though as it was upside down. 

Atar and Ammë sure had been fighting a lot these days, and it worried Maitimo. He never understood, exactly, what they were arguing about. Something about the Valar, and Uncle Nolofinwë, and the Silmarils. Sometimes Maitimo tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, and then immediately regretted it. Though he was morbidly curious what was the reason behind all this yelling, it made him sick to his stomach to hear Fëanáro say things like, "And I thought you were once called The Wise, but now I know better!" And to hear Nerdanel respond with things like, "Your pride and stubbornness will one day be the death of you!"

Young Maitimo didn't understand what all these things meant, but it terrified him to hear them argue like that. Though it was late and he was tired out from the hunting trip earlier, he couldn't rest with such stressful racket going on. So he absentmindedly picked up a scroll and tried to study, but the words blurred before his eyes, and he was so distracted he didn't even realize he was holding it upside-down.

He heard his door open quietly behind him, and the soft breathing and sniffles of a crying child. Maitimo got up and turned to face Tyelko, finding this a welcome distraction to trying to ignore the argument of their parents. He might not have understood any of that or been able to help, but at least he could take care of his little brothers.

"Tyelko, come here," he said softly, kneeling down and opening up his arms. Tyelko burst into tears anew and practically flew into his embrace.

Tyelko had asked Laurë once how Nelyo always knew when they were around or what they were up to even when they were absent. Kano had shrugged and told him it was because of his Nelyo senses. He could find them all whenever he wished to because he was the eldest.

Tyelko had found out he hated and loved Nelyo's Nelyo senses at the same time. Because whenever he was doing something he was not supposed to do, or he was just sad and wanted hugs, Timo knew. And Timo was there. And this time was no different.

"Now what's the matter?" Maitimo asked, sitting on his bed and effortlessly lifting little Tyelkormo onto his lap. Any number of things could have been wrong, he figured. Perhaps Tyelko had heard their parents' shouting too and was anxious about it, or he was just feeling especially clingy– even by Tyelko standards, which was a lot– and wanted some cuddle time. In which case, Maitimo was happy to oblige. Comforting little Tyelko might comfort himself a little, too.

Timo's soft words and warm embrace worked like magic in calming Tyelko's distress. Yet even in Timo's presence, it took him a few seconds to be able to talk. 

"I… I had a bad dream." he said, still sniffling but his tears no longer flowing.

Maitimo hummed but didn't say anything, indicating he was listening to him.

"You were gone, Timo! And everyone said it was my fault! I tried looking for you everywhere but couldn't... couldn't find you!"

With that his sobs started anew. Clinging to his brother's shirt, he looked into his soft gray eyes, so different from his own sky blue ones. 

"Please never leave me, Timo!" He threw his arms around Maitimo's neck, and his brother’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It was just a dream," Maitimo reassured Tyelko, holding him in a tight embrace. "I'm here now, and you're safe, and I'll never leave you. I promise."

Pulling away, he smiled and wiped the tears from his brother's round little cheeks. "I'll tell you what. You can sleep in my bed tonight, and I won't tell anyone." He winked, and Tyelko's bright eyes lit up. Though he was starting to get to that age where he insisted he wasn't a baby anymore and was grown up enough to have a room all to himself, Maitimo knew him better than that. Most nights, Tyelko was fine on his own. But on other nights, he couldn't quite handle being alone. Eventually he would grow out of that, and Maitimo wanted to treasure these moments while they were still around.

He kissed him on his blond head, tucked him into the bed and eventually laid down beside him. It wasn't long before Tyelko was sound asleep with his head on Maitimo's chest. He would likely be up and jumping on the bed anyway at the crack of dawn, being the hasty riser he was.

Maitimo soon drifted off to sleep himself. Even though he was the one protecting and comforting his little brother, he secretly felt comforted by his presence, too.

~~~

And now, centuries later, Maitimo needed Tyelko's comfort more than anything.

Being moved hurt him a little, but he didn't care. It was worth it to be pulled away from the cold ground and into his brother's firm embrace, where for a while he could do nothing but shudder and sob. This worsened the new pain in his chest, but he couldn't help it. And his heart was racing again, which only increased that painful throbbing sensation.

Maitimo was grateful that Tyelko didn't seem to be asking about the nightmare, nor did he seem to know specifically that he had actually had one. But he didn't want to talk about it, and was grateful for Tyelko's few words.

He hadn't seen him this affectionate in a long time. Over the centuries, Maitimo felt he and Tyelko had been drifting apart, mostly because of their stark differences in temperament and strategy. Maitimo being the cautious, diplomatic and sensitive one, often prone to overthinking, while Tyelko was often brash, impulsive and aggressive. Their differences had only seemed to increase over the years. And after Thangorodrim, it had primarily been Findekáno and Makalaurë at Maitimo's side. Not that his other brothers didn't care; of course they all did, and they had all spent time with him and helped him in their own ways. But it had primarily been Fingon and Maglor, and Aranya the healer, who kept constant vigilance. In fact, they slept in the same tent where Maitimo had recovered, never leaving unless they absolutely had to, or if he specifically asked them to. And now, being faced with another miserably painful situation, Maitimo couldn't help yearning for one of them to be around.

But Tyelko was proving himself a surprisingly great source of comfort right now, and Maitimo was grateful for it.

"I'm... glad... you're here," he whispered faintly.

Tyelko couldn't help but smile bitterly. Maedhros' words from that day, that fateful day, had not stayed true. He had left Tyelko, though it wasn’t his own fault. Tyelko had woken up many a night, screaming from nightmares, and yet during those thirty long years, there was no Timo to comfort him.

And no matter what Timo or Laurë or any other well-meaning person said, Tyelko had very good reason to believe this was his own fault. Had he been less of a coward, he could have saved his brother.

Tyelko snapped out of his despairing thoughts when Maitimo had calmed down enough to speak to him again.

He didn't answer him with words. Instead, he put his cheek on his brother's head instead and closed his eyes, trying to forget all about that horrible memory. Timo was here. And Timo was alive. Nothing else mattered.