Note: the 'þ' in 'Aþyare' is pronounced 'th', like in þerinde.

I had a lot of fun and pain writing this, so I hope you enjoyed! 

Valar, there was so much blood.

What did I just do? Finno dimly wondered as he held Maedhros upright while Thorondor flew them both towards the Noldorin camp that was a distant speck on the plain. Valar, I cut off his hand, I–

Maedhros shifted in Finno's arms, making some unintelligible noise. Finno wrapped him tighter in his cloak, careful of his bandaged arm. Valar, what have I done?

---

A Nelda standing on guard saw them first.

Murmuring rippled through the camp, and heads turned to the sky. A dark blob blotted out the sun, too far for even keen elven eyes to make out.

As they got closer, the elves below could see a smudge of brown, blue, and red.

Shouts broke out. "It's an eagle!"

"It's Findekáno and his cousin!"

"He escaped from Angband!"

Banners rippled as Thorondor landed on an empty stretch of land, in the middle of the Noldorin campsite. People ran up to him, talking excitedly.

Fingon slid from Thorondor's back with a quick 'thank you' and shouted to the soldiers. "Someone help!"

They immediately sprang into action, helping Finno carry an unconscious Maedhros. Whispers were exchanged when they beheld Maedhros in that terrible state, face pale and bloodless, skin ashen, once flaming hair now a dull russet. The bandages on his right arm were soaked with blood.

A healer stood at the entrance of a large tent, wringing her hands. Finno brought Maedhros in, gently setting him down on the fluffy bed.

"Get messengers to Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, and Amras please," Finno told a soldier. He nodded and ran off.

The healer shooed out everyone else except for Fingon. She gently removed the cloak Finno had wrapped around Maedhros and gasped. Maedhros's pale skin was slashed with brutal scars and burns, some only half-healed.

"Mairon–" Finno swallowed, before gesturing to Maedhros. "For I don't know how long..."

The healer nodded wordlessly and covered him in a blanket, gently setting his right arm on top. "I suggest you leave him for a moment, my Lord. I suspect this will get quite... messy."

"Just Fingon, please. Call me Fingon. And I'll stay."

She bowed her head. "As you wish, my L– uh, Fingon." She gave a wan smile and began unwrapping the stained bandages. "What happened here?"

Finno sat down in a chair next to the bed and squeezed his eyes close, clearing his throat before telling the story.

The healer worked on Maedhros's arm, hands flying. Within a few minutes, she had applied healing salve and rebandaged it, far better than Finno's handiwork.

"So now we're here," Finno finished.

She nodded absently, gathering up supplies. "I see, Lord Fingon."

"Just Fingon, please." He looked at her curiously. "What is your name? Forgive me for not asking."

"It's Aþyare, Fingon." She tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "I'll work on the other wounds now."

An hour later, Maedhros was half-wrapped in bandages and dressed in loose clothing. He still hadn't awoken but had stirred a couple of times, murmuring something incomprehensible.

Aþyare had left the tent to bring food, leaving Finno sitting by Maedhros's bed, having nothing to do but watch his shallow breathing.

"Your brothers are coming, Nelyo," Finno whispered. "You'd better be awake by then." Fingon combed a hand through his braids, undoing one and shaking out the curled, golden ribbon. Thinking back to the bright days under the Two Trees, Finno braided it into Maedhros's hair. It didn't look quite right, since his red hair wasn't its usual bright hue.

Maedhros groaned, rolling over stiffly. Fingon held his breath, watching to see whether he would wake up or not.

His face fell when Maedhros settled again and didn't open his eyes. Although... he would likely be in more pain if he woke up. Maybe it was better that he hadn't yet.

Aþyare walked back in, carrying a tray with two bowls of broth. "If you wish to eat something else, my Lord Fingon, you could go to the campfire." She set one bowl down by the wooden nightstand and handed him the other. "That one is for Lord Maedhros when he wakes up. If it is cold, I can ask them to heat it again."

"I don't mind," Fingon replied. "Aren't you eating?" He had given up trying to make Aþyare call him 'Fingon'.

"No my Lord, I–" her eyes dropped to the floor as if she was embarrassed. "I don't– I usually lose my appetite after seeing patients, my Lord." She murmured, still not looking up.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Aþyare," Finno said gently. "I still have to spend half an hour heaving my guts up after a battle." He chuckled.

The corner of Aþyare's mouth tugged upwards. "You should eat before the broth gets cold, my Lord." She took an empty bucket and left the tent.

Fingon wolfed down the food and helped Aþyare bring in more bandages and water. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky in bright, iridescent colors.

"I can take care of him, my Lord," Aþyare said after having rebandaged Maedhros's hand. Finno sat unmoving, still watching. "You can go to your own tent, and if anything happens, I can wake you."

Fingon shook his head. "I'll stay. You go get some rest, Aþyare. Thank you so much for your help."

"My Lord, I'm not tired. I can–"

Fingon smiled wryly. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, Aþyare. You have been working very hard."

She gave no further protest and left with a soft 'good night'.

Finno sighed as Maedhros slept on in the flickering lamplight.

---

Fingon must have fallen asleep at some point because he was woken by a long, drawn-out scream.

He jolted, eyes wide open. The lamp had burned out a long time ago and Finno's eyes took a moment to adjust.

"Nelyo?"

Maedhros was awake, eyes flared wide. His breathing was shallow and rapid. Maedhros screamed again.

"Nelyo! What's wrong?" Fingon fumbled, trying to find a match. He found one and struck it, lighting the lamp again. "Nelyo?"

Maedhros looked towards him and the lamp, flinching back.

"Nelyo, it's me. You're safe..."

Maedhros pressed his bandaged arm against his chest and shrank back again.

"Russo, it's me. You're safe, I promise."

Maedhros turned his head, noticing the golden ribbon Finno had braided in. His breathing slowed down slightly, becoming more steady.

It took several minutes of coaxing before Maedhros's eyes seemed to focus again, before his breathing became regular.

"I'm sorry," both of them whispered at the same time.

"What have you to be sorry for?" Finno asked.

"I– I don't– I'm not– I had a nightmare." Maedhros closed his eyes and swallowed. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

The words got stuck inside Fingon's throat. "What I had to do to... get you out..."

"Don't ever apologize for that. It's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself." Maedhros lifted his eyes to Fingon's, the green fire in them burning just a little bit brighter.

Fingon nodded.

"You... you get that look about you. When something is eating at you. When you feel guilty. I could always tell, back in Valinor." Maedhros started playing with the braid in his hair. "As elflings, when you thought you did something bad."

Fingon stretched his hand towards his best friend.

---

Valar, that nightmare had brought back so many feelings. Maedhros shut them down, trying to forget.

A cold laugh, born of a colder heart.

Pain. Utter, unending pain, flashing red and hot.

"Do you think you deserve better, kinslayer?"

"No one will come to save you, Nelyafinwë. Not your Atar, not your dear brothers, not even valiant Findekáno. No one. You simply don't deserve it, the murderer that you are."

"You know, I'm surprised you lasted so long. I thought you'd be dead by now. What a pleasant surprise!"

"Every single scar you collect, every burn, every bit of pain, know that you have deserved it."

Kinslayer.

Slaughterer.

Murderer.

Cursed.

"Russo?"

Maedhros pulled himself out of the memories and took Finno's outstretched hand in his own, his motions awkward. He'd have to get used to using his left hand, and the lack of his right one.

"Tell me about your nightmares," Finno said to him. "If you want to, of course. You don't have to–"

"No no... I think it'll do me some good if I– if I tell you..." Maedhros leaned back. "They're mostly about Sauron–"

"Sauron?"

"I– well, I gave Mairon another name..."

The corner of Fingon's mouth twitched.

Maedhros smacked him on the arm weakly. "He used to come to me every day, or something like that... time was hard to tell. He would come, and– and–" Maedhros paused, taking a deep breath.

Finno squeezed his hand and handed him a glass of water. Maedhros drank deeply before continuing, his voice a bit quieter. "He'd come and taunt me, while... you know." Maedhros used his right hand to gesture to his chest, wrapped in bandages that hid his scars. Maedhros drew his knees up to his chest and lowered his head, taking a shuddering breath.

---

Maedhros was pacing around the tent when Fingon came back in. He halted, looking at Finno with a sigh.

"What's wrong?"

Maedhros waved a hand. "I feel useless, sitting here all day and not doing anything to help."

Finno tried to placate him. "You're still healing, Nelyo. Give it a few more weeks."

"It's been a month!"

Seeing his agitated state, Fingon frowned but gave in. "You don't mind paperwork? I mean, calculations and supplies and things," Fingon hastily corrected his statement, realizing there was no way Maedhros could write.

Maedhros tossed a thin smile in his direction, a little bit of his old self finally back. "You hate it that much?"

"You know I never liked working with numbers," Finno said, thinking back to Valinor.

"A bit of an understatement," Maedhros muttered under his breath.

Finno elbowed him playfully. "You said you wanted to help."

"And I will. Where are the papers?"

Fingon led him to one of the bigger tents. In it was a bed and a desk, both of which were extremely messy. Finno hastily shoved some stray pieces of clothing under the covers of his bed.

"I saw that you know," Maedhros remarked dryly. "Your bedroom was even more of a mess, back in... you know. Valinor." He cleared his throat awkwardly and sighed when he beheld the desk. It was littered with papers, completely covered and overflowing. "What have you been doing these past weeks?"

"I, uhh... well, I can say that I haven't been doing paperwork..."

"Well, no surprise there," Maedhros mumbled as he cleared the desk and sat down.

Fingon patted Maedhros's shoulder after having found the papers he needed and left to talk to his captains about the threat that Morgoth posed to them.

---

He was utterly powerless, trapped, and held captive. He could only watch in horror as everyone he cared about was dragged into the dim room and forced to kneel. His parents. His brothers. His uncles. His cousins. Even little Tyelpë.

They burned as he watched on, helpless.

No. No no no no no

This is not real

No

Fire. Death. Burning, burning, falling.

Wake up

Wake up

This is not real

"Wake up!"

Maedhros gasped for breath as he was dragged out of the hellish nightmare. His vision blurred, and there seemed to be someone shaking his shoulder. Or two people.

Two voices blended together, and Maedhros found himself looking at Fingon and Maglor, both peering down anxiously.

"Nelyo?"

Maedhros took a shuddering breath and drew his knees up to his chest with a wince. "I– nightmare."

He had enough of waking up screaming every night, of being dragged into horrendous nightmares every time he closed his eyes, of being back in Angband again and again and again–

He was done with being afraid. He was done with being helpless. He was done with being weak.

"Teach me how to fight again."