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Chapter Text

Deep night rests over the Sundering Seas. A raging storm has passed, and on board a swan-ship, little can be heard but for the creaking of the ship and the sound of the waves, and the quiet murmurings of those on board. An elf-woman stands at the edge of the ship, resting her arms against the wood of it. Her auburn hair escapes the braid she had secured it in, soft tendrils creeping down her neck and fluttering in the sea-breeze. She tries to take deep breaths, tries to stop the trembling of her hands, but with her sword still heavy at her hip and blood still on her hands she cannot calm herself. Just breathe, she tells herself, you are the daughter of Fëanor. You will survive this. Her breath shudders as she gazes out at the darkness, her keen eyes just able to make out the swirling movements of the ocean. This darkness does not help her fear, she realises. Everything feels much more frightening in the dark. She closes her eyes, trying to calm the raging storm in her mind, and she tries to recall the light of the Trees on her skin. That light always soothed her heart, no matter what she was feeling. Before that hideous monster destroyed them forever, she thinks. The memory of it all hits her like a brutal blow; the sudden inescapable darkness, the confusion, the horrifying realisation that their grandfather was dead and the Silmarils taken, and all the bloodshed and horror that followed. She cannot even bring herself to think of that terrible Doom spoken over them, and she is sure her brothers don’t want to think of it, either. She gasps softly, grasping the wood of the ship tightly. She hears a creaking behind her, and a gentle voice breaks into her thoughts.

“Meletye? Are you alright?”

It’s Curufin, she realises. She lets out another trembling breath, and she shakes her head.

“Of course I’m not alright, brother. How could any of us be alright?” she gets out.

Her voice trembles, and she presses a hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that threatens to escape her. She hears Curufin sigh softly, and he comes closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. Meletye finds she has to fight the urge to shrug his hand off.

“All will be well, sister.” he says gently, “We survived the fighting. We survived the storm. We’ll make it to Middle-Earth, we will find our foe and we will conquer him.”

Meletye scoffs softly.

“But how much have we lost already?” she murmurs, “How many of those ships sank in the storm? How many people did we kill? Not to mention grandfather. And those we left behind. Our cousins. Our uncles. Amme.”

She bows her head, fighting back the flood of tears. Curufin comes even closer, he wraps an arm around her and she leans against him, drawing on his strength. She can sense his grief, too, just as raw and palpable as her own. For a few minutes, they stand in silence, comforting each other, until Meletye trusts herself to speak without weeping.

“Is everyone else alright?” she whispers.

Curufin is quiet for a moment.

“I think we’re all as well as we can be.” He replies, “Maedhros is still bent over the edge of the ship, he can’t seem to stop throwing up. But he’ll be fine, he’s just seasick.”

Seasick, Meletye thinks, or heartsick by our repugnant actions?

“I think the twins went below decks, to get some rest. Celegorm did, too. Maglor and Caranthir are looking after Maedhros. And atar- well, he just needed a little time alone.” Curufin continues.

Meletye scoffs softly.

“Oh, I bet he did.” She says bitterly.

Curufin gives a quiet sigh.

“Meletye-” he begins.

“Don’t.” she snaps, “Just don’t. I don’t think I have the energy to argue his actions right now.”

Silence falls once more, and Meletye can distantly hear Maedhros groaning on the other side of the ship. After a few minutes she hears creaking again, and she glances over her shoulder to see Caranthir approaching.

“Maedhros seems to be getting better.” He tells them, “At least, he’s not vomiting anymore.”

Meletye nods silently, turning back to face the ocean. Curufin sees the other side of her face for a brief moment as she turns, and he frowns slightly. He reaches out, gently taking her chin in one hand and coaxing her to turn towards him.

“You’re injured, Meletye! Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks.

Meletye grimaces slightly, feeling the sting of the cut on her cheek now she remembers it.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.” She mutters. “Don’t bother anyone else with it, I can tend it myself.”

Caranthir comes a little closer, head tilting slightly as he takes in the cut on his sister’s cheek.

“Well, you always were good at healing.” He says quietly, “I’d say we were fortunate none of us received worse wounds in that fight. We came out of it with many of our number intact, and we fought well for what we were owed.”

Meletye cannot stop the frown that crosses her face.

“We were owed nothing, Caranthir.” She says coolly, “And the more I consider it all, the less inclined I am to call it a fight. Perhaps it was simply mass murder.”

Caranthir’s gaze hardens as he looks upon her.

“They were trying to stop us from chasing our foe.” He says coldly, “Had they not stood in our way, had they not tested the Oath-”

“Don’t even mention that wretched Oath.” Meletye snaps. “And don’t pretend the Teleri deserved what we did. They didn’t.”

Caranthir sighs quietly.

“Of course you speak of our Oath with such scorn.” He replies darkly, “After all, you had not the loyalty or courage to swear it yourself.”

“Caranthir-” Curufin begins, but Caranthir ignores him.

“No wonder atar looked at you with such disappointment. But it isn’t too late, sister. You can still swear the Oath, you can still do the right thing by your family. That is, if you are not too cowardly to do it.”

“Caranthir, that’s enough.” Curufin snaps, “Leave her be. Now is not the time for this discussion.”

Meletye has turned away again. Her hands hang at her sides, and she balls them into fists, head bowed, trembling as she once more fights tears. She hears Caranthir scoff and walk away from them, and she refuses to turn to look at Curufin. She knows she will see sorrow and disappointment in his eyes.

“Mel,” he says gently, “Mel, just ignore him. You know what he’s like, he gets hurt and angry and he throws that back at others.”

Meletye shakes her head slightly.

“But he’s right.” she whimpers, “Atar looked so disappointed in me. And all our brothers will feel the same.”

“Well, I don’t.” Curufin says quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder once more. “I admit I was surprised you did not swear the Oath, but I know you. I know you had your reasons. And I know it will not stop you from fighting for your family when it matters.”

Meletye feels tears finally escaping her, and she sobs softly. She suddenly feels something, a wet nose nuzzling gently at her hand. She gasps softly as she turns to look, finding the great hunting hound beside her. Huan cocks his head and gives a soft whine.

“Oh, Huan.” She whispers.

She turns and sits down, and the dog nuzzles into her, snuffling at the tears trickling down her face. He flops down beside her, resting his head in her lap, and she strokes him gently as the tears continue to fall. His warmth on her lap, the shaggy yet soft fur between her fingers, comforts her greatly. She sighs softly and tips her head back to rest against the ship, gaze turning skywards. She realises that the clouds above are clearing, and the stars are twinkling in the dark sky.

“Look, Curufin.” She says softly, a small smile gracing her lips. “Stars.”

He huffs out a soft chuckle as he looks up. The gentle light shines down on them as the clouds break, and it brings both of them hope. Something beautiful, something familiar, something perfect in all this chaos. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Meletye still scratching Huan’s ears in just the way he likes. It’s Curufin who breaks the silence.

“You should get some rest, sister.” he says gently, “And make sure you tend that wound before you sleep. It shouldn’t give you much trouble, but you should still clean it at the very least.”

Meletye suddenly realises how tired she is, how much her bones ache and her heart wearies. She nods silently.

“I think I will go and rest.” She replies, “I trust someone will wake me if anything happens?”

Curufin nods.

“Of course, sister. We’ll wake you.” He replies.

Huan, seemingly understanding what they say, moves his head so Meletye can stand. Curufin pats her shoulder gently as she goes, and she heads below decks. She finds an empty cabin, removing her armour and sword and setting them aside. She quickly washes up, cleaning away the dried blood from her skin, trying not to think about whose blood it is. She carefully cleans the cut on her cheek and applies a healing salve to it, frowning slightly as she gazes at her reflection in a small mirror. That’s going to scar, she thinks to herself. Good. Let it serve as a reminder of my failings. She puts away her healing supplies and settles herself into the cot in the room. She doubts very much that sleep will come to her, but she finds the rocking motion of the ship is surprisingly soothing. The gentle movement of it gradually lulls her into a sleep plagued by uneasy dreams.    

Chapter Text

Meletye stands alone on the small balcony of her room. She rests her hands on the cool stone, closing her eyes as the light of the Trees slowly changes, bringing in a new day. The light of the Trees soothes the anxiety she feels, and she only opens her eyes when she hears footsteps behind her. She turns to see Maedhros, smiling gently at her.

“A new day, sister.” he says, coming to stand beside her. “Things will be better after today.”

Meletye sighs softly.

“I hope so.” she murmurs, “I miss Tirion. I miss our cousins. I just want to go back to how things were before all these arguments.”

“You mean you want to go back to gossiping in the markets with your favourite cousins?” Maedhros jokes.

“Well, I’m sure you want to spend time with your dear Fingon, brother.” Meletye replies.

Maedhros chuckles softly, and silence rests for a moment.

“Will you come to the meeting?” he asks quietly.

Meletye shakes her head.

“I’d rather stay here. I know things seem more hopeful right now, I know father’s heart has cooled a little, but I just… I have a bad feeling, Maedhros. Like this is the calm before the storm.” She replies.

The image fades, Maedhros’ reply is muffled and indiscernible, and when everything comes clear again, Meletye is standing out in one of the gardens with her best friend Taniel. The pleasant conversation and laughter they share comes to an abrupt end when a tremble runs through the ground and a rumbling sound echoes in the distance. Without any warning, darkness is suddenly descending over them, and Meletye grasps Taniel’s hand tightly. There are screams and cries of terror, and everything is suddenly plunged into chaos. Meletye rushes through the darkness, trying to find her mother, her grandfather, anyone who might know what is happening. She feels a deep, terrible dread in her heart, and she tries her best to fight the rising panic. But no matter how hard she fights it, she finds it overwhelming her, and the sense of impending doom and encroaching evil takes over her. She sinks down to the floor against a wall, huddling up small, tucking her arms tight over her head, and she stays there until that overwhelming sense of present evil begins to fade. The chaos and confusion does not fade, however, and Meletye finds herself bumped and jostled by terrified elves as she rushes through the halls of Formenos, trying desperately to find out what is happening. The halls are lit only by torchlight, throwing fearful faces into sharp relief. She hears people shouting about the vaults, shouting that something has been stolen, but for now Meletye only has mind for her family. She makes her way to where she knows her grandfather will be, and she finds her way is blocked by elves. 

“Let me through.” She demands, fighting against the arms that hold her back.

She can hear people weeping, and behind her she hears someone approaching, feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turns to see her mother, face tight with fear.

“My ladies, you should not see this.”

Deep dread swoops down on Meletye’s heart, she does not even acknowledge the elf who spoke, does not even look at their face to see who it is, and she forces her way past them, stumbling to a halt when she finds the horrifying sight awaiting her. She hears her mother’s cry of grief, she sees Finwë’s lifeless body laying on the ground, burned and bloodied and broken, but she does not seem to comprehend what she sees. Finwë’s eyes are still open, a look of shock and terror still etched across his mangled face, but there is no light in his eyes. He does not breathe or move, Meletye sees her mother lay a hand on his still chest.

“No, no, no. Please, no!” Nernadel is weeping.

Meletye still cannot move, still cannot tear her gaze away from her grandfather’s unblinking eyes. She hears more movement behind her, hears the desperate voice of Indis.

“Let me through. Please, let me see him, let me see my husband!” she cries.

The group of elves part as she pushes through them, and when she sees him she falls to her knees beside him and lets out an agonizing sound, a wail of despair and loss and grief beyond words. Meletye feels herself begin to shake, feels the tears begin to fall, and somewhere in the numbness and the shock, a new feeling begins to emerge. Anger, hot and ferocious. The sounds of grief and mourning echo in the darkness, and once again, the image fades.

Meletye blinks, and when she opens her eyes, she is standing watching in silence as her father raises his sword high above his head, calling on his children to swear his Oath. She sees the swords gleaming in the torchlight, she feels dread creep over her as something in her heart tells her that this Oath will only cause pain. She feels the anger and disappointment of her father as she refuses to swear it herself, she sees the looks of disgust and hears the angry mutterings of her brothers, but she refuses to let it sway her. She feels the desperation and fear as she fights for her life, as she hears the death-screams of countless elves, watches their blood stain the ocean red. Every single moment feels like some sort of awful nightmare, but Meletye knows she cannot wake from this reality. When the fighting is over, she feels her legs moving as if of their own accord as she moves towards the ships. She stops moving abruptly, and her breath suddenly comes too fast. She shakes with fear, and all she can hear is the echoing screams of death, all she can feel is the blood on her hands, all she can see is the face of the first elf she killed, eyes wide with the same shock that had been etched on her grandfather’s face. She cannot move, she cannot breathe, and suddenly her father is standing right in front of her.

“Come, Meletye. We move on, or we die here, too.” he tells her firmly.

Still Meletye cannot move. Fëanor rests his hands on her shoulders, the way he so often does to comfort her, but with blood splattered across his face and staining his skin there is no comfort in the gesture.

“On the ship now, Meletye. My mighty daughter. We will make him pay for what he did.”

Meletye looks around her at the chaos and bloodshed, and suddenly all she wants is her mother.

“Th-they’re dead.” She whimpers.

Fëanor’s face hardens.

“Yes, they are dead. Guilt will not bring them back.”

Meletye meets his eyes, finding that they are empty and cold- and yet despite the coldness she still sees a hint of the insurmountable grief she feels herself. Still, she cannot bring herself to move, and she senses her father’s impatience rising.

“Nothing will change what has happened. Nothing will bring the dead back to life. But nor will anything else come in our way. Now, get on the damn ship before I drag you onto it myself.” Fëanor’s voice rises towards a shout at the final words.

Meletye gasps softly, and she feels Maedhros nudging her gently.

“Come on, Mel. Just do as he says.” he murmurs.

She feels Maglor at her other side, and together they usher her onto the ship, following behind Fëanor and their brothers. Everything goes quiet again, and the image fades into darkness. Out of the darkness she hears that voice once again, powerful and awesome, speaking a Doom over the Noldor, and she sobs and presses her hands over her ears until it fades into silence. All is still once again, but the darkness does not ease. Meletye brings her hands from her ears, and she looks around her and squints, trying to make out her surroundings, but all is dark. She suddenly realises she is not on a ship anymore; she is not with her family anymore. She is now sat down, hard cold stone beneath her, and she leans against a wall. There is no light in the small room she is in, and as her eyes adjust she makes out a door, walls, and a ragged blanket on the floor. She shudders slightly, and she suddenly hears a dark, foreboding voice speaking.

“You are alone, Meletye. Completely alone.”

Meletye whimpers, pressing her hands over her ears again, but she can still hear the terrible voice.

“The least loved child of Fëanor, alone and abandoned. Doomed to a life without love. Lost to your family, and forgotten and despised by all of your brothers. This is your fate, and you cannot escape it.”

“No! I don’t want to be alone!” Meletye sobs.

“Mel? Wake up!”

Meletye gasps softly as the voice rouses her from sleep, she feels someone shaking her. The fear of the dream still surrounds her, and she tries to shake them off.

“NO!” Meletye cries loudly as she wakes with a jolt.

She sits upright in bed, hand scrabbling to find a weapon. She looks wildly around the room, and as reality settles in she finds Maedhros is crouching beside her, hand resting on her shoulder. She gives a shuddering gasp and grabs hold of his hand, clinging so tightly that it makes Maedhros wince slightly. He still has one hand on her shoulder, comforting her.

“It’s alright, Mel. Just breathe.” He says gently.

Slowly, her breathing eases up and she begins to calm down.

“Bad dream?” he asks after a few minutes.

Meletye nods silently.

“Yes.” She whispers, “It was- I...”

 She trails off into silence. Her face crumples slightly, tears fill her eyes, and Maedhros sighs softly and shifts closer to her, wrapping an arm around her.

“It’s alright, Mel.” He says softly, “It was just a bad dream.”

Meletye shudders slightly.

“It wasn’t, though. I dreamed of- of all the awful things that happened.” She says softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him what came after- the moments where she was alone in a dark place, abandoned and resented by all those she loves. A soft sob escapes her, and Maedhros holds her tighter as she weeps against him. For a little while they stay like that, Maedhros whispering soft words of comfort as Meletye gradually calms. When she feels a little steadier, she lifts her head and wipes away her tears.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asks softly.

Maedhros frowns slightly.

“I’m not sure. We’ll be on land soon, that’s why I came to get you. I think we’ll be sending ships back for the rest of our people, and then… well. Then it’s time to gather our strength and resources and pursue our foe.” He replies.

Meletye sighs softly.

“I don’t see how any good can come of any of this, brother.” She murmurs, “We’ve spilled so much blood already. We’ve lost people. We’ve left people behind. And that Oath… I know you all probably hate me for not swearing it, but it scares me. I’m afraid that only pain and suffering will come from it.”

As she speaks she feels the weight of foresight resting heavily on her mind. She closes her eyes for a moment, and all she can think of is the absolute certainty she has that terrible things await them.

“We cannot know what will come from it, Meletye.” Maedhros says softly, “But for better or worse, the Oath is sworn and we are bound to fulfil it.”

Meletye doesn’t quite know what to say. No matter what her family tells her, no matter how much they try to reassure her, she cannot shake the feeling that the Oath will cause no good. Silence rests for a moment, until Maedhros gives a soft sigh and rises to his feet, reaching out to take Meletye’s hand.

“Come, sister. Let’s go and see if we can spy land.” He says.

Meletye takes his hand and rises with him, and they head out on deck. The rest of their brothers are gathered on deck, and at the bow of the ship Meletye can see her father. He stands with his arms folded, gazing ahead of him with determination in his eyes. Meletye slowly approaches behind him, and he glances briefly at her before turning his gaze forwards again.

“Land is in sight.” He says quietly, “We will be there soon. Prepare yourselves, all of you. We will need all of our strength and fortitude for the battles ahead of us.”

He turns around to face his children.

“Hold your heads high, my children. Remember your strength, hold onto your courage, and do not forsake one another. We will not fail in our task. We will fulfil our Oath.”

They all murmur in agreement, and Fëanor nods at them, a proud smile coming across his face as he looks at them all. He then strides away to prepare his things, and the rest of them begin to disperse. Maglor pats Meletye’s shoulder in a reassuring way as he passes her, and she turns to smile at him in thanks. She stays on deck for a few minutes longer, she stares out at the gloomy outline of land just visible to her eye, and she wonders what trials await them in these new and unknown lands.

Chapter Text

Meletye heads back below decks, dressing once more in her armour and gathering together her things. She feels her hands trembling as she prepares, and try as she might, she cannot still them. When she comes back out on deck once more, the ships are pulling into shore. Some elves have already disembarked and are tying the ships securely so they do not float away. Meletye stands there for a moment, gazing at land, thinking. She hears movement behind her, and she gasps in surprise when she feels a hand land on her shoulder, whipping round to see who it is. She finds her father there, looking at her with eyebrows raised.

“Easy, Meletye.” He says quietly, “I just wanted to check you are well. Curufin and Maedhros said you were- especially sensitive after recent events.”

Meletye scoffs softly.

“Sensitive is one word for it.” she replies, “It’s just- it’s all been so much, and there’s been so little time to really process everything. I feel terrible for what we did. And I miss- I miss grandfather. And amme, and our cousins and our uncles. Everyone we left behind.”

She gives a soft sigh, and she feels it all threaten to overwhelm her again. Fëanor is silent for a moment, frowning slightly.

“I know you miss them, my girl.” He says quietly, “But grief must wait for now. We must focus on finding our foe and destroying him. We must make him pay for the pain he has caused.”

Meletye sniffles softly, trying to hold back tears that threaten to fall once more. It seems that’s all I’ve done recently, she thinks to herself, weep for these terrible events. Fëanor suddenly moves around her so he is in front of her, and he cups her face gently, thumbs brushing her tears away.

“Set your heart at ease, Meletye, and let go of the guilt. Sometimes we do what we must to survive. You cannot take back what we did. Do not punish yourself for that which cannot be changed.” He tells her gently, “And remember your strength. You are my mighty daughter; you can face anything this world throws at you.”

Meletye nods silently, and she manages a small smile. She feels her heart lighten a little at her father’s gentle words. He always knows what she needs to hear.

“I-I’m sorry, atto.” Meletye whispers, “I know I let you down.”

Fëanor sighs softly.

“None of that, Meletye.” He says firmly, “You were not ready to swear the Oath, I understand that. But you will be, one day soon. I know you will.”

Meletye nods. She does not have the heart or the energy to tell her father the truth- that she doesn’t think she will ever swear the Oath. That she knows in her heart it will only cause terrible things. Someone clears their throat softly, and Meletye and Fëanor both turn to see Maedhros standing watching them.

“We’re ready to disembark, atar.” he says quietly.

Fëanor nods shortly, giving Meletye’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he steps away. After that, things seem to Meletye to happen very quickly. They leave the ships, taking with them all of their supplies and weapons and belongings. There is a great deal of activity as they unload everything, and above the din Meletye hears Fëanor giving orders to his people. Meletye sets her weapons aside for a moment and sits down with a heavy sigh. Her gaze flits around the people hurrying around the shore. Some people are taking rest on the beach, building small fires to keep themselves warm. Others are beginning to set up tents for their temporary camp, a short distance away from the beaches. Meletye keeps scanning faces in the crowd, and she gasps softly as her gaze suddenly lands on someone very familiar- her best friend Taniel. For a moment, Meletye can hardly move. Taniel looks a little battered and bruised, but well. Meletye scrambles to her feet, calling out her friend’s name, and she sees her turn and smile. Taniel rushes towards her, and hugs Meletye tightly.

“Taniel!” Meletye cries, “Oh, I thought you- I thought-”

“I made it.” Taniel says softly, still holding her tight, “I managed to get to the docks on time to board a ship. I’d hoped to be on yours, but I wasn’t quite so lucky.”

“But you made it here.” Meletye says softly, “Oh, Taniel. I’m so glad you’re here.”

The two of them settle themselves in the sand, and they wrap arms around one another. Meletye gives a soft sigh, and for the first time since this all began, she feels a glimmer of hope. Hope that maybe things could turn out alright after all. She and Taniel sit together, watching the activity in front of them, and Meletye suddenly spots her father and brothers gathering. Maglor waves her over, and Meletye frowns slightly.

“Looks like they need me.” she sighs.

She stands up again, making her way over to where her family are standing. Maedhros and Fëanor seem to be in a somewhat heated discussion.

“-but the ships need to be sent back immediately for our people.” Maedhros is saying firmly.

There is a worrying look on Fëanor’s face, Meletye thinks. There is a hardness in his eyes, and suddenly Meletye realises just what he is thinking.

“You don’t intend to send the ships back.” She says, and his gaze turns to rest on her. “You intend to leave them all there.”

Maedhros looks furious, turning to his father, desperate for him to deny it. Fëanor gives a dark chuckle.

“Always so perceptive, Meletye.” He drawls, “You’re right, of course. I do not intend to send them. There’s no need for us to return the ships. Our most loyal people are here already. No need to send for those who will only cause strife among us.”

Maedhros scoffs angrily.

“You cannot be serious, atar?!” he cries, “Those are our people. How could we just leave them behind?”

“Our loyal people are here.” Fëanor repeats firmly, “I will hear no more on it. Burn the ships. They are not needed.”

Maedhros shakes his head.

“I will have no part in this.” he says bitterly, “I will not abandon them.”

Fëanor gives Maedhros a contemptuous look.

“No matter. I have enough people to help already.”

Maedhros turns on his heel at that and storms away in anger. Meletye watches him go, and then turns back to Fëanor.

“I won’t help either, atar.” she says softly, “Those people are not just followers, they’re family. I won’t betray them.”

“So, you’ll betray me instead?” Fëanor snaps, “I know your heart is yearning for chance to prove your loyalty to me, Meletye. Yearning to prove that you are not a disappointment. Perhaps this is your chance.”

Meletye swallows hard. Fëanor holds out a torch to her, but she shakes her head.

“I won’t do it, atar. I won’t. They do not deserve to be abandoned by us. I would gladly sail a ship to them myself if I thought it would change your mind.” she sighs softly, and she steels herself. “You speak of loyalty, and yet you show none yourself. How can you betray your own kin so readily?”

Fury flashes in her father’s eyes. He steps towards her, she gasps softly, and suddenly she is terrified he is going to hurt her. He towers over her, glaring down at her, and she trembles.

“If you will not help, then get out of our way. Go.” He spits angrily.

Meletye lets out a soft, shuddering breath, and she steps away. She follows after Maedhros, and she is shaking. She hears someone approach her, and Taniel falls into step beside her, resting a gentle hand on her arm. She walks with her to where Maedhros sits in stony silence, rage written across his fair features.

“Mel- Mel, it’s alright.” Taniel says softly, “They’ll find a way to follow us, I know they will.”

Meletye shakes her head.

“It’s not alright, Taniel. He’s betraying them. It’s not fair, it’s not right.” she says softly.

She looks towards her father and brothers. All of them are holding torches aloft, preparing to set fire to the ships.

“It’s like I can hardly recognise him anymore.” Meletye murmurs, “I don’t know what’s happened to him. I just hope the atto I love is still in there, somewhere.”

Meletye’s gaze flits along the boats on the shore as Taniel stands beside her, hand resting on her shoulder in comfort. Meletye hears movement behind her, and turns to see Maedhros walking away, head bowed. She’s never seen him look so broken, and it shatters her heart completely. She sighs softly as she turns back to the ships, feeling the distant heat as the first ship is set ablaze. She feels determination fill her heart, and her gaze lands on one of the smallest ships.

“I won’t just watch this happen.” She murmurs to Taniel, “I’m going to sail one of those ships back there myself. I’ll do what atar refuses to. I won’t abandon my family.”

Taniel gasps softly.

“Mel- you can’t do that! You’d die on the open seas.” She protests.

Meletye pulls away from her roughly, she grabs her weapons, and she heads straight for the ship she has her sights on, set slightly away from the rest of the fleet. Taniel hurries after her, begging her not to go, but Meletye ignores her. She cannot see any of her brothers or her father. She approaches the ship, and she is about to climb aboard when out of nowhere, an elf appears. He is holding a torch aloft, and he glares at Meletye.

“Out of my way.” He snaps.

Meletye eyes him up. He’s a little shorter than she is. He does not have any weapons. I could take him, she thinks to herself, after all, what have I left to lose? She hears Taniel hissing for her to leave it, but she ignores her. She lunges forwards, grappling with the elf, and he shouts out in shock. She knows she is overpowering him, and she grasps his wrist tightly. She hears him cry out in pain, she feels his grasp on the torch loosen. She feels it fall downwards, she tries to grab it, but too late. All she can do is scream as the torch sets her ablaze.

Chapter Text

Meletye screams in agony as she burns. Flames lick up her side, she feels her flesh burning, and she rolls around on the ground. She thinks she can hear Taniel screaming, too.

“Don’t just stand there, help me. Help me put her out, damn you!” Taniel screams at the elf.

The flames still burn on Meletye’s skin. She can smell her own flesh burning, she can smell the smouldered clothes, she can feel sand sticking to her. She feels hands patting her roughly, trying to put her out, she can hear Taniel shouting something about water. Meletye forces her eyes open, and squinting through the haze of smoke and pain, she swears she can see someone else nearby. The smoke shifts slightly, and now Meletye is certain who she sees. She would know that frame anywhere- it’s her father. Suddenly, Meletye feels water drenching her, and she shrieks in pain as the salt of the seawater makes everything hurt more. She sees her father turn away from her, she sees him walking away, and she wants to cry out to him, to beg him to stay and hold her hand and make it all better, the way he used to whenever she fell or hurt herself as a child. Instead, she just whimpers and fights to remain conscious as the agony overwhelms her and her head swims. She senses movement again, and Taniel is crouching before her, reaching out to cup her face.

“Meletye! It’s alright, the fire’s out.” Taniel says softly. “C-can you see me, Mel? Can you talk to me?”

Meletye gasps and shudders as pain throbs through her.

“I-I’m-it…” she stammers, teeth chattering as she shakes. “Hurts.”

Taniel helps her sit up, and Meletye cannot stop shaking. She doesn’t want to look down at her injuries. She knows she is badly burned; the look on Taniel’s face is enough to tell her that.

“Come on, we need to get you some help.” Taniel says softly.

A strangled wail escapes Meletye’s lips as Taniel helps her stand, and she sobs as she takes tiny, agonizing steps with her friend’s help. She realises she can feel Taniel trembling, too.

“Just a bit further, Mel.” Taniel says softly, voice cracking with tears, “Nearly there.”

“It hurts.” Meletye sobs.

“I know.” Taniel whispers, “I know. We’ll get you fixed up, I promise.”

They hobble towards where Maedhros was, and through blurry eyes, Meletye catches a glimpse of him. She sees him look up, she sees the horror in his eyes as he registers that something is terribly wrong. He runs to her immediately.

“Meletye? Meletye!” he cries, “Wh- what happened to her?”

He cups her face gently, gaze roving over her injuries. Meletye meets his eye, but she is in so much pain that she cannot even speak. Her eyes are full of a silent plea to help her, to make it all better, to make this pain go away.

“She tried to stop them burning the ships.” Taniel says, voice trembling, “It- it was an accident, the elf didn’t mean to hurt her. He dropped the torch, and she…”

Maedhros comes to Meletye’s other side, supporting her, and together they move towards where the tents have been set up. As they approach the tents, Maedhros calls out for a healer. Someone comes hurrying up to them, and they accompany them into a tent. It is quiet and cool in there, and Meletye is gently laid onto a cot. Maedhros sits beside her, he holds her hand, but he turns his face away when they strip away her clothing to reveal the burns. Taniel gasps in horror, and Meletye cannot help but look. The skin on her left arm and side is badly burned, the wounds snake across her abdomen and up her chest and clavicle, finally ending at her neck. She whimpers softly at the sight of her burned flesh, and the healer seeks to reassure her.

“You’ll be alright, my lady.” She says softly, “We’ll get these burns properly treated.”

They set about cleaning the burns, and as they do, Meletye cries out in agony. She sees her brother’s face contort with sorrow, but he forces himself to remain calm for her.

“Squeeze my hand, Mel.” He says gently, “Squeeze as hard as you like. It’s alright. I know it hurts, but you’re not alone. I’m here.”

There must be sand stuck in her burns, Meletye realises. It feels as if they are scrubbing her raw skin with something rough. She cries in pain as they work, clinging to Maedhros’ hand so tightly her nails cut flesh. It is agony, she cannot stop shivering, and she unconsciously jerks and writhes away from the healer. Taniel and the healer are talking soothingly to her, reassuring her, telling her that she is doing very well, but all Meletye can focus on is the pain. Is this my punishment, she thinks, is this happening because I killed people? The pain is overwhelming, it is torturous, but there is no escape from it. All she can do is cry and wail and writhe on the cot as her friend and her brother try to hold her still so the healer can clean her burns. It may only be moments or it may be hours, Meletye doesn’t know, but suddenly she hears someone else coming into the tent. She hears someone else sit beside her, feels a gentle hand resting on her hair, and when she looks up she can just about make out Maglor’s face above her. Soot darkens his face, and she can see tears streaking their way through the mess. She sees his lips moving, and out of the haze of agony and fear comes his beautiful voice. He sings softly for her, and Meletye feels her breathing steady, she feels her trembling calm. She closes her eyes, and finally she can focus on something other than the pain she feels. His song is beautiful and soothing and powerful, and before long, Meletye forgets everything else. She feels a dull stinging in her flesh, but it doesn’t matter anymore, and she drifts into a world of peaceful and gentle sleep.

When Meletye drifts into a peaceful sleep, lulled into it by Maglor’s song, her brothers stay by her side, holding her hand as Taniel and the healer continue to tend to her burns. Maedhros watches her fall asleep, and he feels his heart break. He bows his head, suddenly unable to hold back his tears, and he weeps, resting his head against Meletye’s hand. Maglor rests a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him, but his words are meaningless.

“She never should have come here.” Maedhros sobs, still clinging to Meletye’s hand. “We should have made her stay behind, we should have done our duty as brothers and protected her.”

“You know our Mel, brother.” Maglor says gently, voice wobbling slightly. “Nothing can stop her if she sets her mind to something. She’s just as stubborn and fiery-hearted as our father is, sometimes.”

Maedhros sniffles softly, wiping away his tears. Taniel and the healer are now gently applying a salve to Meletye’s burns, having cleaned them and removed the dead skin clinging to them. Maedhros hopes that she feels no pain as she sleeps. He and Maglor stay by her side when the healer bandages her wounds and covers her with warm blankets and quietly leaves them be, and they wait in silence for her to wake up.

Meletye sleeps for several hours. When she finally begins to wake, she can feel soft bandages on her left arm and on her body. Pain still thrums beneath the bandages, though it is much less intense than it was earlier. She lays with her eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to focus on what is around her. She slowly realises that she can hear Maglor and Maedhros talking in quiet voices.

“Do you think it’s true, what Taniel said? Do you think he really walked away and left her there?” Maglor is saying.

“I don’t know.” Maedhros murmurs, “I don’t want to believe he would just leave her there to burn. The father we know and love would not do that. But I worry he isn’t…”

Maedhros trails off as he notices Meletye’s hand move slightly. Meletye senses him shifting closer to her, feels a gentle hand stroking her hair.

“I think she’s waking up.”

Meletye groans softly, a grimace crossing her face. Her eyes flutter open, looking around the tent. Everything looks blurry, and she tries to bring things into focus.

“Hey, Mel.” Maedhros whispers, and she turns to look at him. “How are you feeling?”

Meletye swallows hard and gives a soft cough before she replies.

“A bit crispy.” She mumbles.

Maedhros laughs softly at that, and Maglor chuckles, too. Meletye manages a weak smile.

“Well, I’m glad your sense of humour is still intact!” Maglor says with a smile.

Meletye nods, wincing when the movement makes the skin at her neck and clavicle hurt. She lets out a shaky breath, and she squeezes the hand holding hers.

“I’m thirsty.” She croaks.

Maglor immediately fetches some water for her, and Maedhros slowly and carefully helps her sit up. Every movement causes pain, and Meletye whimpers softly. She takes some sips of water with Maglor’s help, and she finds she has to fight the urge to not gulp it all down at once. When she has had enough water, her brothers gently lay her back on the cot. She grimaces again, bringing one hand to rest gently on her stomach above the soft sheets.

“How- how bad was it?” she asks quietly.

Silence rests for a moment.

“It was pretty bad.” Maglor replies in a low voice. “The burns on your arm, neck and clavicle were more superficial, but those on your torso were deep, and they all had sand in them. But the healer did an excellent job cleaning the burns. They should heal well enough, and there shouldn’t be any infection. You will have scars, however.”

Meletye feels tears trickling down her face, and she nods silently. More scars. She wonders how many more she will add to her ever-growing collection before this nightmare is through.

“Father was there.” She whispers after a few minutes’ silence. “He-he saw it. He turned away. He left me there to burn alive.”

Her voice breaks, and she suddenly finds herself sobbing. Maglor and Maedhros both try to comfort her, they hold her as much as they can without hurting her burns, but Meletye finds that nothing they say or do eases her pain.

As the days pass by, Meletye begins to heal from her injuries. Her brothers spend time with her, keeping her company, and she rests as much as she can. She lays in her cot much of the time, dimly aware of the activity and movement outside the tent. When time comes for them to move on, Meletye listens to the healers and lets them lift her into makeshift waggons, so she does not exert herself as they travel. Whilst all of her brothers come to see her regularly, she doesn’t see so much as a glimpse of her father until some days after the burning of the ships. They have been travelling for a full day, and are now taking rest somewhere in lands east of where they made landfall. She is sat up in the cot, talking to Taniel, when they hear someone coming into the makeshift tent. Taniel trails into silence, her face taking on a stony expression when she sees who it is. Fëanor stands at the entrance of the tent, hands folded behind his back, and Meletye is sure he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Well, look who finally decided to show his face. It took long enough.” Taniel says coldly, regarding Fëanor with a hard stare.

Fëanor gives her a contemptuous glance.

“Would you leave us, please?” he asks, choosing to ignore her comment.

Taniel turns to Meletye, and she nods and gives her friend a small smile. Taniel sighs softly, giving Meletye’s hand a gentle squeeze as she stands.

“I’ll be close by if you need me, Mel.” She gives Fëanor an angry look as she makes to leave. “Goodness knows you won’t get any help from him.”

“Careful, Taniel.” Fëanor says smoothly, “Do not make us regret bringing you here.”

Taniel scoffs as she leaves the tent, and Fëanor comes to sit beside Meletye. She avoids looking at him; all she can think of is how awful it was to see him turn his back on her when she was hurting.

“The healer said that you are recovering well from your burns.” Fëanor says quietly, “She said you should be back on your feet within days. That’s good.”

Meletye doesn’t say anything, she simply nods.

“How are you feeling, Meletye?” Fëanor asks.

Meletye gives a quiet sigh.

“Alright. I’m still in a lot of pain.” she murmurs.

She finally turns to look at her father. There is a definite look of guilt in his eyes, she thinks. Guilt for leaving her to burn, perhaps? Or guilt for waiting days before he came to check on her? Meletye feels anger stirring in her heart as she thinks of all of this, and as she thinks of the way most of her brothers have outright refused to believe her when she told them that Fëanor walked away from her when she needed help.

“Why did you walk away, atar?” Meletye asks softly, voice trembling slightly. “You saw me. You were close enough to hear me scream. Why didn’t you do anything? Why has it taken you so long to come and see me?”

Fëanor sighs quietly.

“Meletye, I do not know what you think you saw, but-”

Meletye scoffs angrily at him.

“What I think I saw?! What is that supposed to mean, atar?” she snaps.

“I did not see you injured. I wasn’t close by to help. I do not know what you saw, but it was not me. Perhaps the pain of it all caused you to see things that were not there.” Fëanor says with a soft sigh.

Meletye glares at him. Somewhere, beneath the anger and the pain she feels right now, she feels doubt creeping into her heart.

“But I saw you.” She replies, voice quieter and more uncertain now. “Taniel saw you.”

“But nobody else did.” Fëanor replies. “The elf who burned you did not. It was smoky. You were in a great deal of pain. I was not there to help you.”

Meletye sighs softly. The memory of her father walking away is as clear as day to her, and yet his words make her doubt herself. Fëanor meets her eye briefly and then quickly looks away, as though he finds it difficult to look at her.

“You know what I think, father?” she says softly, “I think you feel guilty. I think you just don’t want to face the fact that you did a terrible thing. I expect it’s hard, looking at me and seeing my injuries. And not just that. Looking at me and seeing reminders of amme. I know you see her when you see me, we look so very alike. She’d be so upset by all of this.”

Fëanor looks back at her again, and now there is anger evident in his eyes. For a moment, he seems to teeter on the edge of snapping at Meletye, but instead he shakes his head. He stands up and makes to leave the tent, pausing at the entrance and turning to look back at Meletye.  

“Get some rest, daughter. You’ll need your strength for the challenges to come.” he says.

He leaves the tent, leaving his daughter alone. Meletye gives a soft sigh as he goes, and she feels tears prick in her eyes. She draws her knees up slightly, wrapping her arms around them, and she bows her head and weeps. She weeps for the way her father has transformed into someone she can barely recognise.

Chapter Text

As the days go by, Meletye continues to recover from her burns. She finds they improve quickly, and before long she is back on her feet again, and she is able to walk with the others for short periods as they travel eastwards. Mostly, though, the healers have her sit in the waggon as they travel, fearing she may cause her burns more damage if she exerts herself too much. She still struggles with a lot of pain, and she knows she will have terrible scars, but she is grateful to have survived. Travel continues for days, and the host take very little rest. Meletye knows this must be at her father’s command. Finally, they stop on the northern shore of a large lake and begin making a proper encampment. Meletye helps where she can, mostly with unpacking herbs and salves and bandages and other supplies within the tent set up for the healers. She rests there for another full day, until the healer examines her burns and declares she is healed enough to go about her daily activities.

“But nothing strenuous, my lady.” The healer says firmly. “I don’t want you to over-exert yourself. Those burns are still healing, and you could cause yourself damage if you do not take it easy.”

Meletye smiles warmly at her.

“Of course. I’ll be careful, don’t worry.” She tells the healer. “And- I wanted to thank you. You’ve done so much to help me. I won’t ever forget it.”

The healer smiles back at Meletye, squeezing her hand gently, and that simple gesture says all there is to say.

Shortly after the healer tells her she is allowed to leave, Meletye seeks out her brothers to see what she can do to help. There is a lot of activity in their new encampment, and Meletye can see people still erecting tents and shelters and beginning to build up some defences. She pauses for a moment, looking around the landscape surrounding them. They are on the shores of what seems to be a large lake, and Meletye can make out the shadowy shapes of mountains all around them. One of the soldiers points her in the direction of the command tent, and she heads there, knowing her family is most likely there. She finds it and heads inside to find Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir and the twins gathered. They seem to be poring over a sketched-out map and are deep in conversation, but when Maedhros glances up to see Meletye, he smiles warmly.

“Ah, Mel! It’s good to see you up and about.” He says cheerfully.

He comes up to her and embraces her gently, smiling down at her when he pulls away, hands resting on her shoulders.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks quietly.

Meletye gives him a small smile.

“I’m alright, brother. The burns are healing nicely. The healer said I can go about my daily activities- I just have to avoid anything too strenuous. Being laid up in bed was boring me out of my mind, so I wanted to come and help where I can.” She replies, and she glances at the map on the table. “So, where are we?”

Amrod is drumming his fingers on the map, looking thoughtful.

“Well, we’re not quite sure on the geography of these lands just yet.” He murmurs, “We know there are mountains around this lake to most sides, and we suspect that our Enemy is somewhere east or north-east of here.”

Meletye nods.

“I suppose it’s difficult to figure out landmarks when it’s so dark.” She replies, “At least we still have the stars to light our path.”

She trails a hand across the smooth paper of the map, tracing the neat Tengwar script. She accidentally nudges a quill resting on the table, it falls off and she stoops to pick it up. She winces at the movement, resting a hand on her side.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Mel?” Amrod asks her, frowning slightly.

“I’m fine.” Meletye replies firmly, “I still have a little pain, but I’m healing well. I’m fine.”

Maglor gives her a small smile.

“We’re all relieved to see you better, Meletye. I think we were all quite worried for a while, there. Just don’t over-exert yourself. Those were some nasty burns.” He says gently.  

Meletye hears Caranthir scoff quietly and mutter something. Maglor and Maedhros both glance towards him, and Meletye raises her eyebrows slightly.

“Something to say, Caranthir?” she asks him coolly.

Caranthir sighs.

“Well, we’re all glad you’re better.” He says, slightly hesitantly. “But- well, those injuries wouldn’t have happened if you’d just listened to father. If you’d followed his orders.”

Maglor and Maedhros both sigh at him.

“Followed his orders?” Meletye scoffs, “We’re his children, not his soldiers.”

“I think we’re all soldiers, now, Meletye. Whether we want to be or not. This is war, after all.” Caranthir replies, and he gives a quiet sigh. “Soldiers, children, whatever we are, we still owe him our loyalty.”

“And what about his loyalty? There wasn’t a shred of loyalty in him when he walked away and left me to burn.” Meletye snaps back.

Caranthir is just beginning to reply with more anger when they hear a sudden commotion outside the tent. They can hear shouting, people outside sound rather panicked, and Maedhros frowns. He strides out of the tent, the rest of them following, and they find people outside are suddenly rushing around. They spot Fëanor hurrying towards them, closely followed by Curufin and Celegorm. He looks very grim, and he calls out orders to people as he approaches.

“Atar, what’s going on? There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Maedhros asks as Fëanor approaches them.  

Fëanor sighs heavily.

“Our scouts have sighted orcs. Morgoth’s vermin. An army of them. They’ll be here very soon; we have very little time to prepare to fight them.” he says grimly.  

“Atar, do we have the strength to fight an army right now?” Maedhros asks quietly, looking worried. “We haven’t even finished building our defences.”

“I know.” Fëanor sighs, “But I believe we have the strength to face this. We have taken losses, of course. We have faced trials, but we are still strong. We have the very light of Valinor within us. Those beasts do not. We will defeat them.”

Fëanor raises his voice as he speaks, for a crowd have gathered around them, seeking reassurance from their king. They and the brothers murmur in agreement as Fëanor speaks, and someone in the crowd suddenly cheers as he bolsters their courage. It quickly catches on, and soon everyone around them is cheering and crying out battle-cries. Meletye glances around at her people, and despite their courage she feels fear twisting at her insides. The crowd begins to disperse, her brothers are leaving and giving orders and organising their people, but Meletye stands still. Fëanor comes closer to her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know you have only just recovered, but you will have to fight, Meletye.” He says quietly. “We need every body we can get for this battle if we are to win.”

Meletye swallows down her fear and she nods.

“Of course, atar.” she replies, “I am well enough. I will fight. And I- I will always fight to defend my family and my people, no matter what. You know that.”

Fëanor nods briefly, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“All will be well, daughter.” He says reassuringly, “We will win. We will survive this.”

He sighs softly, and a small smile flits across his face.

“I am glad to see you well again, my girl. Remember, you can face this. I named you ‘mighty daughter’ for a reason. You have far more strength within you than you know. I want you to never forget that.” He says softly.  

Meletye gives her father a small, wobbly smile, and he leaves. She stands there alone for a moment, as the camp bustles with activity around her. She cannot shake of the sense of foreboding that is rising in her heart; somehow, she knows that everything is about to change forever. She sighs softly, steeling herself, and she goes to prepare herself for the battle to come, quickly heading to her tent to fetch her weapons. She has just hurriedly dressed in simple armour when Taniel suddenly comes storming into the tent. She has weapons at her side, she is dressed in light leather armour, and she looks absolutely furious.  

“What the hell is your father thinking!” Taniel bursts out angrily, pacing up and down. “Why is he making you fight? You’ve barely recovered. The healer told you not to do anything strenuous. It’s absurd.”

Meletye sighs softly, rising from her seat and approaching her friend. She reaches out to take Taniel’s hand in hers, and the gentle action seems to calm her a little.

“Taniel, we have no choice but to fight.” Meletye says softly, “I don’t want to fight. I’m sure you don’t, either, and from the looks on my brothers’ faces, most of them don’t want to fight. But it’s fight or die.”

“Or run.” Taniel murmurs. “We could just run. Both of us. We could leave all this behind, find somewhere safe and peaceful. Somewhere away from this madness.”

For a moment, the idea tempts Meletye. She pictures finding somewhere safe with her best friend, living a life away from the bloodshed and horror and pain. Then, reality closes in and she shakes her head.

“Run where?” she asks, “Out there, alone in the wilds, we would stand no chance. We would be killed in a matter of days, or worse- we’d be captured by Morgoth. Neither of us want to end up in Angband. No. I wouldn’t risk your life like that, my beloved friend. There’s safety in numbers.”

Taniel sighs quietly. Meletye sees in her eyes that she knows she is right. After a moment’s silence, Taniel nods. Her gaze flits over Meletye, and she smiles sadly.  

“Here, your hair’s coming loose. Let me fix it for you, it’ll only take a minute.” Taniel says softly.

Meletye nods silently, and she sits down for a moment. Taniel stands behind her, carefully fixing her braid.

“Remember when we used to braid each other’s hair?” Meletye says softly as Taniel works, “We’d spend whole days sat in the grass. Basking in the light of the Trees as we braided each other’s hair with flowers and ribbons and beads.”

Taniel gives a soft chuckle.

“Those were the days, weren’t they?” she says softly.

They both fall silent, both quietly longing for the peace and simplicity of days long gone. Unlike the days of their youth, Meletye does not have her hair braided for a party or feast or simple enjoyment. Taniel fixes her braid ready for war, twisting it around Meletye’s head like a crown to keep it out of her face. Meletye thinks of the many times Taniel has braided her hair. She thinks of the way she learned how to weave the special braids that declared her a princess of the Noldor. She thinks of the flowers and beads and tiny, delicate chains with gems Taniel used to weave into the braids, placed there to catch the eye. She even remembers the days of the distant past, when Fëanor reluctantly agreed to let the two pleading little girls braid his hair with flowers, grumbling the whole time but then beaming and showing Nernadel with pride when he saw the results. Meletye’s heart aches at the memory, and for a moment all she wants is her old father back. Not the father she sees now, filled with fire and rage and vengeance, but the father who let her and her best friend braid his hair with flowers. The father who held her close and made it better when she was hurt, who taught her with patience how to craft beautiful things to utter perfection, who looked on her with nothing but pride and love. She finds herself fighting back tears once more as Taniel pins her braids in place, and gently takes her hand and helps her stand. Taniel turns Meletye so she faces her, reaching up a hand to brush away the tears that fall. She seems to know just what Meletye is thinking; she seems to know she is grieving for someone who is not dead.

“All will be well, Meletye.” Taniel says softly, “We just have to hold onto hope.”  

Meletye nods silently, and she takes hold of Taniel’s hand once more, fingers intertwining. They lean in until their foreheads touch gently, eyes closed, silent. Taking a moment of quiet, soothing peace before everything descends into chaos once more. Then, it all changes in a heartbeat. Close by the tent, they hear a sudden scuffle. An elf-woman screams, loud and piercing and full of terror, and some horrid creature snarls and cackles. They hear the ring of a blade, a cry of pain, and then the heavy thud of a body falling to the ground. Meletye gasps softly, her grip on Taniel’s hand becoming painfully tight. Then, a cry rends the air.

“ENEMY WITHIN CAMP! AT ARMS!”

They hear running footsteps, and they know the battle has begun.

Chapter Text

Inside of Meletye’s tent, she and Taniel stand frozen in horror for a moment as they realise they are already under attack. Then, they shake themselves out of their shock. They quickly gather up their weapons, and suddenly Maglor bursts into the tent.

“They’re here, Mel.” He gasps, clearly out of breath. “Come on, both of you. It’s time to fight.”

They follow Maglor out of the tent, and they immediately see the fighting.

“This way, some snuck into camp on the eastern side.” Maglor tells them. “They took us unawares; they killed several elves before we even had chance to react.”

They follow him, and he suddenly turns his head back.

“Celegorm! This way!” he bellows.

They hear running footsteps as Celegorm leads a group to their position, and before Meletye knows it, they are all embroiled in heavy fighting. She and all her people fight for their lives beneath the light of the stars. The fighting is intense, and the orcs are ferocious and terrifying. Though Meletye feels her still-healing skin throb and her very bones ache with exhaustion, she cannot stop. The orcs keep coming and coming, there seems to be no end to them, and yet still the Noldor overcome them. Meletye realises as they fight that her father was right; they still have the very light of Valinor within them, and it gives them the strength they need to defeat the hordes of orcs Morgoth is throwing at them. At times she fights alongside her brothers, but mostly they are separated by the army of orcs. Whenever she catches a glimpse of her father, he is fighting orcs with everything he has. He rallies his people as he fights, and the fire raging in his eyes both terrifies and inspires Meletye. But even with the courage of her family and her people, even with the light of Valinor shining in her heart, Meletye still finds the fighting exhausting, and she longs for it to be over so that they can finally know a little bit of peace.

The fighting has been going for days when it finally begins to slow down. There seem to be fewer orcs coming at them, and Meletye feels hope glimmering in her heart for the first time in several days. They finally begin to properly push back the orcs, and Meletye hears word that Celegorm is leading a group to meet encroaching orcs with battle. She is still fighting as hard as she can, despite the fact that she can feel her fragile skin breaking, despite her exhaustion and fear and pain. She is fighting close to her father when a soldier comes rushing back to the camp, crying out to all who can hear that Celegorm and his soldiers have successfully pushed back the orcs that had been trying to attack from the south. Fëanor laughs aloud, killing yet another orc with ease and throwing it aside. Meletye notices that there seem to be fewer orcs now, and she smiles and turns to Taniel, who has been fighting with her all this time.

“You hear that, Taniel?” she says, “We’re really winning this.”

Taniel is a few paces away from Meletye, but she hears her words and she gives a soft laugh.

“Maybe we’ll make it after all!” she replies.

Meletye laughs, too, feeling the warmth of hope swell in her heart. But the laughter dies on her lips as she sees the orc suddenly appearing behind Taniel. It all seems to happen in slow-motion, and yet at the same time it is too fast for Meletye to do anything. Taniel hears the beast behind her, she turns with her sword raised ready to fight it, but too late. Meletye leaps forwards to help, even as the orc sinks its blade into Taniel’s abdomen. The blade goes right through her, emerging on the other side of her body red with her blood. Meletye screams a curse in Quenya and brings her blade down on the orc’s head, and the force of her swing cracks its skull open. She wraps her arms around Taniel as she begins to fall, lowering her to the ground gently. Taniel is gasping, taking in small, rapid breaths, one hand resting on the hole in her abdomen that weeps blood. Her eyes, wide with shock, rove the night sky above them. Meletye holds her best friend close, rocking her gently.

“Taniel- Taniel, it’s alright. You’re alright.” She says softly.

Her words are meaningless. Utterly meaningless, and she knows it. There is no fixing this wound. Taniel is dead, and all Meletye can do is comfort her in her final moments. Taniel looks terrified, and she shakes in Meletye’s arms as blood trickles from her mouth. Her lips move, voice so strained and choked that Meletye cannot understand her.

“Shh, don’t try to talk.” Meletye whispers, “It’s alright. Save your strength, Taniel. I’ll-I’ll-”

Taniel shakes her head slightly, and Meletye bites back a sob. They both know it is all over. Taniel still stares up at the sky above her.

“S-stars.” She chokes out.

Meletye looks up at the stars, too, and tears fill her eyes. She smiles sadly when she looks back at Taniel.

“Yes. Stars. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she whispers, stroking Taniel’s hair gently. “We used to spend whole nights just lying in the grass watching them, do you remember?”

Taniel manages a nod, and a small smile comes across her face. Tears now trickle down her face, mingling with the blood. Meletye feels tears on her own face, too.

“We had so much fun, didn’t we? When we were young. We ran across the plains of Valinor with nothing but grass beneath our feet. We felt the light of those beautiful Trees shining on us.” Meletye says softly.

Taniel’s breath is slowing down now, and Meletye can feel her heart slowing, too. She sniffles softly, still stroking her hair to comfort her.

“You are the most wonderful friend I will ever have, Taniel.” She says softly, “I love you so very much.”

The corners of Taniel’s lips twitch, she meets Meletye’s eye for a moment, and Meletye knows she is telling her without words that she loves her, too. She sees it in Taniel’s eyes for just a moment, and then something in them fades. Taniel lets out her final breath in a soft sigh, her heart stops beating, and Meletye bows her head and sobs. Taniel’s eyes now stare without seeing, reflecting the light of the stars, and Melete closes them gently. She holds Taniel close to her and weeps, heedless of the fighting. Let the orcs come, she thinks to herself, let them kill me, too. She barely even notices when the fighting dies down. She dimly hears her father bellowing victoriously. It feels as if he is mocking her in that moment, for none of it feels victorious to Meletye. Not now Taniel is dead. She stays with Taniel for some time, not even moving until she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. She glances to see who it is, and she sees Maedhros there, his eyes full of tears.

“I’m so sorry, Mel.” He murmurs.

Meletye just nods numbly. Maedhros wraps an arm around her, leaning in close and resting his head against hers.

“Nainan firielya.” He whispers, resting one hand atop Meleyte’s as she holds Taniel. “Mára este, Taniel.”

Meletye sobs softly, still clinging tightly to Taniel. She hears more movement, and she looks up to see someone moving in to lift Taniel from the ground. She holds on even tighter.

“No.” she says, voice cracking with tears, “Don’t take her from me.”

“Mel, we need to bury our dead.” Maedhros says gently, “We will honour them well, I promise you. You have to let go.”

Meletye turns to look at Maedhros, she sees the grief in his face, and she nods silently. She lets him move her hands away from Taniel’s body, and she buries her face in his shoulder and sobs as the elf gently lifts Taniel into his arms and carries her away. Meletye can still feel Taniel’s blood on her hands, she sees it staining her skirts, and she is suddenly shaking. Maedhros holds her close and lets her weep. They are still knelt on the ground, Maedhros holding Meletye in his arms, when Curufin suddenly approaches them.

“Maedhros! Meletye! Atar needs us, he…” Curufin trails off when he sees how broken Meletye looks. “Mel, what happened?”

“Taniel died.” Meletye says quietly.

She feels numb, now. Empty. Curufin crouches down, reaching out to hold her hand.

“I’m sorry, Mel.” He says softly, “I know she was a wonderful friend to you. We’ll have time to properly mourn those we have lost soon, I promise you. But right now, atar needs us.”

Meletye shakes her head.

“You two go.” She murmurs, “I don’t think I can face him right now.”

“Mel, this wasn’t his fault.” Maedhros says quietly. “Come on, we should all go to him. We need to be united right now.”

Meletye sighs softly. She can feel the anger simmering in her heart, and she doesn’t particularly care if she lets her father down. After all, Taniel would not have died if not for him. But she does not want to disappoint her brothers. So, she nods silently, allowing Maedhros to help her to her feet. She walks beside her brothers in silence, and now that she has time to slow down and feel everything, she realises just how much pain she is in. She winces as she walks, resting a hand on her side, and Maedhros and Curufin both glance at her in worry.

“Are you alright, Mel?” Curufin asks, “Were you injured?”

Meletye shakes her head.

“I wasn’t injured. It’s the burns, I think. I might have damaged them. But it doesn’t matter.” She mutters.

“It does matter, Mel.” Maedhros says firmly, “As soon as we’re done seeing atar, I’ll take you to the healers and have them check you over. No arguments, understood?”

Meletye nods numbly. They reach one of the few tents that remains unscathed, and head inside to find Fëanor waiting along with the rest of their brothers. Meletye glances at her father, and she finds fury surging in her heart at the very sight of him. All of this happened because of him, she thinks bitterly, him and his wretched jewels. If not for him, we’d all be at home in Valinor. Taniel would still be alive. My whole life would not be in ruins.

Chapter Text

As Meletye stands alongside her brothers, she feels anger at her father simmering in her heart. She can see the triumph and determination in her father’s eyes, she hears him talking as he paces up and down in front of them, but she hardly takes in a word he says. She thinks he might be saying something about pursuing the orcs further and taking the fight to Morgoth. She cannot quite find it in herself to care. She hardly even looks at her father, finding that the very sight of him infuriates her and reminds her of all she has lost. She barely even notices when he speaks to her.

“Meletye!” he snaps. “You hardly seem to be listening, daughter!”

Meletye starts slightly, and she turns her gaze to her father, his brow furrowed slightly. She meets his eye with a cold gaze.

“What do you want now?” she asks irritably.

Fëanor raises his eyebrows.

“I want only to see if you are well, Meletye. Clearly your mind is elsewhere right now. What is wrong? Whatever it is, you must put it from your mind and focus on the matter at hand, nothing else is-”

“Taniel is dead.” Meletye tells him, cutting him off.

She hears soft gasps and mutters from her brothers, and glancing around at them she sees expressions of shock and sorrow. Her breath shudders, and she clenches her fists tightly, trying hard to keep herself calm.

“Mel,” Maglor says softly, coming closer to her and resting a hand on her shoulder, “Mel, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we will miss her. She’s been your best friend since you were children.”

Meletye sighs softly, blinking away the tears that brim in her eyes. Fëanor is not looking at her anymore. He still paces slowly, and he says nothing, a strange look almost like shame on his face.

“I’d love to believe that, Maglor. But you don’t speak for everyone. I highly doubt atar will miss her at all.” Meletye says, voice trembling slightly, and she turns to Fëanor once more. “Will you, atar?”

“Mel, this isn’t his-” Maedhros begins.

Meletye glares at him, and he sighs and falls silent. A very awkward silence rests in the tent now.

“If it isn’t his fault, then why will he not even look at me?” she says coldly.

Fëanor sighs quietly, rubbing his fingers across his forehead in frustration. He glances back at Meletye, taking in the silent rage simmering behind her eyes, the grief in her face, the slightly uncomfortable way she holds herself as if she is in pain. Then he turns back to his sons.

“Leave Meletye and I alone, please.” He tells them quietly, “Clearly, we need to talk.”

Maglor squeezes Meletye’s shoulder gently as he goes, and Maedhros gives her a kind, reassuring smile.

“We’ll be close by, Mel.” Maglor says quietly.

Meletye nods silently, and before she knows it, she is alone with her father. He is still pacing slowly, glancing at her every now and again. A heavy silence rests between them, and Meletye isn’t quite sure what she wants to say.

“I am sorry for your loss, Meletye.” Fëanor says after a few minutes of silence, “I know Taniel was a good friend to you.”

“Don’t do that.” Meletye snaps, “Don’t pretend you care. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her, lately. Like she was nothing. I know you wish she hadn’t come here, and I-”

“Meletye, that is not what I thought.” Fëanor replies shortly.

“Let me finish, atar.” Meletye sighs, “I almost wish the same. If she hadn’t come, she wouldn’t be dead. If I hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have come, either, and neither of us would have been hurt. And if you hadn’t-”

Meletye cuts herself off, worried she is saying too much. Fëanor is standing still now, surveying her with his hands folded behind his back. There is a certain coolness in his gaze.

“Go on, Meletye.” He says, a dangerous note of anger in his tone, “If I hadn’t what?”

Meletye swallows hard. She can sense her father’s anger rising, and it frightens her.

“If I hadn’t stoked the flames in the hearts of our people? If I hadn’t encouraged them to take back what is rightfully ours? If I hadn’t sought to avenge my own father?”

Fëanor is pacing again, striding up and down, and he seems angrier by the moment.

“You can blame me for this all you want, Meletye. But I am not to blame for Taniel’s death, or for the deaths of any of our fallen. If she was not careful enough in battle, that is not my problem.” He says angrily.

His words send rage coursing through Meletye’s heart once again, and she glares at him in fury. 

“Not careful enough?!” she cries, “She was careful, atar! More than that, she fought ferociously for her people. She was by my side every second through that battle, she fought just as hard as I did. We kept each other alive, until that damned orc came out of nowhere and killed her.”

She sighs and shakes her head.

“Deny blame if you wish, atar, but the truth is that none of us would be here if you didn’t bring us. All those dead elves would be home with their families, where they should be. We all would. We would be grieving for grandfather in peace, with the comfort of our loved ones. Not fighting for our lives and forgetting what we have lost.”

Fëanor looks furious.

“Don’t you dare suggest I am forgetting what we have lost.” He snarls, “I feel that loss every moment, with every fibre of my being, and I will rest and grieve in peace when I have made our enemy pay for what he did. When I have thrown him down and wrenched my Silmarils from his disgusting grasp.”

Meletye scoffs at him.

“All this pain and grief, all these dead elves and it still comes down to the Silmarils.” She says bitterly. “You have come to value those wretched jewels over your own family. Do you really think grandfather would think that a fitting way to honour him?”

Meletye sees fire flicker in her father’s eyes. Absolute rage takes over his features, and Meletye feels a thrill of fear. She sees him move towards her, and there is no time to duck or react. With barely a moment’s warning, Fëanor reaches out and he strikes Meletye hard across the face. Stars flash across her vision, she cries out in pain, and the force of the blow knocks her off her feet. Just as it happens, there is movement at the tent entrance and Maglor comes in.

“I heard arguing, perhaps you should both- MEL!”

Maglor is by her side in an instant, and Meletye lays where she lands on the floor and sobs, clutching her throbbing cheek. Maglor looks up at Fëanor in anger.

“What the hell did she do to deserve-”

“SILENCE!” Fëanor bellows.

Maglor goes quiet, shocked at the outburst. Fëanor breathes heavily, glaring down at Meletye as though she is something dirty stuck to his shoe. His fingers briefly twitch towards the hilt of his sword, and for a moment Meletye is certain he is going to kill her.

“You regret coming here. Well, I regret it, too. I should have turned you away the moment you refused to swear the Oath.” He spits angrily, “You have let me down, time and time again. You don’t even understand why we came here. You have proven your disloyalty to your family. I do not have time for a coward such as you, Meletye.”

With that, he turns and he storms from the tent. Meletye and Maglor are left in a stunned silence, a silence broken only by the soft sound of Meletye weeping. Maglor gives a soft, shocked gasp, and he reaches to comfort Meletye. She flinches and trembles when he touches her.

“Mel,” he says softly, “Mel, he didn’t mean that. He’s just angry, when he cools down he’ll regret it, I’m sure.”

Meletye sobs, shaking her head.

“He won’t, Maglor.” she whimpers, “He hates me. My own father hates me.”

Meletye turns her face to look up at her brother, and she sees his expression tighten. He reaches out, fingers trailing gently across her cheek. It is swelling and bruising already, and a small cut marks her skin.

“Oh, Meletye.” He breathes, “I’m sorry he hurt you. I’m sorry he said such cruel things. Maybe, when he calms down-”

“Save your breath, Maglor. He won’t forgive me.” Meletye sobs, “I just- I want- I want-”

She descends into sobs, gasping and shuddering as Maglor tries in vain to calm her.

“What do you want, Mel? Just tell me, maybe I can help?” he says gently.

“I want to go home!” Meletye cries, “I want amme. I want her to hold me and tell me it’ll be OK. And I- I want my atto back. How did it come to this? He- he used to let me braid flowers into his hair, and now he hates the very sight of me!”

She’s sobbing again, and though she continues speaking, she is incoherent in her grief, and Maglor cannot understand a word she says. He glances up as he hears someone come into the tent, and he sees Maedhros.

“Meletye! What on earth happened?” Maedhros asks, crouching beside her.

“She and father argued.” Maglor says quietly, “Very badly. Atar, he- he hit her, I saw it. I don’t know what to do, brother. I can’t calm her down.”

Meletye ignores them as they speak, still sobbing incoherently.

“Atar’s going after the orcs.” Maedhros says with a sigh, “He’s completely single-minded in his pursuit. He already has a group of soldiers ready, and he’ll be leaving imminently. We have to go with him, Maglor, and if we don’t go now, we won’t be able to catch up.”

Maglor sighs softly.

“It’s all my fault,” Meletye sobs, “All my fault he’s so angry.”

“Mel, it isn’t your fault.” Maglor reassures her, “You know how fiery he is.”

He turns to look at Maedhros as Meletye dissolves into sobs once again.

“I know we have to go. But I don’t want to leave her like this.” Maglor murmurs, his words almost drowned out by Meletye’s sobs. “She’s injured, too. Her face is bruised and cut where atar hit her, and I think I noticed her bleeding a little beneath the armour. It’s her burns, most likely.”

Maedhros sighs, gaze resting on Meletye, seeing just how distressed she is. They have very little time to follow their father, he knows that, but he doesn’t want to leave Meletye in this state, either. He silently steels himself.

“We’ll take her to the healers. They’ll look after her whilst we’re gone.” He replies quietly.

Maglor nods. He knows Meletye doesn’t have the strength to stand right now, so he carefully gathers her into his arms and picks her up. He quickly takes her to the healers, laying her down on a cot somewhere quiet and peaceful. The healer quickly comes to examine her, and Maedhros quietly explains to her what has happened.

“She’s really not herself right now, she’s very distressed.” He murmurs to the healer, “She’s injured, and she’s grieved by terrible losses. Look after her whilst we’re away.”

The healer nods.

“Of course, my lord. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.” She replies.

Another healer is sat beside Meletye now, coaxing her to drink a draught to calm her down. Meletye is still beside herself with grief and sorrow, but she accepts the draught, gulping it down quickly. Almost immediately, it begins taking effect, calming Meletye a little. Maedhros and Maglor come to her side once more, and Maglor holds her hand.

“We’ll be back, Meletye. I promise. I wish we could stay with you, but we- we have to go after him. We have to do all we can to fulfil our Oath.” Maedhros says gently.

Meletye nods.

“I know. You have to go.” She whispers, voice hoarse from weeping. “I understand.”

She feels tears trickling down her face and lays her head back in the pillows as she watches her brothers leave. She feels dread rising in her heart, deep inexplicable dread, and she wonders if she will ever see her beloved brothers again.

Chapter Text

When Meletye’s brothers leave, following their father to pursue the orcs, Meletye stays where she is with the healers. She feels calmer now, the draught she was given is working well, but she still feels the heartbreak of all that has happened twist at her like a knife. She weeps silently as she lays on the cot, and when the healers tell her they need to examine her burns, she does not argue. When they remove her light armour and clothes, they find that the barely-healed skin has been damaged and is bleeding. Meletye doesn’t even speak as the healers tend to the delicate skin, cleaning and redressing the burns. Silent tears still trickle down her face, and when they offer to tend to the injury on her cheek she refuses. The healer smiles sadly at her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to tend the injury on your face, my lady?” she asks gently, and Meletye nods. “Alright, my lady. Perhaps you should try to get some rest now. It’s been a difficult time for all of us. And I- I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Meletye nods, and as the healer leaves she pulls blankets tightly around herself, pulling them up so that she can burrow her face in them. She weeps quietly, and though her damaged skin and cut cheek throb with pain, it is her grief and sorrow that bothers her more. When she closes her eyes, she replays the moment Taniel died, the awful words her father spoke to her, the feel of him hitting her. She trembles and weeps as she lays there, and the weight of her grief and pain is so heavy, she thinks it might break her completely. She weeps and weeps until she has no tears left, and eventually she slips into an uneasy sleep.

Meletye sleeps for some hours, and as she sleeps she dreams of Taniel, of her father, of all of the horrifying things she has witnessed recently. Her dreams do not comfort her in the slightest, and when she wakes and remembers that all of it was real, she wants to cry all over again. She lays with her eyes closed for a few minutes, feeling the soft blankets covering her, still hiding her face from view. She suddenly realises she can hear soft noises in the tent she is in- whispered voices talking every now and then, so quietly she cannot make out the words, and the sound of more than one person sniffling softly as though in tears. She moves the blankets slightly, opening her eyes so she can see, and she sees her brothers in the tent with her. She is silent for a moment, gaze flitting around her brothers, noting that they are all there except for Maedhros. Maglor is sat closest to her, and when he hears her move he turns his gaze to her, a small, sad smile gracing his lips.

“Hey, Mel.” He says softly.

“Hi.” Meletye murmurs in reply.  

She frowns slightly as she takes in Maglor’s appearance. He looks exhausted, bruises and dirt mark his skin, and most worryingly his eyes are red and puffy. Meletye thinks she can still see tear-tracks snaking their way through the grime on his face. She sits up a little, glancing around wthe tent at her brothers. Amrod and Amras are sat close to one another, Amrod has an arm around Amras, who seems to be weeping quietly. Celegorm has silent tears trickling down his face, too, Curufin sits with his head bowed to his knees, and there is a look of shock etched across Caranthir’s face. Meletye feels that now familiar dread once more, and she wonders if she has the courage to ask the questions she has. She swallows hard, steeling herself for the terrible news she is sure to hear.

“Maglor, what- what happened?” she asks quietly.

Maglor sighs softly, and he reaches out to take hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb across her hand in a soothing way.

“We followed atar as he pressed onwards, he was intending to take the fight to Angband itself. But he was ambushed by balrogs, great, terrifying creatures wreathed in flame.” Maglor pauses for a moment, tears brimming in his eyes, and he tries to compose himself. “We were able to drive them away from him, but he was gravely injured. We tried. We tried everything we could, but he- he died.”

Meletye gasps softly and shakes her head.

“He can’t be gone.” She whispers.

Maglor has tears trickling down his face now.

“He is. I’m sorry, Mel.” He replies.

Meletye can feel herself trembling, now.

“I want to see him.” she says softly, “I’m not sure it will feel real until I see him.”

Maglor sighs heavily.

“You can’t see him, Mel. I’m so sorry. His body was reduced to nothing but ashes. There is no body to bury.” Maglor’s voice trembles as he speaks.

Meletye sobs softly. She cannot seem to stop trembling, and she feels her breath quicken until she can hardly catch it. Her father is dead. He is dead, and the last thing she ever heard him say was him calling her a coward. Him telling her just how much of a disappointment she was to him. She rests her head in her hands, fingers digging into her scalp until it hurts. She cannot breathe, her heart pounds, and she feels as if the whole world is collapsing around her. She is spiralling out of control, and she wonders if this will be the blow that finally tips her over the edge into complete madness. She hears movement, hears someone coming closer to her, feels a gentle hand resting on her head.

“I know, Mel. I know how much this hurts.” Comes Curufin’s gentle voice.

He gently pulls Meletye’s hands away from her head, so that she no longer digs her fingernails into her own flesh. He holds tight to her hands, she looks at him and sees the grief she feels reflected in his face. She glances around at her brothers, she sees it in their faces, too, and suddenly she does not feel quite so alone. Curufin pulls her close in a gentle embrace, she buries her face in his shoulder and she weeps. She can feel him weeping, too. After a little while, she begins to calm down. Her breath comes a little easier, she is not gasping between sobs anymore, and she pulls back from Curufin. She glances around at her brothers once more, and she remembers who is missing. She feels fear grip her heart like an iron fist.

“Where’s Maedhros?” she asks, voice shaking slightly. “Was he hurt?”

“He’s alright.” Curufin replies, “He just needed some time alone to process all that has happened- and to come to terms with the fact that he is now High King.”

Meletye sighs softly and nods her understanding.

“Of course. This will be a lot for him to handle.” She murmurs.

For a while, they all sit there in silence as they grieve. They are still sat there quietly, each lost in their own thoughts, when the tent flaps open again and Maedhros comes in. He’s still dressed in bloodstained armour, and when Meletye looks at him, she thinks he looks a million miles away. For a moment he stands there, silent, and then Celegorm scrambles to his feet.

“What happens next, brother?” he asks, “What do we do?”

Maedhros sighs, bowing his head, looking like an elf who has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I suppose we- we continue with atar’s wishes.” He says with a sigh, “We do everything within our power to fulfil our Oath. And I- I’ll need your help. All of you. I do not feel ready to lead our people, but I have little choice. I will need every single one of you to support me in this.”

“Of course, brother.” Maglor says, and everyone murmurs in agreement.

“You’re not alone in this.” Meletye says suddenly, and Maedhros gives her a small smile. “None of us are.”

She glances around at her brothers, but she suddenly realises that only Maglor, Maedhros and Curufin will look at her. The rest avoid her gaze, and she is sure she sees anger in their faces. They blame me, she suddenly thinks, they know atar and I argued, and they blame me for his anger. She looks down at the blanket covering her, fingers fiddling with it nervously. Maedhros sits down heavily, looking completely worn and exhausted. The conversation continues as he and the brothers discuss their next steps and options, but Meletye hardly feels aware of any of it. All she can think of now is her father, of their final interaction and how much she wishes she’d had the chance to make things right with him. In her heart, she knows Maglor was right; Fëanor likely would have regretted his words once he calmed down. Meletye is so lost in her thoughts that most of her brothers’ conversation passes her by, and she only looks up when they are starting to leave the tent.

“Where are you going?” she asks suddenly, looking at Maglor with a frown.

He sighs softly.

“We have work to do, Meletye.” He replies, resting a hand on her shoulder. “If we are to make a life for ourselves here, we need to work at it. But you should rest for now, sister. I know you will want to help, too, but we need you in good health.”

Meletye nods silently and Maglor leaves, and she is alone once more. She draws her knees close to her body, wrapping her arms tightly around them, and she huddles up small on the cot. Grief and sorrow and anger overwhelm her, and before she knows it she is silently weeping again. She weeps for the terrible losses she and her brothers have faced, for the pain and the frustration and anger of the past few days. She knows her family has been torn apart by all of this, and it breaks her heart completely.

Chapter Text

It takes a couple of days for Meletye to recover properly, and when she does get up and leave the tent, she finds that the mood of the camp is very sombre. The Noldor are grieving for their king and for all the people they have lost. People are rebuilding damaged tents, clearing away everything the orcs burned and destroyed, and everywhere Meletye looks she sees sorrowful faces. She seeks out her brothers first, and finds Maedhros and Maglor with a couple of their father’s former advisors in the commanders’ tent. They seem to be sorting through some documents and maps when Meletye finds them, discussing their next steps as they do so. Maedhros doesn’t seem to notice when Meletye enters the tent, so focused that he only looks up when she speaks his name.

“Meletye. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He says, glancing up at her briefly and giving her a small smile.

Meletye hesitates for a moment. Maedhros looks a little tense, she thinks.

“I- is there anything I can help with, Maedhros?” she asks.

Maedhros doesn’t even look at her, gaze fixed upon one of their father’s documents. He’s quiet for a moment.

“We’re sorting through some of atar’s notes and plans. I don’t think we need any extra help here. Could you go and help our people? There’s a lot of damage from the battle that still needs dealing with, and I’m sure people will appreciate your help. I will certainly appreciate it, Mel.” He replies.

Meletye glances briefly at Maglor, who gives her a soft, sympathetic smile, then back at Maedhros, who seems to be heavily focused on his task once more, brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

“Alright then. I’ll go and see where I’m needed most. Just let me know if you need me for anything else.” She says softly.

She leaves the tent once more, and she throws herself into helping her people. She helps fix damaged shelters and tents, she helps people gather up scattered belongings, and she goes to the healers and helps them, too. She spends quite a while with the healers, helping them as they continue tending to people’s injuries. She finds that this in particular settles her heart; she always has been skilled with healing, and it has always been something she takes pride in. She has been working with the healers for many hours when she decides to take a rest. She thinks of something one of the healers had told her- that their dead had been buried in graves nearby. She makes her way to the graves, moving slowly, and when she gets there, she finds it is quiet and peaceful. Several large patches of earth lie before her, with slabs of stone and wood marking the graves. She looks upon each one, reading each name etched into the stone and wood until she finds the name she is looking for. Taniel. She settles on her knees before the grave, one hand reaching out to gently rest on the fresh earth. This is the closest she will ever again come to her best friend.

“I’m sorry, Taniel.” She whispers, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I let you down. I let so many people down.”

Tears trickles down her face as she takes a moment to feel the weight of her grief. She suddenly hears footsteps approaching behind her.

“I thought I might find you here.” a familiar voice says.

Meletye turns to see Maglor approaching her. He sits beside her, frowning slightly as he looks at the graves.

“I’m not here to honour Taniel alone.” Meletye says softly. “I’m thinking of everyone we’ve lost. Atar. Our grandfather. All of our fallen people. The Teleri we killed. So much blood. So much death.”

Maglor sighs softly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I know.” He murmurs, “We’ve lost more than we could ever have imagined we would. Sometimes, I fear we have even lost ourselves.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost yourself, Maglor.” Meletye says gently.

“No?” Maglor asks.

“No.” Meletye replies firmly. “You’re still the loving brother you’ve always been.”

Maglor smiles warmly at her. He takes hold of her hand, squeezing gently, and they stay sat there for a little while, quietly grieving for all they have lost.

“We’ll have some sort of funeral for atar, soon.” Maglor says softly, “Once we’re ready to- to say goodbye. For him and for all those we have lost. We’ll do something to honour them all.”

Meletye smiles sadly, and she nods, unable to quite find the words to express what something like that would mean to her. She and Maglor have been there for a little while when they hear sudden, hurried footsteps behind them. It’s Caranthir hurrying towards them both, and he looks rather urgent.

“Maglor, Meletye, you’re both needed. Quickly.” He tells them.

Maglor and Meletye briefly glance at each other, frowning slightly, and then they quickly get up and go with Caranthir. He fills them in on the new situation as they go.

“An embassy arrived. They came from Angband. It seems that Morgoth may be willing to negotiate with us.” He tells them, “I’ll let Maedhros explain it all properly, but this could change everything.”

Meletye feels a sense of foreboding creep over her heart. As they approach the commanders’ tent, they see someone leaving, escorted by soldiers. He looks to be an elf, with dark hair and pale skin and several scars marking his face. He looks at Meletye in a way that makes her feel very uncomfortable, and she shudders slightly.

“That was the embassy Morgoth sent, I presume?” Maglor asks quietly.

“Yes. One of his thralls, apparently. An elf, not an orc, but seemingly very loyal to Morgoth.” Caranthir replies darkly, “He’s a disgrace to our kind. Maedhros should have heard his terms and then cut him down where he stood.”

They head into the tent, finding the rest of their brothers and a couple of advisors there with Maedhros.

“What happened?” Maglor asks immediately, “What message did they bring?”

Maedhros sighs softly, and for the first time in days there is something like hope in his eyes.

“Morgoth is offering some- some terms.” He replies, “I will need to meet with him properly, of course, but he is offering a Silmaril.”

“What?!” Maglor replies in disbelief.

Caranthir just stares in amazement at Maedhros, and Meletye gasps softly. But instead of the hope she sees in her brothers’ eyes, all she feels is a growing sense of foreboding.

“I still can’t quite believe it myself.” Maedhros replies with a soft chuckle, “This is not what I expected when I was told an embassy of Morgoth had come here.”

“You can’t listen to him.” Meletye says suddenly, and all her brothers turn to look at her. “It will only end badly; I just know it.”

Maedhros sighs quietly, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

“It’s risky, I know. But this is the first chance we’ve had to negotiate with Morgoth. It could be the best chance we get at retrieving even a single Silmaril.” He replies.

Meletye shakes her head.

“I don’t think it’s a risk we should take. What if he’s lying? What if this is just a ruse to kill you or capture you?” she counters. “Is the mere chance of retrieving a Silmaril really worth risking your life?”

“Well, of course you think it isn’t worth it.” Curufin suddenly snaps. “It’s not like you are beholden to the Oath like the rest of us are.”

Meletye stares at him, shocked. He never snaps at her like this. She might expect something like this from Caranthir, but not Curufin. He looks a little uncomfortable, as though he regrets his words, but before he can say anything more, Maedhros speaks up.

“I won’t be going alone, Mel. I’ll be taking soldiers with me- in fact, I’ll take more than Morgoth expects. I do not wish to be outnumbered by him.” Maedhros says.

Meletye still feels uncertain.

“I just don’t think this is a good idea.” she replies, “Do you really think Morgoth is going to hold his side of the deal? There isn’t a scrap of honesty or decency in him, he’s just going to-”

“Enough, Meletye!” Maedhros groans, and when he sees the look on her face, he sighs. “I’m sorry. But you have to understand that this is our best chance. More than that, it is our only hope. I am not going into this lightly, I promise you. I know it is difficult for you to truly understand it because you did not swear it yourself, but this Oath is compelling us to retrieve the Silmarils. It is simply impossible to ignore. And it isn’t just that, either. We owe it to atar to at least try.”

Meletye sighs softly. Maedhros’ words hurt her a little, but she tries not to let it show.

“Alright then. On your head be it.” she murmurs, “Just- please tell me when you’re leaving. I don’t want to be clueless about what is happening. And- and if it does go horribly wrong, I don’t want this to be our last conversation.”

With that, she leaves the tent. She struggles to hold back tears as she goes, and on her way she catches a glimpse of the embassy of Morgoth as he waits to hear Maedhros’ decision. She senses his eyes following her, and when she glances sideways at him, she swears she can see a smirk on his face. It worries her, but she tries to put it from her mind. She finds herself alone near the shore of the lake, watching the gentle ripple of the waters as she sits in silence. She sniffles softly, wiping away her tears, alone with the sound of lake-water lapping the shore. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of the water, and it somehow soothes her heart, as though there is a whisper of comfort in the sound. She stays there alone for some time, and she doesn’t bother to turn around when she hears someone approaching her. Maedhros sits down beside her with a soft sigh, and for a moment they sit in silence, Meletye still gazing out at the water. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Mel.” Maedhros says quietly, “I promise I wasn’t bringing up the Oath to hurt you. I understand why you didn’t swear it, and I respect that decision. It’s just that we truly are bound to it, and sometimes I can feel it in my very soul. It really is impossible to ignore it.”

Meletye nods silently.

“I understand, brother.” She murmurs, “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

She reaches out in the darkness, and she finds his right hand and holds tight.

“I hope you don’t think I am doubting you when I say you shouldn’t meet with Morgoth.” She tells him, “I don’t doubt you or your abilities or strengths in the slightest. It’s more that I don’t trust Morgoth.”

“I know you aren’t doubting me, Mel. And you’re probably right to not trust Morgoth. But I simply cannot turn aside this opportunity. The Oath we have sworn simply will not allow it, even now I can feel it urging me onwards.” Maedhros sighs.

Meletye squeezes his hand gently, she shuffles closer to him, and she leans in to rest her head against his shoulder.

“I’m just- I’m scared, Maedhros.” She says softly, “We’ve lost so much already. I don’t want to lose you.”

Maedhros pulls his hand away from Meletye’s and shifts away from her, and for a split second she thinks he is leaving her. Then, he gently cups the side of her face.

“Look at me, Mel.” He says gently.

She turns to face him, and he smiles warmly at her.

“You aren’t going to lose me. I promise.” He says firmly, “No matter what happens. Even if we are torn apart. Even if life takes us down different paths, you will not lose me. I’ll always be waiting with open arms when we find each other again. You’re my baby sister, Mel. You’ll never get rid of me.”

Meletye chuckles softly, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Damn. And there’s me thinking this is the perfect opportunity to finally get shot of you!” she jokes.

Maedhros laughs heartily, and he gives a soft sigh, smiling down at his sister.

“I really do love you, Mel.” He says fondly, “I hope you know that. And I hope you never, ever forget it.”

“I love you too, Maedhros.” Meletye replies with a soft smile. “You know, you’ve always been my favourite brother.”

Maedhros chuckles again.

“Really? I don’t suppose you could put that in writing for me?” he replies, “Because Maglor and Curufin are always arguing that they’re both your favourites.”

They both laugh again, and when they fall silent, Maedhros reaches out to tuck stray hair behind Meletye’s ear. His gaze lands on the bruise on her cheek for a moment, and sadness comes into his eyes.

“I know you’re scared, Mel. It’s alright for you to be scared, these are pretty scary times to live in. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. But don’t ever let fear stop you from doing what is right.” he says softly, “That’s why I’m meeting with Morgoth. It terrifies me at heart, but I will not let that stop me. I’ll do what I need to do regardless of my fear.”

Meletye smiles sadly at him.

“When are you leaving?” she asks.

“Very soon.” Maedhros replies. “The time and place has been agreed. It will just be me and my soldiers. That way, if something goes wrong, there’s still seven more siblings to take up the mantle. I’ll be leaving as soon as we return to the others.”

Meletye nods.

“I think we’d best get it over with, then.” she says with a sigh, “The sooner you go and meet him, the sooner you come back to us.”

Maedhros murmurs in agreement, and he rises to his feet, taking Meletye’s hand and helping her stand. They make their way back to the camp in silence, and Meletye tries her hardest to keep her fear under control. She wants to cling to Maedhros, she wants to beg him to stay, but she knows he is right. He needs to do this. They get back to the camp, he makes final preparations, and Meletye stands and watches with her brothers as Maedhros mounts a horse at the head of his company of soldiers. He turns back to look at her one last time before he goes, giving her a gentle, loving smile. She can almost hear him whispering reassurances to her, and she smiles back. Then, he calls out an order to his soldiers, turning and riding away. Meletye watches until him and his soldiers are nothing but dark specks in the distance, and she feels tears fill her eyes once more. No matter how hard she tries to fight the feeling that rises within her, she cannot help but worry that this will be the last she sees of Maedhros for a very, very long time.

Chapter Text

After Maedhros leaves, Meletye stands staring at the distant horizon for a while. She is still stood there when people begin to disperse, and she cannot keep fear from her mind. All she can think of is Maedhros, and the fear she has that this will all end badly for him. She hears footsteps approaching her, she feels someone touch her arm gently, and it shakes her out of her reverie. She turns and finds Curufin standing beside her, smiling sadly at her.

“Are you alright, sister?” he asks gently.

Meletye sighs softly.

“Not really.” She replies, “You know how I feel about this meeting with Morgoth. But I will be alright. When Maedhros comes home to us safe and sound.”

Curufin nods silently.

“In all honesty, I’m not quite alright, either. I’d be happier if I was with him. He’s done so much for all of us, and yet he faces this challenge alone. I don’t think any of us will breathe easily until he is home.” He replies.

Meletye doesn’t reply. She is still staring into the distance, as though she is lost in uneasy thoughts. Curufin frowns slightly.

“I- I wanted to say sorry, Mel.” He murmurs, “For what I said earlier. I snapped at you and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Meletye turns to face him, smiling sadly.

“It’s alright, brother. We’ll put that behind us.” She replies kindly, “There’s plenty of things I’ve said and done recently that I regret, too. I cannot make any of that right. So, I will not hold onto disagreements and grudges that can be mended.”

“Nor will I.” Curufin agrees, “If we can mend things, we should mend them.”

For a moment they stand in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, both quietly hoping that things will go well for Maedhros. Then, Curufin reaches out and pats Meletye’s shoulder.

“Well, we’ve still got work to do, sister.” he tells her. “I doubt Maedhros would be pleased with us if he came back to find the camp in tatters because we’d all been sat around waiting for him to return.”

Meletye murmurs in agreement, and she and Curufin start to go about their business once more.

Over the days that follow, Meletye keeps herself busy. She finds that when she is busy, she has little time to focus on her fear, and it keeps her from spiralling. The more time passes, the more worried she feels, and so she works to keep it from her mind. She helps her people as they rebuild and finish fixing the damage done by the orc attack. She helps the healers as they continue treating those who were injured, and when people recover and that work runs dry, she and the healers find places nearby safe enough to gather herbs to replenish their diminishing supplies. Some days after Maedhros left, Meletye finds herself helping some of the camp cooks with their meals, as they figure out ways to ration their supplies. Once she is finished, she walks back to one of the small fires dotted around the encampment, holding two bowls in her hands- one filled with stew, and one with scraps of leftover meat not quite good enough for them to eat. She finds Maglor, Curufin and Celegorm are sat around the fire finishing their food, and Huan lays on the ground, looking up at Meletye with doleful eyes. She sets her bowl down on a round log, before coming closer to Huan. He lifts his head and sniffs hopefully as she approaches, and Meletye chuckles softly.

“Here, boy. I persuaded the cooks to give me some scraps for you.” she says, setting the bowl down in front of the hound and scratching his ears briefly.

Curufin chuckles quietly as Meletye sits down with her stew.

“You spoil him more than Celegorm does, sister!” he says with a smile.

“Well, someone’s got to spoil him. He’s a good boy, aren’t you, Huan?” Meletye replies.

Huan makes a strange little noise as he eats, as if in agreement with Meletye, and she smiles. She begins eating, and she thinks as she does. A light frown crosses her face as she eats, and Maglor sets his bowl aside as he glances at her.

“You helped make the stew today, didn’t you?” he asks, and Meletye nods.

“I did.” she replies in between mouthfuls of stew, “I think I did alright. How did you find it?”

“Well, let’s just say you’re a better smith than a cook.” Curufin quips, smirking at her.

“Hey, I tried my best with it!” Meletye protests as Maglor and Celegorm laugh quietly. “We’ve not much good meat left, and little seasoning asides from salt which we’re having to save to use for preserving things.”

She glances at Celegorm.

“Are we getting any further with the hunting?” she asks him.

He shrugs slightly.

“A little, maybe.” He replies, “It’s difficult to hunt in this darkness, any creatures smell us and run before we see them. So, we’ve set up a few traps nearby in the hopes we can catch something that way. It’d only be smaller game, but it’s better than nothing. In the meantime, we’ll fish in the lake.”

Meletye nods silently. She quickly finishes eating her stew, setting aside the empty bowl. She sits and watches the flickering movement of the fire. Her mind drifts to Maedhros again, and worry fills her.

“Has there been any word on Maedhros yet?” she asks quietly.

Maglor frowns.

“There hasn’t.” he sighs, “But I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”

Meletye nods silently, and in her anxious state she finds herself picking at the skin around her nails. The more time passes from Maedhros’ departure, the less hope she has. She fears deeply that Maedhros is lost to them. She hears movement as Huan comes over to her, nudging her hands gently and resting his heavy head in her lap. She smiles sadly at him, scratching him just behind the ears in the way he likes.

“I swear he likes you more than he likes me.” Celegorm says gruffly, but when Meletye looks at him, there’s a smile on his face.

“Well, maybe if you gave him ear-scratches and meat scraps he’d be a little more fond of you!” Meletye teases.

She goes quiet again, still gently stroking Huan. The great hound comforts her and soothes some of the fear she is feeling. She and her brothers sit in silence for a while, and Meletye knows they are all thinking of Maedhros. They have been there for a little while when they suddenly hear a commotion, coming from the edge of camp. They all scramble up from their seats, hurrying towards the sound, and what they find has Meletye’s heart sinking to her feet. There is an elven soldier on the ground, beside his injured horse, and he is badly wounded. He groans and grimaces in pain, clutching at a wound in his side and breathing heavily. There are several people surrounding him, and they move aside as Maglor and the others approach. Meletye hastens to his side and immediately puts pressure on the bleeding wound in the soldier’s side, and she realises with sickening dread that she recognises him. He is one of the soldiers who went with Maedhros. He is deathly pale and is shaking, he barely seems able to lift his head and looks very weak; clearly, he has lost a lot of blood. Maglor crouches on his other side, resting one hand on his head in comfort.

“What happened?” he asks.

The soldier gasps and shudders.

“He- he had more men.” He gets out. “M-more than we expected.”

“Are you the only survivor, soldier?” Celegorm asks, voice low and grim.

The soldier shakes his head.

“No. M-Maedhros was spared. But they t-took him.”

Meletye gasps softly, and her horror is reflected in the sounds she hears her brothers make. She shakes her head slightly. The soldier is still shaking badly, and he suddenly coughs violently. Blood comes from his mouth, and his face pales even more until he almost looks grey.

“No.” Meletye whispers. “No. Not him. Please.”

The soldier locks eyes with her, a wide and pleading gaze full of fear and pain. Meletye sees the truth in his fearful eyes, and for a split second she can almost see and hear it all: the death-screams of terrified soldiers, the blood and the horror, and Maedhros kicking and screaming and fighting as he is dragged away by orcs. Then, the soldier lets out a soft whimper, his hand coming up to grasp Meletye’s arm tightly, as though he is desperately clutching to a lifeline. It only takes another few moments before something in his eyes fades away and his grip loosens, arm thumping down to the ground. A heavy silence rests as the soldier breathes his last, and Meletye stares down at him in shock. Maglor closes the soldier’s eyes gently, whispering a prayer as he does so. Meletye moves her hands away from him, looking down to see them covered in his blood, and she feels tears streaking down her face. Behind her, she can hear her brothers weeping. She is dimly aware of Maglor giving people orders and telling Celegorm to fetch the rest of their brothers, she hears people moving around, but she stays where she is, knelt on the ground beside the dead soldier. She doesn’t move until a couple of elves gently lift his body and take it away. Only when he is gone does she force herself to her feet, slowly trudging towards the tent where she knows her brothers will be. Tears still flow down her cheeks, and she cannot seem to stop herself from weeping. When she reaches the tent, the first thing she does is clean the soldier’s blood from her hands. As she washes away the red staining her skin, she hears her brothers talking, voices overlapping each other in urgency and fear.

“What on earth do we do now?” she hears Curufin ask, his voice trembling.

“Maybe the soldier was wrong.” Caranthir says, with the air of someone clutching at the slimmest hopes. “He was in his final moments. Maybe he didn’t see what he thought he did.”

“He wasn’t wrong.” Meletye says quietly, and her brothers turn to look at her. “I saw it. I think he- he showed me his mind as he was dying, and I saw the truth. They took Maedhros.”

Meletye hears her own voice, her own words, but she does not feel as though it is her speaking. She finishes cleaning her hands and turns to face the rest of her brothers, taking in faces filled with fear and regret and grief. She wonders why she isn’t feeling the same. She wonders when the strange numbness will fade, but for now she welcomes it; she knows that when that the pain of this loss comes, it will be agonizing. Maglor is sat down, a look of horrified shock written across his features.

“I don’t know what to do.” He says faintly.

“Until we hear word from Morgoth, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.” Celegorm says quietly, “Not until he tells us his ransom.”

Meletye sighs softly. I was right after all, she thinks bitterly, Maedhros shouldn’t have trusted Morgoth. How I wish that I was wrong. Nobody is speaking now, Meletye and her brothers sit in silence as they all grapple with the horrible news they have received. Suddenly, Meletye cannot bear it. She cannot bear the presence of others, and she leaves the tent. She goes to find somewhere quiet to try and unravel her thoughts and her feelings, and she finds herself sat at the lakeside once more. She closes her eyes, and she remembers the feel of Maedhros holding her hand, and the comforting words he spoke. He had promised she would not lose him. Just another promise he could not keep, she thinks, and that thought breaks her heart. She bows her head in the silent darkness, and she weeps for all she and her beloved brothers have lost.

Chapter Text

In the wake of the terrible blow they have suffered, Meletye and her brothers try to process all that has happened. Just a few hours after the soldier brought the news of Maedhros’ capture, a message arrives from Morgoth. Meletye gathers with her brothers once more and listens as Maglor reads the message aloud. It confirms that Maedhros is held captive by Morgoth, and in it Morgoth lays out his ransom demand- that the elves leave Beleriand and forsake their war against him. Meletye closes her eyes as she hears this, silent tears trickling down her face.

“So, he wants to make us abandon our war, does he? Our Oath?” Caranthir growls angrily, “Well, the bastard will have better luck making a rock bleed. We are the Sons of Fëanor. We will not give in.”

The brothers murmur in agreement. Meletye does not say a word. She is sat on the floor of the tent, back leaning against a thick wooden pole. We won’t abandon our war. We’ll just abandon our brother instead, she thinks. But she does not give voice to her disagreement. She knows it will only lead to an argument that she does not have the energy for.

“You’re right. We can’t forsake this war. For the sake of the Oath we swore and the people we have lost, we cannot give in.” Maglor says with a sigh. “I just hope Maedhros would understand that.”

Meletye draws her knees up towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. She stares across the tent, eyes wide. She hears her brothers talking, discussing what they should do next and whether they can get Maedhros out of Angband, but Meletye does not take in their words. They seem muffled, almost, and she feels as though she is trapped in some horrible dream. Somewhere beneath the numbness and emptiness she is feeling, there is a flicker of anger. Anger that her brothers would so easily give up on Maedhros. She senses movement as the brothers begin to leave the tent, and before long it is just her and Maglor left. He comes and sits down beside her, and he rests a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t react at all; she doesn’t even look at him.

“Mel? Are you alright?” he asks gently.

Meletye doesn’t reply, and Maglor looks very worried.

“Mel, you’re scaring me a little. Just- just say something, please. Or even just look at me. Please?”

The quiver in his voice, the frightened tone, breaks Meletye’s heart a little. So, she turns her head to look at her brother. He meets her eye, and it feels as though he looks into her heart. He sees the hurt that this silence is hiding, and without another word he pulls her into his arms, holding her close. Meletye lets him hold her, she wraps her arms around him and holds him, too. She feels tears trickle down her face again, and when Maglor pulls back, he cups her face gently and brushes them away.

“I know, Mel. I know.” He says softly. “But we’ll get through this. Maedhros will, too, I know that in my heart. He’s stronger than Morgoth knows.”

Meletye nods, but she still does not speak. Maglor helps her stand, she slides her arm through his, and together they leave the tent.

Over the days that follow, Meletye slowly begins to come to terms with Maedhros’ capture. That feeling of numbness and emptiness persists for some time, and while it does, she doesn’t even talk to anyone. She feels as though she is buried beneath the grief she feels, and nothing will ever bring her out of that. She goes about in a daze, losing track of time. She wouldn’t even eat if her brothers didn’t put food in her hands. The only comfort she finds is in Huan, who follows her around and stays with her, resting his head in her lap when she sits down and laying by her bed when she sleeps, letting her stroke him or simply rest her hand in his soft, warm fur. It takes almost a week for the numbness to begin fading, and as Meletye predicted, when it starts to fade, the pain replacing it is unbearable. It hits her one day like a punch to the gut, and she finds herself sobbing in anguish on the floor of her tent. She sobs for a long time, pulling at her hair and scratching her scalp in her distress until Huan comes to her and nudges her hands to stop her. She lays on the floor beside the hound, running her fingers through his fur, weeping until she cannot weep anymore. When she comes to herself again, she pushes herself to sit and she steels herself. She can let herself feel the pain of all she has lost, but she decides she will not lose herself again like she has done. She knows that Maedhros would not want that. Taniel would not want that. Her father would tell her to remember her might and keep going. Then I will keep going, Meletye tells herself firmly, I will not let this pain destroy me. She forces herself to go about her business as usual, helping her people rebuild and make a life for themselves. Her heart aches for the absence of Maedhros, but she knows she cannot let the pain overwhelm her again. She is in the healers’ tents one day, sat in a quiet corner folding clean bandages, when one of the healers approaches her.

“My lady? How are you feeling?” the healer asks.

Meletye glances up at her with a small smile. It’s the same healer who cared for her following that terrible argument with Fëanor. Alima, she remembers her name is.

“I’m well.” Meletye replies, voice still slightly hoarse from many days of silence. “At least, as well as one could be in times like this.”

Alima smiles back at her, soft and understanding.

“I’m glad to hear that, my lady. I must confess, many of us have been worried for you.” she replies.

Meletye frowns slightly. She thinks of how she has spent many of the past days stumbling around the encampment in a daze, barely looking at anyone else, let alone speaking to them. It is no surprise people noticed, she thinks, and no surprise that it worried them. She shakes herself out of her thoughts and smiles reassuringly at Alima, placing the last neatly folded bandage into a small basket. She rises to her feet and moves towards Alima, reaching out to take her hand.

“I am sorry I worried you, Alima.” She says gently, “The hurt of losing Maedhros almost shattered me completely, especially after the pain of losing my atar and my closest friend. But I am myself again. The pain is still there, of course; I don’t think it will ever leave, not wholly. But I know that those I have lost would hate to see me in the state I was in. They would want me to live my life well.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Maglor’s voice suddenly rings out.

Meletye gasps softly in shock, turning to look at her brother. He is standing at the entrance of the tent, watching on with a small smile on his face. Alima bows her head to him, and Meletye notices a flicker of something odd on his face. Almost like discomfort.

“Come, sister. I’d like to spend time with you.” Maglor says quietly.

Meletye bids Alima farewell and leaves with Maglor. They make for the lakeshore, and Meletye slides her arm through Maglor’s as they walk.

“It’s good to hear you speaking again, Mel.” He says, glancing sideways at her. “I was starting to worry that I’d never hear your voice again.”

“I would’ve thought never hearing my voice again would be a blessing! I bet you’ll miss the peace and quiet.” Meletye jokes.

Maglor chuckles quietly.

“Well, perhaps things have been a little more peaceable than usual. But rather too quiet without you, my dear sister.” he replies.

He gives a soft sigh as they continue walking.

“I’ve missed your company, Meletye. I’ve missed talking to you and hearing your opinion. You have a certain level-headedness that many of our brothers unfortunately lack.”  He says quietly, “And atar’s advisors haven’t been particularly helpful, if I’m honest.”

Meletye frowns slightly.

“I don’t think my opinion or advice would be any more helpful than theirs, Maglor.” she replies.

“Well, any advice is better than none.” Maglor sighs, “And right now, I think I need a little direction. People look to me for answers, now. They expect me to know what to do, and I have no idea.”

Maglor stops walking, turning to face Meletye. She looks up at him and sees uncertainty and worry written across his features, and suddenly she realises why he looked uncomfortable when Alima bowed her head to him. He does not want to be a king.

“None of us know, Maglor.” she says reassuringly, “We are in unchartered territory, with nothing but the stars to light our path. But we will know, one day. We’ll figure out where to go, how to survive, how to fight. We’ll figure out how to get our brother back, and everything will be alright.”

Maglor smiles sadly.

“I hope you are right, Meletye.” He says softly, “For now, I cannot see any path forward. Each one I think of is choked by thorns and dangers and would only lead us to ruin. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps, with time, the way forward will become clear. All we can do in the meantime is build our defences, ensure our strength, and try to make a life for ourselves in these strange lands.”

As time moves on, as days turn to weeks and months, the Noldorin exiles learn how to survive in Beleriand. They gradually build up their encampment, making it well-defendable, and they learn all they can about the lands they are living in. They learn where best to hunt, where to forage and gather food and herbs, and which areas to avoid. They live as best they can by the light of the stars, and find that their survival skills are far better than they expected. Meletye continues to help and support her people in any way she can, along with supporting Maglor as he leads their people. Month after month slips by, but he does not feel any more confident than he did the day they knew Maedhros was taken. He watches and tries in vain to maintain peace as tensions grow between the siblings- especially so between Meletye and their brothers. She argues with them all frequently, especially regarding Maedhros and his fate. She is still angry with them for abandoning him so readily, but none of the brothers will admit that they have abandoned him, insisting that there is still a chance of freeing him. It is after one such argument that Meletye finds herself sat by the lakeside alone once again, gazing at the stars reflecting in its glassy surface. It is here that Maglor comes to find her, seeking to mediate between his siblings. Meletye sighs quietly when he sits down beside her.

“I know why you’re here, brother.” She mutters, “And I’m not apologizing. Especially not to Caranthir, he’s being a fool.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize, Mel.” Maglor sighs, “I’m just asking that you all stop arguing so damn much. It’s getting exhausting.”

Meletye suddenly smirks to herself.

“Bet you miss those days where I refused to talk to anyone.” She says.

Maglor bites back a laugh.

“Well, maybe they were a bit more peaceful.” He admits.

Meletye laughs softly. Her hand brushes along the shore of the lake, finding a small stone. She casts it into the smooth waters, watching ripples spreading from where the stone sinks.

“Hah! That was pathetic, sister.” Maglor teases, “Here, let me show you how you really throw a stone.”

He picks up a slightly larger stone, hurling it with his right hand. It lands a little short of where Meletye’s did, and Meletye cackles.

“Oh, dear. You’d best improve that throw, Maglor. Especially if you’re wanting to use any of those makeshift spears Curufin and I made.” She laughs.

Maglor smiles at her, shaking his head slightly. Meletye gives a soft sigh, running her fingers over the earth once more.

“It seems that’s the only time Curufin is happy in my presence, these days.” She says softly, “When we’re crafting things together. I think it reminds him of the days we spent in atar’s workshop, back in Tirion. Oh, the things we could make if we were there now.”

Maglor nods silently.

“I miss home.” He murmurs, “I miss Tirion. I miss the pastures and glades and woods, and I miss the light of the Trees, the feeling of them shining on my skin. But more than anything else, I miss our amme. I miss our cousins and our uncles. I wish we had never left them behind.”

“I wish we had never left at all.” Meletye says bitterly, “But there’s no changing that now.”

They sit in silence for a little while, and Meletye occasionally tosses another stone into the lake, watching the ripples on the water’s surface. She frowns as she suddenly sees something on the horizon, something reflected in the water of the lake. Maglor gasps and scrambles to his feet when he sees it- a great, silvery orb rising into the sky.

“What on earth is that?!” he exclaims.

Meletye stands, too. She is speechless as they watch it rise into the sky, as they feel it flood the lands with its pale, dim, silver light.

“Oh, but it’s beautiful.” She breathes, “Simply beautiful.”

“It- it reminds me of…” Maglor trails into silence.

“Telperion.” Meletye whispers, “It feels like Telperion’s light.”

Maglor chuckles softly, reaching out to take her hand. She turns to look at him, seeing a smile spreading across his face, hope kindling in his eyes. She knows he is thinking the same thing she is. That maybe this is a sign that they are not alone, after all. A sign that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright. 

Chapter Text

Over the week that follows, Meletye finds hope stirring in her heart for the first time in a long time. She sees it in the eyes of her brothers, too, as they sit together and watch each rising of the moon. Meletye finds something special in the times they watch the moonrise; it is peaceful and calm, with no arguments or anger for once. They simply sit, talking quietly and happily as they feel the moonlight shine on them. Then, when they have seen the moon come into the sky seven times, something new happens. Meletye wakes one day in her tent, shifting and sighing for a moment before she opens her eyes. She can dimly hear people chattering excitedly outside, and suddenly hears Curufin calling her name.

“Meletye! Are you up? Come on, get up! You have to see this!” he calls excitedly from outside the tent.

Meletye sighs softly and opens her eyes, pushing herself to sit up. She frowns and blinks as she realises it is not dark in the tent. She looks around, seeing light filtering through the fabric of the tent; it doesn’t come from fire or lanterns.

“What the…” she murmurs softly.

She scrambles out of bed, hastily dragging on her robe before leaving the tent. Nothing could prepare her for the sight awaiting her. The world is flooded with light, for the first time since Morgoth destroyed the Trees. She laughs softly as she turns on the spot, looking around her and taking in the delight and laughter and joy of her fellow Noldor. She hears Curufin chuckle, and turning to him, she sees him beaming widely at her.

“Mel, we have daylight.” He says, and his voice trembles slightly with his joy. “Oh, just look at it! It’s incredible.”

Meletye suddenly realises where the light comes from- a great orb in the sky, similar to the moon except burning with a light so bright she cannot look at it for more than a moment. The light feels warm on her skin, gentle and soft as it creeps over the horizon. Every single person Meletye looks at is smiling, as this new first light brings them hope beyond words. That day she and her brothers simply sit basking in the light, talking and laughing and discussing the things they can do now they finally have daylight again. There are no arguments or disagreements at all that day; even Caranthir is in high spirits. Meletye sits with her brothers and they watch in awe as the sun sinks beyond the horizon when the day draws to a close, filling the sky with beautiful colours and reflecting on the rippling lake. Meletye gazes avidly at the beautiful sight, and she hopes she will never, ever forget how wondrous these moments truly are.

Things seem a lot more hopeful after the sun rises for the first time. Meletye finds herself watching the sunrise and sunset every day, watching the colours and the changing light and the beauty, and it fills her heart with joy. She finds a peace in it, just as she used to find peace in the light of the Trees. She sees her brothers’ spirits rising as they enjoy the daylight and begin to properly explore the lands around them. And yet, despite the hope and joy of daylight and new discovery, Meletye still finds herself often struggling with a heavy heart. She often wonders what her father and Taniel and Maedhros would think of the sun and moon, she wishes she could share the joy of it all with them, and their absence breaks her heart. Time passes by, and one day, remarkable news comes to them, news that makes Meletye’s heart soar. Scouts come back telling them that Fingolfin’s host has made it to Middle-Earth, and that they are moving towards the lake. There is some debate among the siblings as to whether they should reach out to Fingolfin. Meletye sits in the tent with her brothers one evening as they discuss the situation, and she finds her patience with them wearing thin.

“We left them behind for a reason.” Caranthir snaps irritably, “What’s the use trying to ally with them?”

“And what are the chances they’d even want to ally with us?” Curufin muses, “I doubt they’re pleased with us after all that has happened.”

“Don’t we all have the same desires?” Meletye points out, “All of us want to see Morgoth’s downfall. Can’t that be enough to unite us?”

“No, it can’t.” Caranthir replies stubbornly.

Meletye gives a soft, derisive laugh, shaking her head at him. Caranthir glares at her as she rises to her feet.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” he sneers.

“Oh, just your attitude. You’re as stubborn as a mule sometimes, brother. It’s funny.”

Caranthir looks even angrier at that.

“How dare-”

“Enough!” Maglor groans, and Caranthir falls silent. “For goodness’ sake, would you two just give it a rest?”

Meletye sighs softly, and she turns to leave the tent.

“Where are you going? There’s more to discuss, sister, we aren’t finished.” Celegorm calls to her.

“Well, I am.” She replies. “I need a little time.”

She walks away, making her way to the lakeside once more. She sits down heavily with a sigh, glancing around her. The world is covered in darkness, with only a faint glow of light on the western horizon where the sun has just gone down. Meletye casts her gaze to the northern shore of the lake, and she smiles sadly. There on the opposite shoreline, she can see the distant flickering lights of watch-fires. Some days, when the wind is in the right direction, she can even hear the faintest whisper of voices. Her uncle and her cousins are camping there. So close to them, and yet further than they ever have been. She closes her eyes for a moment, and she lets herself get lost in memories. Playing with her cousins as children, their laughter echoing off the towers of Tirion. Strolling through the markets arm in arm with Galadriel, giggling and gossiping and pointing out handsome elves. Nights of feasting and partying, growing merry on delicious wine and dancing the night away with the people she loved most in all the world. The pleasant memories fade when she opens her eyes, sighing softly as she considers the reality of the present. Every single one of Fingolfin’s host most likely hate the very thought of Meletye and her brothers. I would hate us, too, she thinks to herself, we betrayed them. She wishes more than ever that Maedhros was here. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would go straight to Fingolfin’s camp. He would apologize for all their wrongdoings, he would make things right, and the Noldor would be united once more. But instead, this bitter divide remains. Instead, Maedhros suffers alone in Angband whilst the rest of them argue and refuse to mend the rifts between them. Meletye plucks grass from the ground as she sits lost in thought, absent-mindedly shredding it to pieces. She wants nothing more than to reunite with their cousins, to fix things and be a family the way they used to be, but nobody else seems to want that. More and more, she feels like the odd one out when she is with her brothers. The arguing between her and her brothers had calmed for a while after the rising of the moon and sun, but now arguments happen daily. Meletye is finding it exhausting, and she finds it increasingly difficult to spend any time at all with her brothers. She spends a great deal of time by herself, and the loneliness of it all is beginning to take its toll on her heart.

As days creep by into weeks, the arguments continue, until Meletye is finding it almost completely unbearable. She feels lonelier than ever before, even feeling lonely when she is surrounded by her brothers. The arguing is almost constant, and Maglor seems to be the only brother she doesn’t argue with. She grows tired of them, tired of the bickering, and she wishes she could think of a way to fix things. She is in the commanders’ tent one evening, as a conversation with her brothers once more devolves into an argument, and she is exhausted.

“-and I simply don’t think you understand just how difficult all of this has been for us, Meletye.” Caranthir says angrily.

Meletye sighs, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. Caranthir has just been ranting for at least a full minute about the Oath and their cousins and the whole situation, in response to a simple comment Meletye had made. She is sat in the tent with Caranthir, Curufin, Celegorm and the twins. Maglor is not there; he is probably somewhere quiet seeing to business, Meletye thinks. Caranthir stalks up and down as he rants, and just looking at him and seeing his fire makes Meletye feel tired. The others seem to be trying to stay out of it; Amrod and Amras are sat with each other talking quietly, Celegorm is poring over a map marking out good hunting areas, and Curufin sits reading a book. 

“All I said was that I miss them, Caranthir.” Meletye sighs, “Can I not express that I miss my family? Is that really such a terrible thing for me to say?”

“It’s not just that. I know there’s meaning hidden behind what you say, that you’re really trying to find a way to push us into an alliance.” Caranthir snaps.

Meletye groans softly.

“There isn’t some sly meaning to everything I say! It would be nice if once, just once, I could express my feelings without it triggering some argument. I’m tired of arguing.” She says.

“Then maybe you should stop saying things that trigger arguments.” Curufin says testily, closing his book with a snap.

Meletye looks at him in surprise, and he sighs quietly.

“I’m sorry, Mel, but you do keep bringing up difficult topics. You know how we all feel about- about those who were left behind.” He says.

“Those we left behind, you mean.” Meletye snaps, “Those we abandoned and betrayed.”

“We left them behind for a reason.” Caranthir replies, “They would have been no help to us.”

Meletye shakes her head.

“We shouldn’t have left them. They’re family.” Meletye says stubbornly.

She stands up now, arms folded tightly.

“Oh, would you please just give it a rest, Mel!” Celegorm grumbles, frowning slightly, “You say you’re tired of the arguing. Well, maybe we’re tired of you constantly bringing this up. All that happened is in the past. Why can’t you let it go?”

“Because it matters to me!” Meletye cries, “They matter to me. More than I can say. Frankly, I don’t understand how none of you care about them, how you can be so damn heartless with your own kin!”

“For goodness’ sake, Meletye. If they matter so much to you, then maybe you’d be better off with them.” Caranthir says angrily, his voice rising to a shout.

“Maybe I would.” Meletye snaps back, “Sometimes I wish I had never left them.”

Anger flashes in Caranthir’s eyes, and Meletye senses the others bristling, too.

“Then go.” Caranthir shouts at her, “Go and be with them instead. You’ve never been any help to us. You didn’t swear the Oath. You never listened to atar. We left them behind because they were useless. You’ll fit right in with them- that is unless you’re of no worth even to them.”

An awkward silence falls. Meletye is speechless, staring at Caranthir in horror.

“Before you say anything, I meant every word of that, Meletye.” Caranthir growls. “We’d be better off without you. Atar was right about you. You’re nothing but a coward.”

Meletye gasps softly. The tent is silent again, and she glances around at her brothers. None of them will look at her.

“Is that how you all feel?” she asks softly, voice trembling slightly. “You think I’m useless? A coward? That you’d be better off with me gone?”

Nobody says a word, and the silence shatters Meletye’s heart completely. She feels tears pricking in her eyes, and without another word she turns to leave. Maglor is coming into the tent just as she leaves, and she shoves past him, fighting back tears.

“Mel, wh- what on earth is going on?” she hears him ask as she leaves.

Meletye doesn’t stick around to answer his question, or to hear her brothers’ answers. She makes her way to her own tent, still holding back tears as she goes, and when she gets there she sits down on her bed and she lets go. She buries her head in her hands and she weeps, shoulders shaking, breath coming in rapid gasps, and she feels the pain deep in her very soul. She cannot bear it anymore. She cannot bear the arguments and the loneliness and the disdain of her brothers. She gives herself a few minutes to weep, and then she sits up, wiping away her tears, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself. She comes to her decision, she nods silently and steels herself, and she looks out a travel bag and begins packing her things. She is almost done when she hears someone outside the tent calling her name.

“Meletye?” it’s Maglor calling for her. “Mel, it’s me. Can I come in?”

Meletye sighs softly, stuffing the bag out of sight before sitting on the bed again.

“Come in.” she says.

Maglor enters the tent, and he sighs sadly when he sees his sister sat there, face still streaked with tears.

“I’m sorry, Mel.” He says softly, coming to sit beside her. “I’m sorry Caranthir was so awful to you.”

Meletye feels the emotions rise again, and she shakes her head.

“Well, he’s not sorry.” She replies, “Nor are any of our brothers. They all agree with him. They think that you are all better off without me. Maybe you are.”

“No, Mel. That is not true.” Maglor says firmly, “I promise you, it’s not true. Quite frankly, they’re all being idiots. Especially Caranthir. He’s far too hot-headed, it does him no good. It does all of us no good.”

He takes Meletye’s hand, squeezing gently, and she closes her eyes as tears threaten to fall again.

“I’m just so tired of it, Maglor.” she says softly, “You can say whatever you like, but it doesn’t change how hurt I feel. How I feel so utterly despised by them all. How lonely I feel.”

“But you’re not alone, Mel. You have me. You always will have me, no matter what.” Maglor says gently.

Meletye turns to meet his gaze, his gentle eyes, and she feels his steadiness and love. She gives him a small smile.

“I know, brother. I know you’ll always be there for me.” she murmurs.

Worry flickers across Maglor’s face as he meets Meletye’s gaze.

“You want to run, don’t you?” he asks quietly.

Meletye sighs softly.

“Run where?” she replies, “We have no-one, Maglor. We saw to that when the ships were set ablaze.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Maglor still holds Meletye’s hand, his thumb tracing soothing patterns over her skin. After a few minutes of quiet, she slowly pulls her hand away from his.

“I think I need to be alone for a while, brother.” She says softly, “I need- I just need time to think. To cool down.”

Maglor nods understandingly.

“Of course, Mel. I’ll leave you be for a while. But if you need company, if you need to talk, I’ll be here. You know where to find me.” he replies.

Meletye nods, smiling sadly at him as he leaves. She sits on her bed for a while after he leaves her, resting her head in her hands as confused thoughts swirl around her mind. She knows she cannot bear to stay here and feel the anger of her brothers. Even when they do not argue, she still senses their resentment, and it breaks her heart. She thinks of what she had said to Maglor. Run where? That question sends anxiety twisting through her, but she knows she cannot stay here anymore. Her best chance, she decides, is to go to where Fingolfin and her cousins are. She will have to beg their forgiveness, she will have to grovel and plead and tell them how sorry she is. It will be humbling, to say the least, but she knows it will be well worth it to see them again. Anything is better than this, she thinks to herself. She finishes packing up her belongings, and she takes a moment to find her parchment and quill and write a short note.

My beloved brothers, she writes, I am sorry I left. I am sorry I did not have the courage to stay. I am sorry I let you down. I simply could not bear the arguments anymore. Caranthir said you are better off without me, and I fear he was right. So, I am leaving, with a heavy heart and wounded soul. I know you’ll do just fine without me. I hope I will see you all again one day. Please know that I love you all, more than words can say.

All my love, Meletye.

Meletye brushes away tears as she finishes writing the note. She wishes that things could be different, that she could stay here with her brothers, but she knows she has to leave. She leaves the note somewhere it will be found. She fixes her weapon belt securely about her waist, she puts on her cloak and pulls the hood over her head, and she slings her bag over her shoulder. The camp is quiet when she leaves her tent. The night is deep and still, and when she moves quietly through the camp, she is not disturbed. She takes some provisions, and without so much as a sound she leaves the camp. She knows how to avoid detection, and not even the guards spot her leaving. She keeps moving, not stopping until she is far from camp. She pauses and turns back then for one last look. She sees light glimmering in the distance, and she thinks of how Maglor will react when he realises she is gone. She sighs softly.

“I’m sorry, Maglor.” she whispers to the night, “I’m sorry I let you down.”

She steels herself, and she turns away. She turns her back on her brothers, and she leaves them behind her.

Chapter Text

The night is deep and dark as Meletye travels alone. Clouds begin to cover the sky, shrouding the moon and stars from view, and Meletye shivers slightly. She knows very well that orcs come out at night, especially so on starless nights such as this. She moves a little faster as she thinks of this. She stays close to the edge of the lake, following its curve as she makes for the other side of it. The travel takes several hours, and the eastern sky is beginning to grow very slightly lighter when Meletye finally reaches the final approach to the camp. She can hear quiet voices talking as she approaches, and she can just about make out the shadowy figures of two guards standing in the gloom. She approaches with caution, not wishing to scare them, and one of them suddenly spots her and leaps to attention.

“Stop right there!” he commands.

Both guards now hold their spears out threateningly, and Meletye raises her hands.

“I mean no harm.” She tells them calmly, “I have no weapons in my hands, look.”

Another guard comes hurrying up behind the first two, carrying a lantern. They approach her slowly, and Meletye stays still. The guard with the lantern holds it up to cast more light on her, and Meletye sees his eyes widen as he glances under her hood.

“Take down your hood.” He says in a low voice.

Meletye reaches up and throws her hood down, and all three guards gasp in surprise as they recognise her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” one of the guards snarls.

Meletye swallows hard.

“I’m just looking for shelter.” She says softly. “I can’t stay with my brothers anymore. I simply can’t. Let me speak with my uncle. Please?”

The guard sighs irritably, glancing at his fellows. He hears the quiet desperation in Meletye’s voice, and as she watches as the guards whisper to each other.

“Very well.” one of them says after their brief discussion. “You may speak with him. Do not expect welcome, however. Traitors are not looked upon kindly here.”

Meletye doesn’t say anything in response, she simply nods. The guard with the lantern gestures for her to follow him, and he leads her into the camp. She cannot keep a small smile from her face when she catches glimpses of people she thought she would never see again. The knowledge that they made it here alive in spite of Fëanor’s betrayal lifts her heart immensely. Then, she notices the way they all look at her. She notices the angry mutterings, the nudges and whispers and subtle pointing, and she turns her gaze downwards. She only looks up when the guard stops walking, and she hears a familiar voice speak her name.

“Meletye?”

Her heart leaps, and a smile graces her lips once more. She looks up into the face of her beloved cousin Galadriel, and instantly the smile dies on her lips. She looks just as beautiful as she always did, her golden-silver hair bound in braids reflecting firelight, eyes still shining with Treelight, but there is something cold in her expression.

“Galadriel.” Meletye breathes, “I’ve missed-”

“What are you doing here?” Galadriel cuts her off, tone cold and angry. “Why did you come?”

“I-I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Meletye replies. “Before we say anything else, I want you to know how sorry I am for all that happened.”

She reaches out to gently take Galadriel’s hand in hers, but she yanks away from her. She looks as disgusted as if an orc had touched her. Meletye senses people gathering around them, and everywhere she looks she sees angry faces. Celeborn approaches behind Galadriel, resting a hand on her shoulder, but his gaze is just as cold as hers.

“I’m sorry.” Meletye says softly, “I tried to- I couldn’t- I’m-”

“Sorrow will not bring back the dead.” Another voice snaps.

Meletye turns to see Fingon standing there, arms folded as he looks at her. The anger and hurt in his eyes almost shatters her completely. She thinks for a moment of the many times she saw Maedhros and Fingon laughing together, and she wishes more than ever that Maedhros was here. She swallows hard, meeting Fingon’s icy glare with as much calmness as she can muster.

“I know nothing can fix what we did to you all.” She begins, “But I truly do regret it. Maglor does, too, I know it. And Maedhros did.”

She blinks back tears that threaten to fall.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am that you made it here.” she murmurs.

There is a strange look of shock on Fingon’s face, and he doesn’t speak. Galadriel does, however.

“Not all of us made it, Meletye.” She snaps, “Many died as we crossed the Helcaraxë. All because of Fëanor, and your brothers. And you.”

There are angry mutterings of agreement from all around. Her heart is pounding, and suddenly she feels as though she is surrounded by enemies. She hears angry murmurings on all sides, Galadriel is still glaring at her, and everywhere she looks she sees her family and people she once called friends looking at her with hatred. She spots Finrod, Angrod and Aegnor all standing together, watching in silence. Angrod and Aegnor are muttering to each other, and Meletye realises Finrod is the only one who does not look angry. A frown creases his brow, and there is something almost like sadness in his gaze.

“I tried to stop them. I tried, I promise you. I…” Meletye trails into silence as the angry muttering around her grows in volume.

“Traitors aren’t welcome here.”

“The nerve of her to come to us!”

“We should throw her out!”

“What is going on here?” another voice suddenly rings out.

Meletye gasps softly. She turns and sees the crowd parting as Fingolfin approaches. He frowns slightly as he looks between Meletye and all the people gathered around her.

“Meletye came here alone.” Fingon says quietly.

Fingolfin’s frown deepens.

“Alone?” he asks. “Meletye, why did you come here?”

Meletye doesn’t quite know what to say for a moment. Fingolfin asks the same question of her others have asked, but his tone is completely different. He almost sounds concerned, she realises.

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Meletye says after a moment’s silence.

Her voice trembles as she speaks, and she balls her hands into fists to try and stop them shaking. She can feel tears pricking in her eyes again, and it takes all her strength to hold herself together. Something flickers in Fingolfin’s eyes as he gazes upon her. He sees the way she is barely holding it together, the unshed tears shining in her eyes, the pain and sorrow lurking just beneath the surface. He sees her and he perceives that she is broken and weary inside. He sees the cracks of her broken heart, and it moves him. He glances around at his people and he sighs quietly.

“Move along, all of you. This is not some spectacle for you to gawp at.” He says firmly, and he turns back to Meletye. “Come with me, Meletye.”

She nods silently and she walks forward, still trembling slightly. Fingolfin rests a gentle hand on her shoulder as she draws level with him, walking alongside her. He does not miss the way she startles slightly when he reaches towards her, or the tension in her shoulders. Fingon silently follows behind them, a troubled look on his face. They soon reach a tent, and Fingolfin leads Meletye inside. Fingon still follows them, and Fingolfin gives another quiet sigh when he realises his son is still there.

“Perhaps Meletye might feel more comfortable-” he begins quietly.

“It’s fine.” Meletye interrupts, “He can stay.”

Fingolfin nods briefly, and he gestures to a chair for Meletye to sit down. She simply shakes her head, feeling too nervous to sit down. Fingolfin folds his arms as he surveys her, looking thoughtful.

“Now then. I know you did not come here on a mere whim, Meletye.” He says gently, “I’ve known you since you were small. I know something is wrong. Would you tell me what it is?”

Meletye opens her mouth to speak and closes it again, unsure of what to say. Fingolfin waits patiently for her to speak, there is a kindly look in his eyes, and suddenly it is all far too much for Meletye. Without so much as a moment’s warning, she bursts into tears. The looks of surprise on Fingolfin and Fingon’s faces would be comical if she wasn’t so upset.

“Oh, goodness!” Fingolfin murmurs. “Here, sit down, Meletye.”

He guides her to sit and she buries her face in her hands as she sobs uncontrollably. Every bit of sorrow and guilt and fear she has felt tonight is simply pouring out of her, and now the dam has broken, she fears she will never stop weeping. She dimly hears Fingolfin muttering something to Fingon, she hears movement as Fingon leaves the tent, but she pays it little attention. Fingolfin crouches before her now, reaching to rest his hands on her shoulders in comfort.

“Deep breaths, Meletye.” He says soothingly, “It’s alright. You are not alone.”

 It takes a few minutes, but gradually Meletye’s sobs begin to slow down. She feels a little steadier, and she slowly brings her hands away from her face, still sniffling softly. Fingolfin smiles kindly at her as she brushes away tears.

“So much for being a mighty daughter, eh?” she says with a watery chuckle.

Fingolfin chuckles quietly, and behind him Fingon comes back into the tent carrying a jug and cup.

“Even the mightiest warriors weep when they hurt, Meletye.” He says kindly, “They do not keep it hidden. Maybe that helps them keep their might.”

Meletye nods silently. Fingon pours her some water and she smiles gratefully as she takes it and sips slowly. She still trembles slightly, but she feels calmer. She glances at Fingon, noticing that he still looks a little shocked. It strikes her that he has never before seen her weep like that. Neither him nor Fingolfin have.

“Whenever you are ready to talk, we will listen.” Fingolfin says gently.

Meletye has a little more water before she says anything.

“I- I had to leave my brothers.” She says softly. “I just couldn’t stay there anymore. It seemed that they had grown to hate me. We argued so much.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Thing have been difficult between us ever since Alqualondë. Ever since I refused to swear the Oath.” She murmurs.

Fingolfin blinks in surprise, but quickly masters himself.

“You- refused to swear it?” he asks.

Meletye nods.

“I did.” she sighs, “I had this terrible feeling in my heart when atar swore it that it would only lead us to ruin. If it was a feeling I had only on that awful day amidst darkness and grief and fear, perhaps I would not pay it such heed. But I still have the same feeling. That same dread. Already, terrible deeds have been borne of that wretched Oath.”

“I’ll bet Fëanor was thrilled by your refusal.” Fingon says drily.

Meletye gives a soft, humourless chuckle.

“Oh, he certainly was.” she sighs, “And as for my brothers- well, most were frustrated. But Maedhros and Maglor and Curufin at least were understanding when I explained why I refused to swear the Oath.”

She sighs again, and a slight frown creases her brow.

“You know already, of course, that atar had the ships burned.” She says quietly, and Fingolfin nods silently. “Well, what you don’t know is that Maedhros and I refused to help him do it. We refused to so much as touch a torch.”

Something like pride flickers in Fingon’s eyes at her words.

“I knew it.” he murmurs, “I knew he wouldn’t betray us.”

Meletye feels tears pricking in her eyes again.

“I paid a price for my refusal to help atar.” She says, “I couldn’t sit and watch it happen. I decided I’d steal a ship and sail it back to Valinor myself. It would have been difficult and would have taken many trips to get everyone here, but I was determined. But I was stopped, by one of atar’s soldiers. There was a struggle. He dropped his torch and it- it set me ablaze.”

Meletye hears Fingolfin and Fingon gasp softly. She doesn’t look at them, she simply keeps talking.

“It was a pain like nothing I’ve ever felt. I still bear the scars of the burns I suffered. But the most painful part was- was that atar saw it. He saw it, and he did nothing. He walked away and let me burn alive.”

Fingon mutters a curse in Quenya, and Fingolfin rests a gentle hand on Meletye’s shoulder as tears trickle down her face once more.

“That was just the beginning.” She sniffles, “Shortly after we settled by the lakeshore, we were attacked by orcs. We were victorious, but we lost many, too. Including Taniel. She died in my arms, and afterwards all I could think was that it was atar’s fault. He brought us all here. He caused her death. I wasn’t shy about telling him so, and he was furious. When I told him he valued his wretched Silmarils above his own family, he lost it completely. He hit me. And then he told me that I was a coward, and that he regretted bringing me here.”

Her breath shudders as the pain of it all washes over her again, and it is a struggle to hold back the flood of tears that threaten to escape her. If she glanced up at Fingolfin and Fingon, she would see the horror in her uncle’s eyes, and the anger in her cousin’s.

“Oh, Meletye.” Fingolfin murmurs, “I am so very sorry. He was wrong to do that. To say that.”

“I-I always knew he had a temper. I knew his fire well.” Meletye gets out between sniffles, “I just never expected to feel its heat myself.”

“Meletye, look at me.” Fingolfin says gently, and she lifts her eyes to meet his, and he sighs sadly. “Dear Meletye. A parent may feel anger, but they should never take it out on their child in such a way. No father worthy of the name treats their child so terribly. You did not deserve it.”

The kindness and sorrow in his eyes, and the truth behind his words, shatters Meletye’s composure completely. She sobs softly, tears flow down her face once again, and Fingolfin pulls her into a warm, gentle embrace. He whispers kind words as she weeps in his arms, he soothes her and she allows herself to be comforted. When she finally composes herself once more, she remembers that there is still more to tell.

“He died, uncle.” Meletye says softly when she pulls back from Fingolfin’s embrace. “He rode to Angband. His vanguard was ambushed and he was killed, and his body burned into ashes when he died.”

Fingolfin nods, and tears suddenly shine in his eyes.

“I thought as much. I-I felt it, somehow.” He murmurs, and he hesitates a moment. “The argument you had with him- was that-”

“Our last conversation.” Meletye sighs, “Yes. I never saw him again after that. It is something that will weigh on my heart for the rest of my days.”

They all sit in silence for a moment, lost in thought. Meletye glances at Fingon, and she sees a strange look on his face. Almost as though he is gathering his courage for something.

“I- I need to ask you something, Mel.” He says suddenly, and he sighs heavily. “Earlier, you said something about- about Maedhros. You spoke of him as though he is in the past.”

He meets her eye, and she sees desperation and fear in his gaze.

“Please. Please, don’t tell me he’s- he’s…”

“I don’t know.” Meletye says softly, and Fingon bows his head. “He was captured by Morgoth, when he went to parlay. He’s been in his captivity for quite some time, now. But one thing gives me hope; if he was dead, Morgoth would surely have told us. He’d gloat over Maedhros’ death, I am sure. Sometimes I wonder if it’d be better for him to be dead than trapped in Morgoth’s clutches. At least then we’d know he was free from suffering.”

Fingon has his head in his hands now, and a grief-filled silence falls once more. They sit there for a little while, and the first light of the day is beginning to filter through the tent canvas when Fingolfin stands once more. He rests a hand on Meletye’s shoulder.

“Come, Meletye. We will find you somewhere to rest. I am sure you need sleep after the night you’ve had.” He says gently.

Meletye glances at Fingon, who still sits there looking devastated.

“It’s alright. I’ll talk to him.” Fingolfin says quietly.

Meletye nods, and she stands and allows her uncle to guide her out of the tent. As they are walking away, they run into Galadriel and Celeborn. Fingolfin smiles kindly at them both, ignoring the way they glare daggers at Meletye.

“Meletye is going to stay with us from now on.” He tells them calmly, “She fought for us when it mattered, though it put her at great risk. Spread the word, please, and give her some time to rest. Goodness knows she needs it.”

Something flickers in Galadriel’s eyes, and suddenly Meletye knows she is very curious to hear her story. She smiles slightly.

“Don’t worry, cousin. I’ll tell you the whole scandalous tale once I’ve had some sleep.” She says, “We can wander around and gossip and pretend we’re back in the markets once more.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Galadriel’s lips, and she nods briefly as Meletye and Fingolfin keep moving. When Meletye is alone in a small tent, settling down for some much-needed rest, she smiles to herself. Things will not be perfect here, she knows that, but they will be better. That much, she knows in her heart; things will get better.

Chapter Text

That day, when Meletye rests, she sleeps surprisingly well. She knows that she is safe here, that Fingolfin will not allow anybody to harm her. When she wakes, she can tell by the light in the tent that it is past midday. She sits up with a soft sigh, glancing around the small tent. Her cloak and dress are draped over a chair, and her travel-bag sits beside it. She spots the star-shaped brooch on her cloak, and she feels a lump in her throat as it makes her think of her brothers. What will Maglor be thinking right now? Will he be out there, searching for her? Or will he have figured out where she is? She is brought out of her thoughts when she hears voices talking quietly outside the tent. 

“I know that, but I just want to know her side of the story.”

Meletye smiles to herself as she recognises Galadriel’s voice.

“She’s probably sleeping. Galadriel, leave her be- Galadriel!”

Meletye chuckles at the hissing whispers of Celeborn, and she can picture Galadriel stubbornly brushing him off. She hears her cousin’s voice again, louder this time as she senses movement just beyond the tent entrance.

“Meletye?” Galadriel calls out, “Are you awake? Can I come in?”

“You can come in, Galadriel.” She replies.

The tent flaps part and Galadriel comes in, and Meletye smiles at the sight of her. Her beautiful hair is loose now, flowing over her shoulders and down her back in glorious waves. There is still a slightly cool look about her. She folds her arms tightly, seeming almost unsure of herself, not quite knowing what to do or where to sit. She doesn’t even seem to know whether or not to look at Meletye.

“Thought you’d at least change out of your nightgown before letting people in.” Galadriel says shortly.

Meletye glances down at the simple nightgown she still wears, and she shrugs.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve not seen me in a nightgown before, cousin. Remember those sleepovers we used to have?” Meletye replies.

Galadriel nods.

“I do. Though I recall we didn’t do much sleeping, it was more giggling and gossiping all night. Your mother scolded us for it once.” She says quietly.

Meletye gives a soft laugh. Galadriel still stands there a little awkwardly. Meletye pats the cot beside her.

“Here, come and sit with me.” she says, and she suddenly smirks. “Don’t worry, you won’t catch anything. I don’t think treachery is contagious.”

A smile flickers across Galadriel’s face, and she comes to sit down beside her.

“It might not be contagious, but it’s a disease all the same.” She sighs.

“I quite agree, cousin.” Meletye murmurs.

Galadriel is quiet for a moment, and she frowns slightly.

“Uncle said that you fought for us when it mattered.” She says quietly, “He said it put you at great risk. What did he mean, Meletye?”

Meletye sighs softly.

“I refused to help them burns the ships.” She says quietly. “And before that, I refused to swear the Oath.”

Galadriel turns to look at her, and she suddenly catches sight of something. She reaches out, gently touching the skin on Meletye’s left arm, fingers trailing along the now faint burn scars.

“Mel, what happened to you?” she asks.

“I tried to stop them burning the ships.” Meletye says simply. “I paid the price. It was an accident, I was trying to stop one of atar’s soldiers from burning a ship, but he dropped his torch. It set me on fire. The burns weren’t quite as bad on my arm, but on my torso the burns were quite deep and the scars are much worse.”

Galadriel looks horrified.

“Taniel helped put me out, and she took me to Maedhros, and they both then took me to the healers.” Meletye continues, “Atar saw me burning, I caught a glimpse of him through the smoke. He didn’t do a damn thing.”

There are tears shining in Galadriel’s eyes now.

“Oh, Mel. You could have died.” She whispers. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, a silence rests, and then Galadriel suddenly moves in for a hug. She wraps her arms tightly around Meletye, holding her close, and Meletye wraps her arms around her cousin with a soft sigh.

“I’m so sorry I thought ill of you, Mel.” Galadriel murmurs into her ear, “I know you, and I should have known you would never betray us.”

They pull apart, and Galadriel brushes away tears.

“It’s not as though I’m entirely innocent in all of this.” Meletye says with a sigh, “I killed people. And I still wonder if I could have done more to convince atar to send the ships back for you all.”

“You did enough.” Galadriel says gently, “We both know he could be… stubborn, to say the least.”

“Yeah. He could.” Meletye murmurs.

She turns to Galadriel with a soft smile.

“I’ve missed you so much, dear cousin.” She says quietly, “I’ve missed all of you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Galadriel takes her hand and squeezes gently.

“I’ve missed you too, Mel.” She replies.

They sit in silence again for a moment, and she smiles sadly.

“You should get dressed, Mel. All the cousins are waiting to see you and hear your side of the story.” She tells her, “Uncle told us bits of it himself, but not everything. He also told us about Fëanor’s death- and about Maedhros being captured.”

Meletye nods.

“I think I’m ready to see people and tell them what happened, now I’ve had some rest.” She replies, “Perhaps we might even be able to start coming up with ideas to rescue Maedhros. My brothers couldn’t really come up with anything, and he’s been trapped in that awful place for quite some time.”

Galadriel murmurs in agreement, and she then leaves Meletye alone so she can get dressed. Once Meletye is ready, she leaves the tent in search of her family. She finds Galadriel and Celeborn are waiting for her, both smiling kindly at her when she comes out of the tent. Galadriel slips her arm through Meletye’s, and Meletye smiles to herself. They walk together through the camp, talking quietly. Meletye tries to ignore the looks people give her, and the way they still mutter to each other and point at her.

“Pay them no heed, Mel.” Galadriel says quietly, “Once they understand that you tried to help us, their feelings will change.”

Meletye nods silently, and they keep moving. They soon come to a small campfire, and Meletye smiles when she sees most of her cousins sat around it. They are talking when Galadriel and Meletye approach, but when they see her they go quiet. The two of them sit down, and Meletye glances around at her cousins, feeling a little awkward. One thing bolsters her heart: she does not see so much anger in their eyes, now. She sees a little uncertainty, perhaps, but mostly curiosity.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering what I’m doing here.” she says quietly.

“Uncle told us all a little of the tale.” Finrod says, and the others nod. “He told us about Fëanor and his death. He told us about Maedhros. He told us that you put yourself in danger for our sakes. But I think we would all quite like to hear it from you, Meletye.”

Meletye nods.

“Of course.” She says with a sigh. “I’ll tell you. I only ask that you be patient with me. It is not an easy tale for me to tell. In fact, I think I rather alarmed uncle and Fingon last night with how upset I was. I’ll try not to turn into a puddle of tears and snot like I did then.”

There are a few chuckles at that.

“We can handle a few tears, Mel.” Galadriel says gently, “Goodness knows we’ve shed plenty of our own. I know a lot of this is painful, but sharing a burden makes it lighter. You can share it with us. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Meletye smiles sadly at her cousins, seeing encouragement and kindness in their faces, and she begins her tale. She tells them everything from the moment they set sail from Valinor to her last conversation with Maglor before she left her brothers behind. She pauses plenty of times when the sorrow overwhelms her, she sees the horror and anger in her family’s eyes when she tells of the way Fëanor hurt her and of the cruel things her brothers said to her. When she is done speaking, she finds to her surprise that she feels better. Lighter, as though sharing all of this with her cousins really has lifted a weight from her shoulders.

“Thank you, for listening to me.” Meletye says, smiling gratefully at her cousins. “I know you’ve all suffered, far more than myself and my brothers. I know we are to blame for that. If I am to have a chance to make things right- well, words cannot express how thankful I am to have that chance.”

“Well, I must say it’s good to have you back, Meletye.” Finrod says with a smile.

Meletye nods, glancing around at her cousins once again. She frowns slightly as she realises who seems to be missing.

“Where’s Fingon? And Turgon?” she asks quietly.

She realises suddenly that she did not see Turgon last night, either, and she feels fear twisting at her. The others suddenly look very sorrowful.

“I think Fingon is off somewhere by himself, trying to come up with some way of freeing Maedhros.” Finrod says quietly, “And Turgon- well. We told you we lost many on the journey here. We lost Elenwë. She and Idril fell into bitterly cold waters, and both would have died if Turgon did not go after them. But he could only save one of them.”

Finrod trails into silence and bows his head. Meletye doesn’t quite know what to say, and she feels tears prick in her eyes.

“I think he just needs time to grieve right now.” Galadriel says softly, voice trembling with emotion. “He’s been spending a lot of time alone, and a lot of time with only Idril for company. They are both hurting more than any of us can comprehend.”

Meletye nods silently. To be unable to save one’s wife must be unbearable, she thinks to herself, no wonder he needs time alone to grieve. For a few minutes, they all sit in silence, reflecting on all they have lost. When the conversation begins again, it is very sombre. Meletye listens as her cousins tell her of their journey here, and she weeps for what they have experienced. That day, she spends hours and hours with her cousins. They talk together, weep together, laugh together, and whilst their sorrow runs deep, Meletye finds that being with them again is like a balm that soothes her soul.

As time passes by, Meletye settles into her life with her uncle and cousins. Shortly after arriving, she sends a letter to Maglor, telling him she is safe and well, and she receives a heartfelt note in response that makes it clear that there is no bad blood between them. She feels relieved when she reads this; part of her had feared that Maglor would be angry with her for leaving. She carries on with her new life, and she begins to accept that she is unlikely to see any of her brothers anytime soon. She helps Fingolfin and his people in any way she possibly can, helping them find the best places to hunt and gather and find provisions, and she spends a great deal of time with the healers. It is very similar to the work she was doing before she left her brothers, except now she is not dealing with frustrating arguments day in day out. Her heart is much lighter, she feels freer and happier, and she does not regret leaving. When she is not helping her people, she spends time with her cousins. They talk and they laugh and they remember better days, and they begin to plan how they will make the future as bright and beautiful as their lives in Valinor were. In everything she does, she is always careful to remember those she has lost. When she serves her people, she thinks of her grandfather and the love and devotion he had for all of them. When she creates anything, she creates it with the dedication and perfection her father taught her. When she spends time laughing and enjoying herself with her cousins, she thinks of her beloved Taniel and the precious memories they made. And she and Fingon constantly remind everyone around them that there is still work to do, that they still need to free Maedhros from his captivity. Meletye and Fingon spend night after night together, coming up with ways they could get Maedhros out of Angband, but those nights always end in frustration and sorrow when they realise nothing they think of would ever work. Days pass into weeks into months, and soon Meletye begins to despair of ever being able to free her beloved brother.

Chapter Text

Meletye has been staying with her cousins for quite some time when she finds herself beginning to grow impatient again. She and Fingon keep having the same conversation, over and over again, always resulting in the reluctant agreement that they still have no way of rescuing Maedhros. Meletye is tired of the waiting and coming up with plans that will not work. She is sure that united, the Noldor could come up with something to help Maedhros, but she knows there is still too much pain and bitterness in people’s hearts for the Noldor to make amends. She doesn’t stop bringing up suggestions for rescuing Maedhros, even though it frustrates some people, and before long she is sure she can see resentment and bitterness in people’s eyes again. She hears people muttering and whispering when she passes them, she hears them grumbling about how they never asked for her to come here. they never wanted anyone to come and stir things up and suggest mending alliances that her father broke. Despite how much her cousins and uncle try to put Meletye’s mind at ease, she knows people are looking at her with mounting dislike. It makes her feel strangely lonely, even when she has family around her. To make things worse, she starts having bad dreams. Mostly, she dreams she is alone, lost, despised by all those she loves. Some nights, she dreams of hunger and fear and utter despair, and she dreams she is in a dark place all alone. She wakes from a bad dream one night, and she feels horribly shaken. She thinks she cries out when she awakes, and it takes a minute for her to remember where she is. She sits up in her cot, breathing heavily and trembling. She decides she needs something to calm her nerves. She wraps a shawl around her shoulders and she leaves the tent, going to make herself a hot drink. Before long, she is sat beside one of the campfires clutching a mug of herbal tea, sipping it slowly. She stares into the depths of the flickering fire in front of her, and her mind is swirling with thoughts. She wonders if these dreams of being alone in a dark place are because of Maedhros. She has been thinking of him more than ever recently, and as she sits there, she thinks once more of how they could possibly get him out. What we need, Meletye thinks to herself, is to offer Morgoth something he doesn’t have. Something he might be able to use, something more valuable to him than Maedhros. She frowns slightly as she thinks, and she is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even hear the footsteps approaching her.

“Mel? Are you alright?” a gentle voice asks.

Meletye starts and gasps, turning to see who it is. She sees Finrod standing there, and he holds his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

“Whoa! It’s alright, Mel, it’s just me. I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.” He apologises.

Meletye smiles and gestures for him to sit. He settles himself down on the log beside her.

“Oh, I was just lost in my own thoughts, cousin. No need to apologise.” She says kindly.

Finrod nods silently. He looks sideways at her, frowning slightly as he takes in the troubled look in Meletye’s eyes.

“Is everything alright, Mel?” he asks gently, “I-I thought I heard you cry out. When I came to check on you, you weren’t in your tent.”

Meletye sighs softly, clutching the mug of tea tightly. She lifts it to her lips and takes a small sip before she responds.

“I had a bad dream. That’s all.” She says softly, “I’ve been having them a lot, lately.”

Finrod gives a sympathetic smile.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” he asks.

Meletye is quiet for a moment, unsure of where to begin with this.

“I- I don’t quite know why I’m having these dreams.” She murmurs, “Sometimes it feels like they are more than mere dreams. I dream I am alone, abandoned and despised by my kin. I dream of being trapped somewhere dark and terrible. Tonight was the strangest dream yet. In the darkness I could hear a child laughing, then a young woman singing with joy and then- then the same voice screaming in agony. It was strange, but I somehow knew she was someone powerful. Even in her voice, I could sense her power.”

She glances at Finrod when she stops speaking, and she sees a look of foreboding on his face. She suddenly feels fear gripping her heart.

“What is it, Finrod?” she asks shortly, “What’s that face for?”

Finrod shakes his head, forcing a smile to his lips.

“What? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” He says, too quickly.

Meletye sighs at him.

“Something, clearly. Tell me what, before I kick you.”

Finrod looks very hesitant, and he sighs quietly. He meets her gaze for a moment. Suddenly, Meletye knows, and she groans softly.

“You’ve seen something, haven’t you? Some sort of foresight? Judging by the look on your face, it’s something related to the dreams I’ve been having.” Meletye says.

Finrod looks almost upset for a moment, and then he nods.

“I keep having this thought that you- you’re going to find yourself in a difficult place. In a dark place. Alone.” He says quietly, and Meletye sighs. He reaches out and takes hold of her hand. “But I also saw that from you, in the midst of this darkness, a flame will come. And that flame will change everything.”

Meletye pulls her hand away from his.

“You and I know both know that fire does not always change things for good.” She says bitterly, “The flames of atar’s spirit burned our lives to the ground, and he left us to rebuild from the ashes.”

“Meletye-”

“I’d like to be alone, please.” Meletye says with a trembling voice. “Let me have some time to think about this.”

Finrod seems unsure, but he nods.

“Alright, Mel. I’ll leave you be. But you know where I am if you need to talk.” He says kindly.

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he leaves, and Meletye is left alone. She sits in the dark, staring at the campfire once again, grappling with the enormity of this prophecy. Finrod will probably try to brush this off as nothing more than grim thoughts, but Meletye knows it is foresight- plenty of their family are blessed with it. If it can be called a blessing, she thinks bitterly, often it is more of a burden. The more she sits and thinks, the more certain she becomes that her own bad dreams are a kind of foresight, too. Foresight showing her that one day, she will be completely alone and forgotten by those she loves most in this world.

A little over a week has passed since Meletye’s conversation with Finrod. It still weighs on her mind, she still dreams of the same things every night, and she is becoming increasingly unsettled by it all. The dreams of being alone lead her to thinking of Maedhros and how desperate she is to free him from the hell he is surely enduring day after day. She goes to see her uncle Fingolfin once again, determined to persuade him to do something, anything, for Maedhros. When she reaches his tent, however, she finds that somebody else has beaten her to it. Fingon is there, pacing up and down as he and his father have a somewhat heated discussion.

“It isn’t right, atya! Goodness knows what he’s going through, he’s been there for years and we just sit here and do nothing! We’ve as good as abandoned him.” Fingon says angrily as Meletye enters the tent.

Fingolfin sighs, rubbing fingers across his forehead.

“I understand your frustration, my boy. I do. But you and I both know Angband is impenetrable. We could all fight to our deaths to try and gain entry and we still wouldn’t even make a dent in the iron gates.” He says.

Meletye clears her throat, and they both turn to look at her. Fingon sighs irritably.

“I know why you’ll be here, Mel. It’s no use. All atto will do is remind you of how hopeless Maedhros’ situation is.” Fingon says bitterly.

With that, he storms past Meletye and leaves the tent. Fingolfin sits down heavily, looking exhausted. Silence rests for a moment, and Fingolfin looks up at Meletye with a rueful smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Meletye?” he asks politely.

Meletye doesn’t answer. She takes in the look in her uncle’s eyes, the sorrow and the exhaustion and the despair she knows he feels as keenly as everyone else. She cannot quite bring herself to discuss Maedhros’ rescue with him. She knows it will only tire her uncle further.

“You wanted to discuss Maedhros, yes?” Fingolfin prompts her.

“I- well, I did.” Meletye admits, “But I think Fingon has said everything I would say. I just- I know you’re trying to think of something. I know if there was something to be done, you would do it. I think I came here because I can’t stand feeling so helpless.”

Fingolfin nods silently, and he stands, coming to Meletye and taking hold of her hands.

“I know, dear Meletye. It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it? Knowing someone you love is in danger and not being able to do a single thing about it.” he says gently.

Meletye nods silently, and Fingolfin gives her hands a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll go check on Fingon. He probably needs someone to talk to right now.” Meletye says softly.

Fingolfin smiles gently at her as she leaves. It doesn’t take long for Meletye to find Fingon; he is sat by the edge of the lake, gazing across it with a sullen expression. Meletye sits down beside him, and for a few minutes they sit in silence. The evening sun struggles to break through clouds high above them.

“You know, the last time I properly talked to Maedhros, we were sat by this lake.” Meletye says quietly after a few minutes. “I’d been frustrated with him, for choosing to go and meet with Morgoth. He sought me out before he left, so that we did not part on bad terms.”

Fingon is quiet for a moment. Then, he reaches out and takes hold of Meletye’s hand.

“I miss him.” Fingon says softly, voice tight with emotion. “I miss him so much it hurts. I cannot bear to think of him being harmed by Morgoth.”

“Me, too.” Meletye replies, “I’ve missed him since the moment he left. I’m not sure how I’ve not lost my mind with the waiting and the wondering and the fear.”

She casts her eyes upwards towards the cloudy sky, trying to blink away tears that threaten to fall.

“He told me, that last day as we sat by the lake, that I would never lose him.” she murmurs, and tears trickle down her face. “Even if life took us down different paths, he said. And he told me- told me that he loved me. Oh, how I wish I could hear his voice one more time.”

“You will, Mel. I know you will.” Fingon says firmly. “We’ll get him out of there. Even if I have to sacrifice everything to get him out, I’ll do it. It wouldn’t even matter if I didn’t see his freedom. Just knowing he was free would be enough for me.”

Meletye frowns slightly, and she glances sideways at him.

“Don’t go doing anything stupid, Fingon.” She tells him.

He chuckles quietly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, cousin.” He replies.

Meletye looks up at the sky again, thinking. The idea of sacrificing something to free Maedhros has been on her mind a lot lately. She knows that she would give anything to see Maedhros safe. She’d even give up her own freedom. She and Fingon sit in silence again for a little while, both of them looking up at the skies. Meletye frowns slightly as she suddenly spots something, and she lifts her hand to point.

“Is that an eagle?” she asks, pointing at the bird circling high above them.

Something flickers in Fingon’s expression.

“I think it is. You know, I’ve seen it circling a lot the past few days.” He replies.

For a moment, they sit watching the eagle. It circles high above them, catching the winds and soaring higher and higher until it is nothing but a dot. Fingon gives a quiet sigh.

“I think, whatever we do to free Maedhros, it is bound to be difficult. Every idea I’ve had to free him scares me more than the last.” He murmurs.

Meletye nods.

“You’re right. It is terrifying, to think of doing something that defies a being so powerful.” She says softly, “But if there’s one thing Maedhros taught me, it’s that you should never let your fear stop you from doing what is right.”

Something shifts in Fingon’s expression at her words, and he nods resolutely.

“Never let fear stop you.” he murmurs, almost to himself. “That’s some good advice. If you’ll excuse me, Mel, I think I need to spend some time by myself.”

Meletye nods.

“Of course, cousin. I think I need some time with my thoughts, too.” she replies, turning to smile warmly at Fingon.

He pats her shoulder as he stands and leaves her sat beside the lake. She sits there alone for a little while, thinking hard. She is sure now that she knows what she can do to free Maedhros. It will be terrifying. It will be difficult. But I must not let fear stop me from doing what is right, she tells herself firmly. She sits by the lakeside until darkness is falling, and then she goes back to her tent. She gets out her map, poring over it and figuring out the best route to get to Angband. She packs a few belongings and provisions, though in her heart she knows she will not need much; after all, this is unlikely to be a journey she returns from. She ponders for a moment whether she should leave a note explaining where she has gone, but she decides against it. People will only come after her and stop her if they know her plan. Instead, she writes that she is going out to gather herbs. Nobody will realise I am gone until late morning at the earliest, she thinks to herself, and they will not realise I left at nighttime. She waits until the night is deep and the camp has gone silent before she leaves. She passes through the camp without a trace, and she slips out without alerting a single soul. She shivers slightly as she begins her journey, and she reminds herself again that she is doing the right thing. Seeing Maedhros free will be worth it, she tells herself firmly, even if I sacrifice my own freedom to win his.

Chapter Text

Meletye’s journey towards Angband is a dark and difficult one. Clouds still cover the sky, and there is little moonlight or starlight to light her path. Even when daybreak comes, there is still little sunlight.  She struggles through difficult terrain, flinching in fear at every rustle or cracking twig, terrified that some evil creature will find her out here alone. To her relief, she encounters nothing and no-one; the only signs of life she sees are animal footprints in the dirt and the occasional call of birds. The closer she comes to Angband, the fewer signs of life she sees. The clouds in the sky above seem to grow darker and more dense, and when night falls again it is so dark Meletye can hardly see a thing. She keeps travelling, trying her best to ignore the feeling of fear and dread building in her heart. She scrambles along a rocky mountain path, tripping every now and then in the darkness and wincing when she feels rocks scrape her skin. She follows the rocky path as best she can, and suddenly stops in her tracks. Angband is right in front of her, she realises. She can almost feel the great, formidable fortress before her, and she steels herself and looks up. She can make out little detail in this darkness, but it still takes her breath away. The gates are enormous, built of strong iron. The great mountains and towers stand imposing and tall around the gates, and Meletye has to fight the urge to turn around and run away.

“Be brave.” She whispers to herself, “Don’t let fear stop you from doing what is right.”

She steels herself and she keeps moving. She doesn’t stop, fighting fear with every single step she takes. She listens carefully for any sounds of guards or orcs, but she hears nothing but the whistling wind, and the distant screech of some prey-bird. She only stops when she finally reaches the gates. She swallows hard as she looks up at the gates towering above her, and she reaches forwards and pounds her fist against them. The heavy thumps echo into silence, and Meletye waits. If she listens hard enough, she thinks she can hear voices within the gates. She is just about to knock again when she hears something- locks clicking, and a deafening creak as the gates slowly, slowly begin to open. Meletye gasps softly and takes a step backwards. She peers into the gloom within Angband, and she shudders. Out of the gloom comes a pale elf, and Meletye recognises him with a jolt. It’s the same elf who came to their camp as an embassy of Morgoth. An unsettling smile spreads across the elf’s lips when he looks upon her.

“Welcome, Meletye daughter of Fëanor.” He says smoothly, “It has been decided that you may enter Angband.”

Meletye clenches her fists to stop her hands trembling, and she nods. She follows the elf inside, and behind her, the gates close. She hears them creaking, hears them slam shut with an echoing clang, and she gasps softly and turns back to look at them. She knows those gates will not open again unless Morgoth wills it.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” the elf asks her.

Meletye turns back to look at him, and she is quiet for a moment.

“I’ve travelled here alone. Of course I have weapons.” She replies brusquely.

The elf nods and gestures to someone Meletye cannot see. Orcs appear from the shadows.

“Hand over your weapons, please. You will not be permitted to go any further if you are armed.”

Meletye swallows hard. She makes no move to hand over her weapons; the thought of being defenceless in this place is disquieting, to say the least. One of the orcs growls and pulls out a fearsome-looking scimitar, and the other pulls out a grubby, but sharp, knife. The elf smirks at her.

“This need not be difficult, my lady. Hand over the weapons, or these fellows will take them by force. Believe me, they are not gentle.” He tells her calmly.

Meletye lets out a shaky breath and she takes her weapons and lays them down on the floor. One of the orcs darts forward and takes them, and it pains Meletye to see its grubby hands touching the weapons she had made with her father, long ago in Valinor. The elf’s eyes rove over her, clearly looking for any more weapons, and he nods briefly.

“Very good. Come with me.” he says simply.

Meletye follows him, heart pounding as they go further and further into Angband. The orcs are following behind them, and Meletye hears them talking in some harsh, uncouth language. Her mouth is dry and she cannot stop her hands from shaking as they move deeper into Morgoth’s stronghold. Before long, they come to a large set of ornate doors. The elf pushes them open with a dramatic flourish, and he steps into the room and bows.

“My lord. I have brought to you the daughter of Fëanor, as you asked.” The elf says as he bows.

Meletye stops in her tracks. Clearly, Morgoth decided to let me in, she thinks to herself. The fear is rising to a fever pitch now, and she closes her eyes for a moment. She brings to mind the feel of Maedhros’ hand holding hers, his warm smile, and she remembers his words. Don’t ever let fear stop you from doing what is right. She sighs softly, steels herself, and opens her eyes again. She holds her head up high and she walks forwards, and the elf steps aside as she approaches Morgoth himself. She turns her gaze to the Great Foe, and the sight of him makes her blood run cold. He sits leisurely on a great throne, looking very relaxed and casual. But there is nothing relaxed about the way he surveys Meletye with a keen gaze. His eyes are piercing, they shine with a terrible light, and he seems to exude an aura of menace. He feels like darkness itself, but when Meletye’s gaze moves upwards to the crown he wears, she sees them. The Silmarils. They are just as beautiful as she remembers them being, shining with light in spite of Morgoth’s darkness. The sight of them encased in his crown, where he had no right to put them, stirs anger in Meletye’s heart. She thinks of her grandfather’s mangled, lifeless body, of Indis wailing in grief, of Taniel dying in her arms and her father becoming someone she did not recognise. Now I stand before the bastard who caused it all, she thinks bitterly. Morgoth stands, walking around Meletye, watching her closely.

“Why did you come here, elf?” he asks quietly.

Meletye glances briefly around the room before she answers. She sees orcs and corrupted elves standing there watching, and then her gaze lands on Morgoth’s lieutenant. They called him Mairon, if I remember correctly, Meletye thinks to herself. Mairon is standing beside the throne, watching Meletye with a strange expression of curiosity written across his fair features. Meletye meets his gaze for a moment, seeing something flicker in his eyes, and then she looks back at Morgoth. Anger simmers in her heart, and she glares at him.

“I am here for my brother.” She says firmly.

There is a look of amusement in Morgoth’s eyes now, and he chuckles quietly.

“Are you really?” he says, in a slightly mocking tone. “And what on earth makes you think I would release him to you? The eldest son of Fëanor, and heir to the High Kingship. What could you possibly offer in exchange for his freedom?”

Meletye swallows hard.

“I offer myself.” She says quietly, “I will serve you if you let him go. I will swear fealty.”

Morgoth chuckles again, and Meletye hears some of the orcs and men laughing, too. Mairon, still standing behind his master, is the only one who does not laugh. Meletye steels herself.

“I would be more valuable to you.” she says calmly, “After all, Fëanor had seven sons, but he had only one daughter.”

Morgoth stops laughing then. He stops pacing, and he turns to look at Meletye with intensity in his gaze. A frightening, self-satisfied smirk spreads across his lips.

“An excellent point, elf.” He says smoothly, “You might make a rather lovely bargaining chip. What else have you to offer, hm? What skills could you bring to this place?”

Meletye shudders slightly, but she pushes down her fear.

“I have great skill in healing. I could help keep your soldiers in good health. I can cook, and clean. And I- I am a skilled craftswoman. Not as skilled as my father, of course, but I learned a great deal from him.” she replies.

Morgoth looks thoughtful. He paces again in silence for a few minutes as he weighs up Meletye’s offer.

“Very well.” He says finally, “I will release Maedhros from his torment, if you swear fealty to me. You must serve me alone, you must work for my victory and give information when I ask it. Fail to serve me well, and you will be rewarded with a pain and horror beyond your worst nightmares.”

Meletye nods silently, and Morgoth looks satisfied.

“Mairon.” He says simply, and behind him his lieutenant stands to attention. “You can bear witness. You, elf, will kneel before me. You will-”

Morgoth is cut off suddenly by a commotion out in the hall. The door bursts open, and two orc-guards come rushing in.

“My lord!” one of them cries, “The elf escaped. He’s gone from the mountainside.”

Meletye gasps in shock. Morgoth storms towards the orc-guards, looking furious.

“What?!” he snarls.

“He- he had help.” The other orc pants, clearly out of breath. “Some elf came to get him. He flew up on an eagle and cut off the prisoner’s hand.”

Morgoth growls in anger, and every single person in the room shifts away from him. Meanwhile, something very strange is going on in Meletye’s mind. Ecstasy and terror course through her in equal measure, and she trembles where she stands. She is dimly aware of Morgoth shouting orders at the orc-guards, she hears the fury in his voice, but all she can do is stand there waiting for his anger to turn to her. She is terrified; she is certain he will take out his rage on her. Surely, he will think she was nothing more than a distraction so someone else could come and break Maedhros free. She knows exactly who will have rescued Maedhros. Oh, Fingon, she thinks to herself, if only you’d told me your plan. She suddenly feels the sweet relief of knowing Maedhros is free, and for a moment she smiles to herself. Then, as quickly as the feeling came, it is replaced by sickening horror. She had no idea that Fingon was planning something, and now she has given up everything for nothing in return. Morgoth orders the orc-guards to leave, and he comes and stands before Meletye once more, glaring down at her in fury.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he hisses, “You were trying to distract me.”

Meletye shakes her head.

“I didn’t know.” She whispers, “Do you think I would give up my own freedom if I’d known?”

Her voice trembles, and she wraps her arms tightly around herself. She shakes from head to toe, and suddenly Morgoth laughs.

“You’re telling the truth. You didn’t know.” He sneers, “And now, you are trapped. You have sacrificed your own freedom for no reason.”

Meletye closes her eyes, trying to hold back tears that threaten to fall.

“Maedhros is free.” She whispers, more to herself than to Morgoth. “That’s all that matters.”

Morgoth chuckles darkly.

“Well, elf. I believe you were about to swear fealty to me before we were interrupted. Do please continue.” He says derisively.

Meletye sighs softly, and she opens her eyes. What’s the use, she thinks to herself, why swear fealty if Maedhros is already free?

“No.” Meletye says simply.

“No?” Morgoth scoffs, “You are trapped here now, elf. Swear fealty, for your own good.”

“No.” Meletye repeats, and she looks up and meets Morgoth’s eye with a steely gaze. “You cannot uphold your end of the bargain. You cannot release a prisoner who has already escaped. So why should I uphold mine?”

The look in Morgoth’s eyes is dangerous, but Meletye does not back down. A tense silence rests in the throne room, and Meletye feels certain that any moment, Morgoth will order her death. He seems to be thinking, he turns his back on Meletye, and she balls her hands into fists to hide their shaking. After what feels like forever, Morgoth speaks.

“Take her to a cell.” He says dismissively. “Give her some time alone with her thoughts. I am sure she will soon change her mind.”

Two guards step forward and grab hold of her. She struggles at first, but they are very strong and they quickly subdue her. They drag her out of the room and through the endless, dark halls of Angband. Eventually, they come to a cell, and they roughly throw her inside. Meletye lands on hard stone with a groan, it knocks the wind out of her, and by the time she sits up they have already slammed the cell door with a bang. She stares at the metal door in disbelief, and she whimpers softly. She crawls to the wall of the cell, tucking her knees to her chest and huddling up small, and she closes her eyes, wishing she could open them and find this is all just a bad dream. She is trapped in Angband. She is alone, utterly alone, and nobody even knows she is here. She feels sick when she realises her nightmares have come to life.

Chapter Text

On the slopes of the great mountain Thangorodrim, Maedhros endures pain and torment. He hangs by his right wrist, shackled to the mountain, battered by wind and rain and bitter cold. The shackle cuts into his skin, and his arm and shoulder constantly hurt with the pressure of holding his weight. He is enduring yet another day of pain when he hears it- he hears someone singing. His heart leaps as he recognises the song, and the voice singing it. It’s Fingon. This must not be real. I’m hallucinating, Maedhros thinks to himself. He remembers singing this song in Valinor with his beloved cousin, and a small smile flits across his face. He begins singing along weakly. It probably isn’t real, but that doesn’t mean it cannot bring me joy, he thinks. He suddenly realises the song has stopped, and he sighs softly, closing his eyes again. Then, he hears the impossible. Fingon calls his name, urgent yet hushed.

“Maedhros? Come on, I know you’re alive. Hold on. I’m coming.”

Maedhros’ eyes snap open, and he looks down to where he hears the voice. He can dimly make out the shape of someone climbing towards him, and when the figure looks up again he recognises Fingon staring up at him.

“Fingon!” Maedhros calls back to him, voice cracking slightly. “I’m up here.”

He sees Fingon climbing towards him, and then sees him suddenly stop. He seems to be searching for a way to come closer. He seems to be thinking and looking for quite some time, and then he begins cursing in his frustration.

“I-I can’t get to you.” comes Fingon’s voice.

He sounds defeated, Maedhros realises, and he lets out a soft sob. He knows Fingon does not give up easily. He cannot bear any more of this terrible torment, and before he knows it he is weeping and begging his own cousin to kill him. He hears Fingon weeping, too, he hears him utter a prayer as he fits an arrow to his bowstring, and Maedhros closes his eyes. But the arrow does not come. Instead, he hears the whoosh of wings and the cry of an eagle. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he hears Fingon’s voice speaking right in front of him. He opens his eyes and makes a soft sound of amazement. Fingon grins at him from the back of an enormous eagle, hovering in mid-air before Maedhros with beats of its great wings.

“Let’s get you out of those chains, cousin.” Fingon says, and Maedhros nods silently.

He stays as still as he can as Fingon works at the chains, as he tries first to break the chain and then the lock on the shackle. After a short while, it becomes apparent that the chains will not break easily. The tears begin again then, as Fingon groans and curses the strength of the chains.

“Just kill me.” Maedhros weeps, “If you cannot free me, then kill me, please. Make it swift. I cannot bear any more of this torment.”

Fingon shakes his head.

“No. There has to be another way.” He mutters.

He looks at the shackle on Maedhros’ wrist, then at his hand, and he seems to realise something. He gives a quiet sigh and he uses his knife to rip two strips of fabric from his clothes.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Maedhros murmurs.

Fingon reaches out and cups his face in one hand gently, thumb brushing away his tears.

“Please forgive me, cousin. I can think of no other way. Close your eyes. Bite down on this.” he says grimly.

He gently places a balled-up strip of fabric in Maedhros’ mouth, and he readies his knife. Maedhros whimpers as he realises what Fingon is about to do. He closes his eyes, and he steels himself. It takes every bit of his self-control to not thrash violently when Fingon’s blade cuts into his flesh. He bites down hard on the fabric in his mouth, and though it doesn’t stop him screaming, it muffles the sound a little. He feels blood pouring down his arm, he feels the knife tearing through his flesh, and he hears the crunch and crack when Fingon begins to cut through bone.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Fingon murmurs.

Maedhros finds himself growing faint as he loses blood. Everything seems to go a little fuzzy, he cannot focus much, but he feels his weight drop into Fingon’s arms when he finally comes free. He feels warm feathers beneath him, feels Fingon tying fabric tightly around the bloodied stump where his right hand used to be. His head swims and his heart pounds, and he slumps as darkness creeps over him. He slips in and out of consciousness, and he dimly hears Fingon’s voice behind him as his cousin clings to him tightly.

“Please don’t die.” Fingon is saying, “Please, please don’t die.”

Maedhros’ breath is ragged, he cannot stop shaking, and he feels himself creeping towards unconsciousness again. Stay alive, he tells himself firmly, just stay alive till you see your family. When he comes to again, he realises the eagle is moving downwards.

“We’re nearly there. Hold on, Maedhros. We’re nearly there.” Fingon tells him.

Maedhros groans softly. Everything seems to pass in a blur after that. He feels the thud of the eagle landing, he hears people shouting urgently, feels hands lift him and carry him somewhere. He makes out his brothers’ voices amidst the noise and confusion, but he is too weak to talk to them. He feels a soft cot beneath him, a gentle hand holding his, someone wiping his brow with a cool cloth. He groans and shakes and breathes heavily as pain throbs through his right arm, and when someone helps him lift his head and offers a sleeping draught, he gladly takes it. The last thing he hears as he drifts into sleep is Maglor’s voice.

“You’re safe now, brother.” Maglor says gently, “Everything is going to be alright, I promise you.”

Maedhros sleeps for some time with the help of the draught, and when he finally begins to wake up again he feels warm blankets, a soft bandage on his stump, and someone holding his hand. He lays with his eyes closed for a few minutes, feeling far too tired to try opening them.

“I cannot thank you enough, Fingon.” He hears Maglor’s voice dimly, “You saved him. How will we ever repay you?”

He can hear his brothers talking quietly, and as he wakes up a little more, he groans softly. He hears people hastening to his side, and a gentle hand rests on his head.

“Maedhros? Can you hear me?” Maglor says softly.

Slowly, Maedhros opens his eyes. Everything is blurry at first, and he struggles to bring his surroundings into focus. He makes out Maglor sat beside him, and he is stroking his hair gently. As he gets his bearings, he realises that all of his brothers are gathered around him.

“Mm. I can h-hear you.” he mumbles.

He swallows hard and grimaces, realising his throat feels as dry as sand. Maglor wraps an arm around him to help him lift up slightly.

“Here, have some water.” he says softly, bringing a cup to his lips.

Maedhros takes a few sips, giving a soft sigh of relief to finally ease his thirst. Water never tasted so sweet, he thinks. As he settles back in his pillows, he glances around the tent again, now seeing things much more clearly. Fingon is standing by the tent entrance, smiling gently at him.

“How are you feeling, brother?” Curufin asks him, “Are you alright?”

Maedhros grimaces slightly again as a dull, aching pain throbs in his right shoulder.

“I feel pretty rough. But I’ll recover.” He replies, voice still very hoarse. “Although, I’m not sure I’ll ever be alright. I might be all-left, though.”

It takes a moment for the ridiculous joke to sink in, and when it does there is a combination of groans, sighs and laughter from the brothers. Fingon chuckles appreciatively, and Maglor shakes his head slightly, smiling.

“Honestly, Maedhros. That’s just as bad as Mel’s ‘crispy’ joke when she was burned!” he chuckles.

Maedhros smiles weakly. Then, he glances around the tent again and his smile drops.

“Where is Mel?” he asks suddenly, “Why isn’t she here? I would’ve thought she’d be here.”

 Maglor looks a little uncomfortable.

“She’s- well, she isn’t here.” he sighs, “She left us. She’s staying with our uncle and cousins.”

“Why did she leave?” Maedhros asks.

“I’ll let Caranthir explain that to you.” Maglor says coolly, shooting Caranthir an irritated look. “But not just yet. For now, you need to rest.”

“But she’s safe?” Maedhros asks insistently.

“Don’t worry, she’s safe.” Fingon says reassuringly, “I imagine she’ll come straight here when she hears the news. She’ll be thrilled. She’s missed you very much.”

Maedhros relaxes at his cousin’s words, and he smiles.

“Well, I’ve missed her, too. I’ve missed all of you, more than words can say.” He murmurs.

He sighs softly, feeling tiredness wash over him. Maglor notices how exhausted he looks, and he rests a hand on his shoulder.

“You rest now, brother.” Maglor says gently, “You’re safe. We all are. All you need to focus on now is recovering.”

Maedhros nods, and he shifts slightly to get comfortable. He closes his eyes and soon, he is drifting into sleep once more, and a warm sense of peace and safety permeates his dreams.

It takes some time of rest and recovery before Maedhros is able to get up out of bed. As he rests, he quite often sees his brothers talking quietly and urgently, he sees worry in their expressions, but none of them will tell him what is wrong. It is only when he is finally strong enough to be back on his feet that people start to tell him things. He first finds out the real reason Meletye left, through a rather uncomfortable conversation with Caranthir. He is furious with his brothers, Caranthir especially, for treating Meletye so terribly and driving her to leave them all behind. He quietly worries about her, for in all the time he has been back with his family, he still hasn’t seen Meletye once. After he has spoken to Caranthir, he seeks out Maglor and Fingon to ask them about Meletye. They sit down around a campfire, and he realises with dread that his brother and cousin look grim before he even asks them anything.

“You probably know what I’m going to ask.” Maedhros says with a sigh, “I want to know where Meletye is. I want to know why she still is not here. I miss my sister.”

Fingon and Maglor glance at each other, and Fingon sighs quietly.

“As you know, she came to our camp a while ago. She settled well there, but it seems she’s- she…” Fingon trails off, looking sorrowful.

“She’s missing.” Maglor says in a low voice.

Maedhros feels deep, sickening dread swoop down on his heart.

“Missing? What do you mean, missing? What the hell happened?” he demands.

“When Fingon went back to tell everyone you were safe, he discovered Meletye was not there.” Maglor replies with a sigh, “Apparently she left a note saying she was going out to gather herbs and simply… vanished.”

“And have people looked for her?” Maedhros asks.

“They have.” Fingon replies, “And they have not found her. They did, however, find evidence of wolves hunting in the area she often went to gather herbs. I think- I think the belief is that she was killed by-”

“No.” Maedhros says firmly, “I don’t believe it for a moment. She’s a survivor.”

“I know, brother.” Maglor says gently, reaching out to rest a hand on Maedhros’ shoulder. “I know. She’ll be out there, somewhere. We’ll find her again.”

Maedhros sighs and bows his head.

“I hope you are right.” he murmurs. “It pains me to be apart from her, and I cannot bear to think of her hurt.”

For a little while that night, Maedhros simply sits with his grief at Meletye’s absence. He is back with his brothers again, but still things are not as they should be. His beloved sister is missing, and it breaks his heart. We will find her, he tells himself firmly, she is not dead, and we will find her, and we will be a family again. Just as we ought to be.

Chapter Text

In a cell deep within Angband, Meletye sits alone. She leans against the cold stone wall, arms wrapped around her legs, and she stares listlessly at the opposite wall. The silence within the cell is heavy and lonely, and Meletye gives a soft sigh. She has lost track of how long she has been locked in this cell, now. At first, she flinched at the slightest sound, at every distant bang of doors or footsteps in the hall, terrified that Morgoth was coming to hurt her. Instead, she is left alone. Completely alone. When guards bring her food, they place it on the floor without so much as a word and they leave. Occasionally, she is offered chance to swear fealty to Morgoth, but she always meets the offer with silent refusal. And so, she stays in the cell alone. There is no torture, no beatings or shackles or pain, and at first, it confuses Meletye. Then, as time drags on and the time alone begins to wear on her heart, she realises that the loneliness is her torture. With nothing but her own thoughts for company, she often finds herself dwelling on her past. She relives her worst moments, from the moment she killed for the first time to that final argument with her father and the feel of him striking her. Even her rest is no escape from pain, as she wakes in terror most nights, dreaming of terrible things. Still, in spite of the pain and loneliness she feels, she will not give Morgoth what he wants. She refuses to swear fealty. The one thing that gives her satisfaction is Morgoth’s growing frustration, which becomes more and more evident every time she refuses to swear fealty. But as time goes by, as months lengthen into years and Meletye still faces the dark cell alone, even that satisfaction begins to fade. She thinks of her family, and she misses them more than anything else in the world. More than sunshine and starlight, more than good food and drink, she misses the company of her family and her friends. She is sat thinking of them all one day when Morgoth comes to her cell once more. He towers above her, and Meletye refuses to even look at him.

“How fares the silent dark, Meletye?” Morgoth asks her. 

Meletye stares resolutely at the floor. She senses movement at the cell door, and she knows that if she looks up, she will see Mairon standing there, too. The silence stretches for a minute or so before Morgoth crouches down to stare menacingly at Meletye.

“Remember the life you used to have, hm?” Morgoth sneers, “The light, the people, the friendship. Now you are alone. Alone and forgotten by all those you love. But that can change, Meletye. You need only swear fealty to me and you will not be alone anymore.”

Meletye shifts herself slightly, turning her whole body away from Morgoth and ignoring him. He gives a soft, frustrated growl and she closes her eyes, half expecting to feel a blow land. It does not come, and she jumps slightly when the cell door suddenly bangs shut. She feels tears trickling down her face as she wonders when Morgoth will finally give up on offering fealty. When he will finally give up on her and dispose of her. Outside the cell in the corridor, Morgoth stalks along with his lieutenant.

“Her refusal to swear fealty is beginning to grow a little tiresome.” Morgoth says irritably as the two of them walk along, “She should have worn down by now.”

“It seems she is far more resilient than we expected her to be.” Mairon says, a strange tone in his voice.

“Mairon, is that a note of admiration I hear in your voice?” Morgoth snaps.

“Perhaps it is, my lord.” Mairon replies with a slight smile, “She has been alone for years. She faces her worst fear, day after day, and still she does not relent. I think there is something admirable about that. There’s nothing wrong with recognising and respecting your enemy’s strength.”

Morgoth scoffs at him.

“Strength, or stubbornness? Whatever it may be, I find it far more vexing than admirable.” He grumbles irritably. Then, a wicked smirk comes across his face. “Perhaps we can do more to push her into swearing fealty. Perhaps a little food deprivation will do the trick. We give her only a little food and water, just enough to keep her alive, and let her suffer in hunger and thirst until she gives in.”

“Or until the stress of it kills her.” Mairon counters.

“Yes. Either she relents and swears fealty, or she dies and we do not have to put up with her anymore. I see no loss there, Mairon.” Morgoth says smoothly.

Mairon is quiet for a moment, and he frowns slightly.

“I suppose it could work. It’s worked very well for others in the past.” He replies. “I’ll inform the guards.”

Morgoth looks very satisfied, and he nods.

“I am sure this will work, Mairon.” He says firmly, “It will wear her down, and she will finally swear fealty to me.”

Following their conversation, Mairon goes to the guards and orders them to begin reducing Meletye’s food and water. It is almost unnoticeable to begin with, but after around a week Meletye realises that the guards are certainly bringing in less food than they did before. She feels a sense of foreboding in her heart when she realises this; she knows it is likely some ploy by Morgoth to try and break her spirit. To begin with, she is able to hold out and refuse Morgoth. But when her food rations are decreased until she has only a tiny amount of food and water each day, and she grows hungrier and hungrier, she begins to find herself wearing down. She is fed the tiniest amount of food and given very little water, and it goes on like this for weeks and weeks, until she begins to lose track of how long they have been starving her for. She watches her body shrink to skin and bones, she feels herself grow weak and confused, her head pounds with pain each day, and her lips dry until they crack and bleed. The intense hunger and thirst and the pain of it all pushes her over the edge, and she feels her grasp on sanity finally slip away from her. In the long, dark hours in the cell, she presses her hands over her ears and weeps as she tries to block out voices whispering to her in the dark, voices telling her she is despised and abandoned and forgotten. She sees creatures and people that are not there, and she curls up into a ball on the floor of her cell to avoid seeing them. She is desperate to escape this pain and this madness. Most nights, she lays there in silence wishing she could die, but she knows this is not an escape Morgoth will allow her. He’ll just make me suffer endlessly instead, she thinks bitterly. There is no end in sight, and that itself is enough to drive Meletye to madness. She is sat huddled up on the floor of her cell again one day, trying to think of anything but her gnawing hunger and the dryness of her mouth, when she hears the door creak open. She hears heavy footsteps, and her heartbeat quickens. She can sense who is here, and when she glances up she sees she is right- Morgoth stands above her. There is more movement at the cell door, and she sees Mairon is standing there. He seems to be holding a small tray of food and water, and Meletye looks away quickly, as though the very sight of it will burn her. Morgoth tuts quietly, shaking his head.

“Look at you, elf.” He says contemptuously, “You are a mere shadow of your former self. Why do you keep doing this to yourself, hm?”

Meletye shakes her head, wincing a little as even that simple movement sends pain throbbing through her skull.

“You’re the one starving me.” she croaks.

Morgoth comes closer to her, he comes down to her level to meet her gaze.

“This needn’t happen, elf.” He tells her firmly, “You know that you need only swear fealty, and this pain and hunger will all be over.”

Meletye closes her eyes for a moment, and she suddenly catches a whiff of the food Mairon carries. Some sort of stew or broth, she thinks. It smells delicious.

“Do you know how long you have been here?” Morgoth asks her.

Meletye simply shakes her head in response.

“It’s been years, elf.” He says, “Years. And in all this time, your family have not come for you. Most likely, they believe you are dead. You are lost to them; they have forgotten you. You are alone. Completely alone.”

Meletye feels tears trickling down her face, she closes her eyes and screws her face up against the heartache. She misses her brothers so much that it hurts.

“Swear fealty, and you may live to see them again one day.” Morgoth says, in a voice surprisingly gentle. “You won’t be alone anymore.”

Meletye’s eyes snap open. She swallows hard, heart pounding as Morgoth stares at her. After a minute of silence, he sighs and rises to his feet. He has almost left the cell when Meletye speaks up.

“I’ll do it.” she says quietly.

Morgoth stops in his tracks. Meletye does not see the terrible, self-satisfied smirk on his face. He turns back to her, and he nods.

“An excellent choice, elf, I assure you.” he says smoothly, “Mairon will bear witness.”

As Morgoth stands above her, Meletye shifts so that she is kneeling. She takes a moment to compose herself. She tries not to think of how horrified her brothers and father would be if they could see this.

“I, Meletye daughter of Fëanor, swear fealty to you, Lord Melkor.” She says quietly. “I swear to serve the Master of all Arda. I will serve him until death take me, or my lord release me.”

Morgoth leans down, reaching to tilt Meletye’s chin up so she faces him. She tries her best to repress a shudder at the feel of his blackened and burned hands touching her.

“And I will not forget it, elf.” He says with a dark smile, “Should you let me down, I shall make my displeasure known. I do not hesitate to punish those who fail me. Understood?”

Meletye nods silently. Morgoth lets go of her and he steps away, nodding briefly to Mairon as he leaves the cell. Meletye sudden feels weaker than before, and she slumps back against the wall, shaking. She closes her eyes, trying to regain her strength, and she feels sickened by what she has just done. She hears the swish of fabric and she jumps slightly when her ragged blanket is suddenly wrapped around her. She opens her eyes and finds Mairon is sat before her. The food he had brought is on the floor beside him, and he smiles gently at her.

“There, now. Let that warm you a little.” He says kindly.

Meletye blinks in surprise at his kindness.

“I’m not cold.” She says simply.

Mairon chuckles softly, and he nods understandingly.

“A little shocked, then. Quite understandable. Swearing fealty to Lord Melkor is quite the momentous occasion.”

Meletye glances briefly at the food he had brought in, and her mouth waters. Mairon spots where her gaze flits to.

“Here.” he says, picking up the bowl of broth and handing it to Meletye.

Meletye almost snatches it from him in her desperation. Her hands shake so much that some spills from the spoon, and the bowl starts to slip a little. Mairon reaches out quickly, steadying her hands.

“Easy.” He says gently, “Take it easy. Just a little at a time. That’s it.”

Meletye has almost finished the whole bowl when she realises he is still steadying her hands. His touch is surprisingly gentle, his skin soft and warm, and it takes her off-guard. It actually feels quite nice, she thinks, to have a kind touch after so long alone. She polishes off the broth and Mairon takes the bowl from her, allowing her to reach for the bread sat on the tray. She eats it quickly and ravenously, and glances back at the tray again.

“It seemed so little to begin with.” She murmurs, “But I feel full already.”

Mairon nods.

“It’s been a long time since you were fed properly.” He reminds her, “It will take time for your appetite and your strength to build again.”

His gaze flits over her briefly, a frown creasing his brow as he takes in the bony frame, the sunken cheeks and the dry, cracked lips. Meletye sees the strange look in his eyes.

“What’s that look for?” she snaps irritably.

Mairon shakes his head.

“Nothing. It’s just that- no matter how many times I see him starve someone, I still find it difficult to see the results.” He sighs, “Alas, I am not the one making such decisions. It is ultimately his choice. I swore fealty once, just as you did, and I follow his orders.”

Meletye glares at him sullenly for a moment, and in her gaze he sees the words that stay unspoken. You could do something if you wanted to. You could still say no. He sees in her eyes that strange fire, that courage and tenacity and resilience that he finds so admirable, and for a moment he is captivated. Then, he clears his throat softly and brings himself out of his strange thoughts. He picks up the cup still on the tray and hands it to Meletye.

“Here, drink this.” he says.

Meletye takes a small sip, and she frowns at the taste. It is almost a little sweet, with a hint of warmth tracking down her throat when she swallows.

“What is this? she asks suspiciously, “It’s not water.”

“No.” Mairon admits, “It isn’t. Well, it is mostly water, but we added a little draught to it. It’s something our healers came up with. It strengthens the body and refreshes the mind.”

Meletye still looks very suspicious, so Mairon takes the cup back from her and takes a sip himself.

“See? Perfectly safe. No poisons here. As I told you, this was made by healers. It is not intended to harm.” He says reassuringly. 

Meletye raises her eyebrows slightly as she takes the cup back.

“Healers? In Angband?” she asks incredulously, “And here I thought torture was your lot.”

Amusement flickers across Mairon’s face, and a smile tugs at his lips.

“When you’re feeling a little stronger, we’ll leave.” He says after a moment’s silence.

Meletye nods silently as she drinks a little more of the strange draught. She feels stronger by the moment, and by the time she has set aside the empty cup, she feels ready to stand. She wobbles slightly as she rises to her feet, and Mairon holds out his hands to support her if needed. She almost stumbles when she starts walking, and by instinct she grabs hold of Mairon. He is secure and strong, he makes sure she does not fall, and he supports her as she walks out of the cell for the first time. When she feels strong enough, she pulls away from him, and he shows her to where she will be staying in Angband, a small but not uncomfortable room with several beds and wooden chests for belongings. When he quietly leaves to give her a moment alone, Meletye feels the enormity of it all hit her once again. She sits down on her bed, and she presses trembling hands against her lips. What have I done, she thinks to herself. What the hell have I done? She stays there, trying to compose herself, and all she can do is pray that she has not made the most awful mistake she will ever make in her life.

Chapter Text

After Meletye swears fealty to Morgoth, she is left alone for a short while. She sits and she thinks of all that has happened, and she wonders if swearing fealty was worth it at all. Confused thoughts spin through her mind, and she rests her head in her hands as she sits there alone. She suddenly hears the door open, and she starts in surprise, turning to look at the door and shrinking back a little. An elven woman walks into the room, looking exhausted, and she stops in her tracks when she sees Meletye. She looks just as surprised as Meletye is. Her gaze flits over Meletye, sat looking terrified on the bed, and she slowly comes a little closer.

“Hello,” the woman says gently, “Are you- are you alright?”

Meletye recognises the language the woman speaks as the tongue of the elves who live on the coast.

“I- I think I’m- I…” Meletye stammers.

The elven woman glances over her shoulder and comes to sit beside Meletye with a soft sigh. When Meletye shrinks away from her, she raises her hands in a gesture of peace.

“It’s alright. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” She says softly, “My name is Eryssel. What’s your name?”

Meletye swallows hard before she replies, trying hard to stop her hands from trembling.

“Meletye.” She murmurs.

Eryssel smiles kindly at her, and her gaze flits along Meletye’s skinny, malnourished frame once again. Sadness flickers in her eyes, and she tentatively reaches out to rest a hand on Meletye’s shoulder. Meletye flinches slightly at the touch, but she does not move away.

“Morgoth starved you, didn’t he?” Eryssel asks quietly, and Meletye nods. “Hm. It’s sadly a favourite trick of his. Many of us were starved into submission. Some argue that it is not as bad as torture or beatings, but I disagree. Starvation is torture.”

Eryssel gently rubs her hand across Meletye’s shoulders, and she can feel her trembling slightly. For a few minutes, they sit in silence as Eryssel waits for Meletye to be ready to talk.

“I was alone for so long.” Meletye says finally, voice hoarse and rough. “It was awful. But I stayed strong. I stayed mighty, the way my father raised me to be. So, Morgoth decided starvation might work. How I wish I had proved him wrong.”

Her voice cracks, tears spring to her eyes, and Eryssel holds her close and lets her weep, whispering soothingly to her. When Meletye finally steadies herself, she dries her tears and shifts away from Eryssel.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Meletye. Most of the people you’ll see day-to-day were pushed into swearing fealty by hunger or pain or isolation. There are plenty who are loyal to Morgoth, of course, but most of us wish we were not here.” Eryssel says gently.

Meletye nods and sniffles, and she gives Eryssel a small smile.

“So, where are you from, Meletye?” Eryssel asks her.

Meletye hesitates for a moment.

“I’m from- well, it’s a little hard to say. I journeyed to Beleriand with my family, before the first moonrise. We settled on the shores of Lake Mithrim. I don’t know if they’re still there. I’ve been here a long time, I know that much. They’ve probably moved on by now.” She says quietly.

Eryssel stares at her in amazement.

“You’re one of Fëanor’s people.” She says, and Meletye nods.

“I am.” Meletye sighs, “More than that, in fact. I’m his daughter. I came here to try and bargain for my brother Maedhros’ freedom. It turned out I was too late. One of my cousins was already breaking him free.”

Eryssel is quiet for a moment, and Meletye feels a little worried. How will Eryssel react to knowing she sits beside Fëanor’s daughter?

“I thought Morgoth would’ve had you killed.” Eryssel says, sounding amazed. “We all did. He was so angry after your brother escaped. Even if you had nothing to do with it, it’s still a miracle that he didn’t kill you in retaliation.”

Meletye scoffs.

“Maybe it would have been better if he did kill me. I wouldn’t have suffered years of solitude. I wouldn’t have lost part of myself by swearing fealty to him.” Meletye sighs softly, a light frown creasing her brow. “If my brothers could see me now, they’d be horrified. Disappointed. They’d hate to see what their sister has become.”

Meletye shakes her head slightly, and she gives a small smile.

“Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Eryssel. Where are you from?” Meletye asks, keen to change the subject.

“I’m from Falas, on the coast.” Eryssel replies quietly. “One of Lord Círdan’s people. I was captured along with some friends when we went out hunting. I’m the only one of us who survived. The rest were killed, or died in captivity.”

“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Eryssel.” Meletye says softly.

She frowns slightly, feeling guilt churn within her. Círdan and his people are kin to the Teleri, she knows that much. I probably killed her kin back in Alqualondë, she thinks bitterly. Eryssel reaches out to take her hand.

“You know, my people would all be dead if not for yours.” Eryssel says quietly, “We were under siege when you arrived in Beleriand. The siege was abandoned, probably so that the orcs could attack your people instead. And then, our scouts reported that your people destroyed the orcs. I think we’ll always be thankful for that. I do hope that our peoples have set aside our differences and grievances and united to fight Morgoth.”

Meletye nods.

“I hope so, too.” she murmurs, “Unity is our best hope. Always.”

She frowns slightly as she thinks of something.

“Do you- do you or any of the other captives know anything of what is happening in the outside world? Do you ever hear any news?” she asks hesitantly, lowering her voice.

Eryssel glances towards the door again, and she nods.

“We glean snippets of information sometimes, from things the guards say or jobs we are made to do.” She says quietly, “For instance, we know that this place is under siege. Elven soldiers are outside right now.”

Meletye smiles at that, and for a moment she feels a brief flicker of hope. Maybe my brothers are out there, somewhere, she thinks. She decides to see what else Eryssel knows.

“That’s good. Maybe, if we’re lucky, they’ll be able to attack one day, and we’ll be freed.” Meletye says, almost more to herself than to Eryssel. “Is there any news of the Noldor? I know Maedhros was broken free, but is there anything else we know?”

Eryssel looks thoughtful.

“Hmm. There isn’t a great deal I can tell you, I don’t think. I know that an elf called Fingolfin is the High King now. I’ve heard that there are quite a few Noldorin commanders, all working together to maintain the siege.”

Meletye chuckles softly, and Eryssel looks surprised.

“I guess that’s good news, then?” Eryssel asks.

“Oh, it is.” Meletye replies, smiling. “If there are many commanders working together, it must mean that the rifts between my family were mended. Fingolfin is my uncle, you see, and he and my cousins and many more of our people were left behind in Valinor. My father chose to abandon them, and it destroyed the relationships between us. But if Fingolfin is High King now… Maedhros must have given the rule over to him. It’s just the sort of thing he’d do to try and mend what our father broke.”

She gives a soft sigh and she turns to look at Eryssel again. She is a very beautiful elf, dark brown hair tumbles down her shoulders in waves, and her hazel eyes shine with a kindness and warmth. Meletye feels sure that she has found an ally in this dark and terrible place.

“What happens to me, now?” Meletye asks quietly, “I assume I will be put to work.”

“You will.” Eryssel nods, “Most likely you’ll be put to work cleaning or cooking or some similar task. But you’ll be given time to recover and build your strength first; you’re in no condition to work right now.”

“I’m glad I’ll be given a little time first. This will be quite the adjustment for me to get used to.” Meletye murmurs.

She and Eryssel sit together for a little while, and they continue to talk and get to know each other. Meletye learns that Eryssel works in the kitchens, along with a small group of enslaved elves, and she cannot help but wonder where she will be made to work. She quietly hopes that she will be in the kitchens or with the healers and not the forge; the thought of being forced to make weapons that will be used to kill elves makes her feel a little ill. After a little while of talking, Eryssel goes to take some rest, and Meletye lays down to rest, too. She lays there in silence, trying to get some sleep, and she wonders what her life in Angband will look like.

As the days pass by and Meletye is finally fed proper, nourishing food once more, she finds her strength quickly building day by day. She begins to get to know those she lives with, finding that most of them are kindly like Eryssel is. Almost two weeks have passed when she is finally strong enough to be put to work. She is happily talking to Eryssel one day when the door opens and someone walks into the room. Meletye looks up and she feels her stomach drop. It’s the same elf who had greeted her when she came to Angband long ago. The sight of him, his pale skin and unsettling smirk, takes her back to that terrible day. Eryssel’s smile fades when she sees him, and she gives an almost imperceptible sigh.

“Donir. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Eryssel asks him.

Her tone expresses that seeing Donir is the exact opposite of a pleasure. Donir simply smirks at her.

“I am here to show Meletye to her work assignment. Come, my lady. It is time you earned your keep.” Donir replies.

Meletye glances at Eryssel, feeling a little nervous, and Eryssel gives her a brief nod and a reassuring smile. Meletye sighs softly and stands, leaving the room with Donir. She shivers slightly as she walks with him, not quite feeling comfortable being alone with him. He glances briefly at her, gaze flitting up and down her figure in an unsettling way.

“Hm. A pity.” He murmurs quietly.

Meletye frowns at him. 

“What’s a pity?” she snaps.

“That Lord Melkor did not choose a different assignment for you.” Donir drawls, “I thought you might make quite the lovely candidate for our breeding program.”

“Br- I’m sorry, your what?” Meletye snaps.

“You heard me, elf.” Donir replies smoothly, “We always need mothers for the new generations of uruks. Lord Melkor felt you were better suited to other work. He seemed to believe that you would not survive as an uruk-mother.”

Meletye feels her skin crawling, and she shudders. Donir glances at her, and he looks rather amused by her obvious disgust.

“How utterly despicable.” Meletye spits angrily, “You’re lucky I don’t have a weapon. I’d gut you where you stand for suggesting something so vile.”

Donir chuckles quietly.

“Oh, I’m sure you would.” He replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

He suddenly stops walking, and he gestures to the door they have stopped beside.

“Here we are.” He says, and he reaches out to open the door. “After you, my lady.”

Meletye gives him a look full of venom and hatred, and she reluctantly walks through the door. She finds herself in a large room with rows of beds separated by wooden dividers. Glancing around the room, she sees elves bustling around with what looks to be healing supplies. In the beds, she can spot a few corrupted elves and orcs who seem to be injured, one or two of them being treated. So, I’m to work with the healers, she thinks to herself. She feels her spirits rise a little; she always did love healing work. One of the healers, a silver-haired elf, glances up from his workbench as they enter. He sets his work aside and stands, wiping his hands on his apron as he approaches them.

“Donir. What are you doing here?” he asks curtly.

Donir gestures to Meletye, and the elf raises his eyebrows.

“Ah. Is this Morgoth’s newest thrall?” he asks.

“Speak for yourself. I’m no thrall.” Meletye snaps.

The slightest smile flickers across the healer’s face, and he turns to Donir.

“I’ll ensure she settles in well, Donir. I’d suggest you leave now. That is, unless you have some injury that needs tending?” he says lightly.

“Oh, I’ll happily arrange an injury for him.” Meletye says darkly.

There’s no missing the smile on the healer’s face at that. Donir huffs slightly, seemingly irritated by Meletye’s behaviour, but the healer stands tall, gazing at him sternly with his arms folded. Donir turns and leaves, and the healer waits until the door is closed before turning back to Meletye.

“My name is Idhron. You are Meletye, I presume? I was told you’d be joining us.” He says politely.

“I am.” Meletye replies simply.

Idhron nods.

“Very good. We’re always needing more hands here.” he pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “You said you are no thrall. You clearly have no respect for Donir.”

“That’s right. It’s good to see you have some observational skills.” Meletye replies drily.

Idhron chuckles quietly.

“I rather like you already. Keep that spirit, and this place will not break you.” he says warmly.

He holds out his hand to Meletye, and she hesitates for a moment before shaking it. She decides she likes Idhron. There is a certain kindness in his eyes, and a trustworthiness.

“I know that you swore fealty to him. Try not to feel too guilty about it. We all swore fealty, and we all had our own reasons for doing so.” Idhron says, smiling kindly at her.

Meletye manages a smile in response. Idhron then shows her around the healing rooms, showing her where they treat patients, where they store herbs and draughts and supplies, and the workbenches they use to craft draughts and salves.

“You’ll be doing lowly work to begin with, cleaning and scrubbing and the like. Morgoth’s orders. He wants you to work your way up to something more.” Idhron explains as he shows her around.

Meletye shrugs.

“That suits me just fine, there’s nothing wrong with humble work.” She replies, “And in any case, it’s better than the torture of isolation and hunger.”

 Idhron murmurs in agreement. That day, Meletye works hard cleaning the healing rooms, and she gets to know the layout of the place and learns where everything is kept. She isn’t allowed back to her shared room to rest until late, and she is exhausted when she finally collapses into bed at the end of the day. She lays there for a while, listening to the gentle snoring of her fellow captives as they sleep. Her heart feels much lighter now than it has for a very long time as she thinks of her chance to do healing work, and as she thinks of Idhron and Eryssel and the many others she has met since she swore fealty. She wonders if maybe, just maybe, the presence of such kindred spirits in this godforsaken place could make her whole awful situation just a little bit more bearable.

Chapter Text

As time passes by, Meletye begins to settle in to her new life in Angband. It takes quite a while for her to get used to being in such a terrible place. Early on, she cries herself to sleep each night, tossing and turning in fitful rest, and wakes each day with a jolt of terror. She finds Eryssel a great comfort; the elven woman holds her and comforts her on the especially bad nights, and in their moments of rest they talk and offer each other kindness. The pleasant connection means the world to Meletye, and Eryssel is not the only person she finds such comfort with; Idhron soon becomes a wonderful companion to her, too. She soon realises that she would be lost without the gentle companionship of such kindred spirits.

It takes a long time, but eventually Meletye begins to feel a little more comfortable within Angband. She stops crying herself to sleep, she gets used to waking in a room with her fellow captives, and the bad dreams and fitful sleep slowly improve. She works hard in the healing wing, and gradually she moves from lowly cleaning work to crafting salves and medicines and to proper healing work with patients. She is sat one day sorting through healing herbs for salves and medicine, frowning slightly in concentration, when Idhron approaches her to see how she is doing.

“How fares your task, Meletye?” he asks as he approaches her.

Meletye glances over her shoulder at him with a light smile.

“I’m getting there. Just trying to figure out which of these are best quality for this medicine and salve I’m making. I want them to be just right. After all, we may need them to last a little while.” She replies.

Idhron murmurs in agreement, looking thoughtful. He stands just behind Meletye, who is sat at a workbench, and he reaches out to gently touch one of the dried herbs.

“You were right about drying the herbs.” He comments, “They do not seem to have lost their virtue, and they last far longer than they used to.”

Meletye nods.

“We’re lucky to have these herbs at all, I suppose.” She says with a soft sigh, “This siege could go on for decades, yet. The orcs and guards always say it’ll be over soon, but I think they and Morgoth are underestimating just how persistent and patient elves can be.”

“I think you’re right, my friend.” Idhron chuckles softly. “You’re a prime example of that persistence yourself. More than a decade in his service, and you work harder every single day. You refuse to let this godforsaken place crush your spirit. If the rest of the Noldor are like you, then Morgoth really is in trouble.”

A small smile flits across Meletye’s face as she thinks of her people, her family, their resilience and tenacity and stubborn refusal to back down. Every day she thinks of her family, she wonders how many of them are out there maintaining the siege, and she wonders if they even know she is alive. She is silent for a moment, and then she thinks of rumours and whispers she has heard recently. She glances around briefly to check nobody else is listening, and she clears her throat softly.

“I was talking to Eryssel, the other day. She said she’s heard some… interesting rumours.” Meletye says quietly.

“Oh, really?” Idhron replies drily, “I never took you for a gossip, Meletye!”

Meletye gives a soft laugh.

“If you think I’m a gossip now, you should’ve seen me when I was younger!” she says, smiling, “Especially with my closest friends and family. My cousin Galadriel and I used to spend hours in the markets, just laughing and gossiping and… well. Those days are long gone.”

Meletye’s hands still on her work and she suddenly feels a lump rise in her throat as the grief of being apart from her family hits her like a brutal blow. Idhron seems to sense her emotions, and he rest a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know you must miss them terribly.” He says softly, and Meletye nods. “I don’t think we ever stop missing our family, no matter how long it has been since we were torn apart from them.”

He keeps a comforting hand on Meletye’s shoulder as she gathers herself, and she glances up at him with a grateful smile.

“Go on, tell me this rumour you’ve heard. I’m simply dying with anticipation.” Idhron says after a moment.

Meletye chuckles again.

“Well, it’s- it’s about Morgoth.” She says quietly, “The rumour is that he’s not here. That he’s left Angband searching for something, and that’s why Mairon seems to be doing more these days.”

Idhron looks rather thoughtful. He turns to lean back a little against the workbench, arms folded as he frowns slightly.

“You know, I’ve heard similar rumours, myself.” He murmurs, “I wouldn’t pay them much heed- if it wasn’t for the fact that old Mairon does indeed seem to be taking on more these days. I wonder what it could be that Morgoth is looking for?”

Meletye shrugs slightly.

“Who knows. Probably nothing good, knowing him.” she sighs, “I wish he’d stay away forever. I certainly don’t miss seeing his awful face, or seeing the Silmarils in that horrid crown of his.”

“I second that.” Idhron agrees. “But would it really be any better with Mairon in charge, instead?”

“Well, he’s certainly not as bad as Morgoth is.” Meletye replies.

She thinks of the day she swore fealty to Morgoth, of the surprising kindness and gentleness that Mairon showed her. She thinks of the interactions she has had with him since, the way he greets her with warmth and makes polite conversation with her. He certainly shows much more kindness to her than Morgoth- indeed, more than any other of Morgoth’s people.

“For now, perhaps, he is not as bad as Morgoth.” Idhron says grimly, “But who knows what absolute power would do to him?”

Meletye gives a thoughtful hmm at that, and after a moment Idhron sighs softly and gives her shoulder a brief pat.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to your work. Just look sharp, Meletye. They’ve been doing a lot of inspections of work details recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have one, soon.” He says kindly.

“Of course, Idhron. You know me. I always put in my very best work.” Meletye replies.

Idhron smiles at her, and he leaves her be. Before long, Meletye is completely focused on her work once more. She continues to choose the best herbs for the salves and medicines she wishes to make, and soon is so engrossed in her work that she barely even notices the door to the healing wing opening with a bang.

“Inspection!” an orc-guard shouts, striding into the healing wing. “Stop what you are doing and stand to attention.” 

Meletye hears some of the others grumbling quietly, she hears them standing to attention, but she does not stop her work. She is reaching a crucial point with the particular medicine she is making; if she gets it wrong, it could be rendered ineffective, or even dangerous. An orc-guard walks slowly over to her, standing above her menacingly.

“I said, elf, to stop what you are doing.” He growls at her.

Meletye gives a soft sigh.

“If I stop now, this medicine could be ruined.” She replies coolly.

The orc growls again, and roughly grabs her shoulder, making her wince.

“Stop, elf. Or you’ll be the one needing medicine.” He snarls.

He leans in close to her, and Meletye shudders as she feels his hot, rancid breath on her face.

“How am I to perfect my work if I am interrupted?” she asks, voice slightly strained with the pain of the orc’s tight grip.

“Leave her be.” Another voice says calmly. “I’ll inspect the rest of the wing first and come back to her.”

Meletye doesn’t have to turn to see who is speaking. She knows Mairon stands behind them, and she feels a soft rush of relief at his order. The orc grunts and lets go of her roughly, shoving her so she almost hits the workbench. Mairon and the orc-guards move on, and Meletye is left alone to continue her work. Ignoring the soreness in her shoulder, she begins to add the right herbs in the right amounts to her small boiling-pot, and she begins to brew the medicine properly. She watches it closely as it simmers and she adds the occasional ingredients, and by the time Mairon comes back to her, she is grinding up herbs for a different, simpler salve as she lets the medicine finish simmering. She glances up briefly when he comes and stops beside her, and a slight smile graces his lips as he looks down at her.

“How is your work coming along?” he asks her.

“It’s coming along well, thank you.” Meletye replies politely, “Especially now I’ve been given chance to focus and perfect it.”

She lifts the pot from the heat, giving the medicine chance to cool before she bottles it, and she carefully blows out the flame.

“I’m not interrupting you now, am I? I do not wish to disrupt your work.” Mairon asks her.

Meletye shakes her head.

“No, all that’s left now is for it to cool so I can bottle the medicine. And this salve I’m working on is far simpler, it doesn’t require as much focus as the medicine did.”

“Hm, interesting. And what precisely makes this medicine so complex?” Mairon asks.

“It’s a medicine for pain.” Meletye explains, “One of the herbs it contains has a sedative effect. Too much, and it could sedate a patient too much and maybe even cause them harm. Not enough, and it won’t work at all. It’s a delicate balance, and I needed to focus to get it just right.”

“Of course.” Mairon murmurs, “That makes perfect sense. Well, our soldiers and I thank you for your diligence.”

Meletye nods briefly. Mairon glances around the healing wing; is rather quiet in here now. Most people are going about their business once more, and he turns his attention to the orc-guards.

“You may leave. Inspection is done, and everything seems to be in excellent order.” Mairon says.

The orcs bow and leave, and Mairon settles himself on a seat beside the workbench. Meletye glances at him in surprise, finding him watching her work with an expression of curiosity.

“Can I help you with something, my lord?” she asks.

“Oh, I was just curious, that’s all.” Mairon replies, I’ve seen you at work a few times, and you always seem to strive for perfection. Have you always worked in such a way?”

Meletye looks thoughtful.

“I suppose I have, yes.” She replies after a moment’s silence. “I was taught from a young age to take pride in my work, whatever that work may be. Whether it’s cooking, or forging, or healing work, I do my best to craft it to utter perfection.”

Mairon gives a soft chuckle at that.

“An excellent quality.” He says kindly, “There is nothing quite as wonderful as taking pride in one’s work- and the satisfaction you feel when you perfect something is simply delightful.”

Meletye cannot stop a soft smile coming across her face at his words, and she glances briefly at him. His eyes are alight as he speaks, and there is something rather endearing about his enthusiasm. She finds herself looking at him for just a moment too long, and he turns slightly and catches her. She quickly turns her focus back to her work.

“I learned perfection at my father’s knee.” She says softly, “He would spend such a long time working on his creations until they were just right. It was something he instilled in us from the moment we were old enough to hold a hammer.”

Mairon nods, looking thoughtful.

“Perfection can be difficult to find. But hard work and diligence pays off in the end.” He murmurs. “It doesn’t surprise me that your father worked so hard to perfect his creations. Not when I consider who…”

He stops talking suddenly, and shakes his head slightly. Meletye looks at him, confused, and she catches an almost wistful look on his face. Almost as though he was thinking of someone long since lost to him, she thinks. Mairon clears his throat softly, and his expression is smooth and calm once more. Part of Meletye wants to ask him who he was thinking of, but she decides against it. He smiles warmly at her and rises to his feet.

“I’ll leave you to your work, Meletye. I shouldn’t waste your work time with idle conversation.” He says.

Meletye gives a small smile in response, but before she can say anything Mairon has already turned and is walking away. She watches him leave, watches the door of the healing wing swing shut behind him, and her mind is buzzing with thoughts. Who was Mairon thinking of with a wistful look? Why had he sought her alone out for a conversation? And why has their conversation left such a strange feeling in her heart? She shakes herself out of her thoughts and carries on with her work. As Meletye’s day goes on, as she finishes the day’s work and goes to take some rest, she still cannot put her conversation with Mairon from her mind. She keeps thinking of it, of him, and it brings an inexplicable warm feeling to her heart. It takes a while for her to pinpoint exactly what their conversation made her feel, but as she lays in her bed that night she realises what it was: curiosity. She feels curious about Mairon. She feels certain that she had been given a tiny, fleeting glimpse of the person hiding beneath the surface, the person behind the respected and feared lieutenant of Morgoth, and she finds herself curious to learn more. She wonders who he might be behind closed doors, she wonders what makes him laugh or cry or rage. She thinks of the wistful look on his face before and wonders if he ever regrets the path he took. She sighs softly to herself, turning over in bed as she tries to get to sleep. Stop thinking of him that way, she tells herself firmly, he’s still Morgoth’s second-in-command. He’s still the enemy. She forces herself to stop thinking of him, forces away that feeling of curiosity, and elsewhere in Angband in his own private chambers, Mairon does just the same- he tries to stop himself from thinking of Meletye. But neither of them can truly ignore that strange curiosity that has awoken within their hearts.

Chapter Text

Life continues in much the same way for Meletye. She works for her keep, day in, day out. She builds up friendships with Eryssel and Idhron and other elves she works with. Life becomes easier, more bearable. But even as the decades lengthen into centuries, the pain of being apart from her family does not grow any easier. She misses them deeply, and every day she wonders if they are out there, somewhere, on the plains of Anfauglith, working to maintain the siege. She detests being trapped in Angband, away from everyone she loves most in the world, and she longs for escape. The siege is the one thing that brings her hope. It keeps going, year after year, decade after decade, century after century. Meletye listens to the whispers and rumours in Angband, and she hears guards muttering that the elves are growing stronger by the day, forming alliances with each other and even with the recently-awakened Men of Beleriand. She quietly hopes and prays that they soon have enough strength to be able to attack Angband itself. If they attack, if they breach the wretched place, then Meletye and her fellow captives will be free. She and Eryssel sit talking quietly about it one day, when they both have free time from their work details. They are sat in one of the many torchlit corridors of Angband, settled on a stone bench. Ever since they were both permitted to roam Angband a little more freely in their downtime, they have been finding places like this. Quiet, empty rooms or corridors where they can speak their minds without fear of being overheard. This particular corridor is a favourite of theirs- the only doors on either end of it give them warning when someone is approaching, and it is the perfect place for them to sit and talk.

“I think this siege may be over sooner than we expect.” Meletye says quietly, “I keep hearing the orcs and the guards muttering about how strong the elves are.”

Eryssel smiles softly.

“Do you think they’d break us out?” she asks, hope tinging her words. “If they attack Angband? Or would the orcs kill us all before they get that far?”

Meletye sighs.

“Maybe the orcs would simply kill us if our peoples breach Angband. But the hopeful part of me likes to believe that we would make it out. That we would be free.” She replies.

Eryssel can hear the longing in Meletye’s voice, and she reaches out to gently take her hand.

“What’s the first thing you would do, if we got out of this place?” she asks.

Meletye chuckles softly.

“I think I’d run straight to find my brothers.” She replies with a sad smile, “There was an awful lot of tension between us when I left, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve missed them more than words can say.”

“I’d look for my family, too.” Eryssel says with a soft sigh. “I’d travel back to the coast to find them. Even if they weren’t there, just being out of Angband and feeling daylight on my skin and the wind in my hair would be the sweetest feeling in the world.”

Meletye murmurs softly in agreement, and then shakes her head slightly.

“We shouldn’t get our hopes up.” She says sadly, “Chances are, we’d be killed long before we had any chance to find our families.”

Eryssel gives her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t give up hope, Meletye. It’s all we have, sometimes.” She says softly. “I think you might be right about one thing. About the siege being over soon. I’ve heard orcs and guards talking, too, and they seem to think something big is coming. They-”

Eryssel stops talking suddenly when they hear the doors at the end of the corridor bang open. She and Meletye glance at each other, and without hesitation launch into a completely different conversation.

“Anyway, it was a complete disaster, of course! The stew would have been ruined if I hadn’t figured out which seasonings to use to mask the burnt taste.” Eryssel says loudly as footsteps approach.

They both look up as someone rounds the corner, and Meletye cannot help but smile when she sees who it is. Mairon smiles, too, when he sees the two elven women sat together.

“Meletye. Eryssel.” He greets them warmly, “It’s lovely to see you. I trust you are both having a pleasant rest day?”

“Yes, we are, thank you.” Meletye replies.

Mairon has stopped walking, he stands before them with his hands folded behind his back. A rare warmth and kindness shines in his eyes, and his smile seems genuine and friendly. His gaze rests on Meletye for a moment, silence hangs in the air and she briefly meets his eye. It catches her off-guard, how lovely he looks with such a pleasant smile on his face and warmth in his eyes. Then, he clears his throat and inclines his head politely to them. Meletye could swear there is a slight pink tinge to his face.

“Er- anyway. Have a nice day.” he says, before he walks away quickly.

The two elven women stay silent, watching him leave, until he disappears and they hear the other doors closing behind him. Eryssel gives a soft laugh, turning to Meletye with a look of incredulous surprise.

“Was he blushing?” she exclaims.

Meletye laughs and shakes her head.

“Not a chance, Eryssel. What on earth would he be blushing for? Probably just a trick of the light.” She replies.

Eryssel raises her eyebrows.

“Well, he does seem to have a habit of appearing when you’re around.” She says, a teasing smirk lifting her lips. “Maybe he has a bit of a thing for you!”

Meletye laughs loudly at Eryssel’s words.

“Ha! Now that is truly ludicrous, my friend.” she chuckles, “Why would Morgoth’s lieutenant have a thing for one of his prisoners? It’s simply absurd!”

Eryssel laughs, too.

“Alright, maybe it is a bit improbable.” She admits, “But you have to admit, he does seem to seek you out sometimes.”

“I don’t know if that’s quite true. I think it’s just coincidence that we seem to run into each other a lot.” Meletye replies, looking thoughtful. “He is kind to me; he always has been. He seems to respect my work ethic. And I suppose- I suppose I respect him, in a way. There’s plenty about him that I detest, but there’s plenty I respect, too.”

Eryssel still looks sceptical, but she lets the matter slide. Their conversation continues without any further mention of Mairon, but Meletye cannot help but feel a little distracted, and when they go back to their shared rooms to settle down for bed, she is still feeling preoccupied. She had brushed off Eryssel with a laugh when she said Mairon had blushed, but the truth is that Meletye had seen it, too. And it surprised her. She knows in her heart that Eryssel may well be right- that Mairon might be a little more fond of her than he cares to admit. It makes her feel surprised, for the most part, but somewhere hiding beneath that surprise is a strange, quiet feeling of elation and excitement. Meletye firmly pushes that down, and she silently scolds herself with the words that have become a mantra now, words that repeat in her mind every time he smiles at her, or they strike up conversation, or she finds herself thinking of him. He is the enemy, she tells herself firmly, no matter how kind he is, he is still the enemy. But no matter how often she tells herself that, she cannot pretend there is not a mutual respect between them, that Mairon’s kindness to her has drawn her in. She cannot deny that her day becomes a little brighter when Mairon shows up. Maybe, if he wasn’t Morgoth’s lieutenant, she’d be more willing to admit that there is a pleasant friendship growing between the two of them.

That day in Angband, Mairon goes about his usual business. He is summoned to his master’s side, and he is hastening to him when he runs into Meletye and Eryssel, completely by chance. It gladdens his heart to see them roaming the place freely, to see them looking happy, and though he knows Morgoth is waiting for him, he cannot resist stopping for a moment to say hello. He cannot keep the smile from his face when he sees Meletye, and when he meets her gaze for a moment, something very unexpected happens. It flusters him. She smiles at him, grey eyes sparkling with light and life, and for a brief moment he feels awestruck. She looks beautiful, he thinks to himself. It takes him by surprise, he feels his face grow warm, and he quickly leaves, hoping against hope that Meletye and Eryssel did not notice him blushing. The lieutenant of Morgoth, blushing. How embarrassing that would be, he thinks. He hurries through the halls to the meeting room Morgoth will be in, trying not to think of Meletye and the strange feeling he had just felt. When he reaches his destination, he takes a moment to calm himself. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and taking himself into the mindset he must have for war matters. Then, he turns the handle and opens the  door, heading into the room. Morgoth is poring over a map as he enters, and he glances up briefly.

“Ah, Mairon. At last.” He says, turning his attention back to the map.

Mairon glances around the room, noting that several of Morgoth’s most trusted commanders are there. Men, orcs, corrupted elves. Morgoth frowns and mutters quietly to himself as he trails his fingers over the map.

“My apologies, my lord. I came as quickly as I could.” Mairon says, bowing his head to Morgoth.

Morgoth hardly seems to hear him, still deeply focused on the map before him.

“Perhaps if we release him here…” he murmurs, “Fire from there…”

“The dragon, my lord?” Mairon asks.

“Yes.” Morgoth replies simply, “The time is almost right. If we are fortunate, we could perhaps destroy our enemy completely.”

Mairon looks down at the map, too, looking thoughtful.

“So, you plan to release him from here?” he asks, pointing. Morgoth nods. “I think that will work well. Though the beauty of this attack is that no matter where the dragon is released, he will certainly take the enemy by surprise. That alone grants an enormous advantage. With the dragon and the flames and the strength of our armies, the siege will be broken before the enemy even have time to react.”

Morgoth smiles at that, and he looks very pleased with himself. The planning for the upcoming battle continues, and though Mairon tries his best to focus on the matter at hand, he finds his mind drifting a little. He keeps thinking of Meletye once more, and her friends, and he thinks of the whispers he knows have been passing between the captives. He knows that many of them are secretly hoping for the victory of the elves. He knows that they will be bitterly disappointed when Morgoth’s plan inevitably wins them victory over the elves. He should not care what they think, not in the slightest. But there is still a very small part of him that feels a little pity for them all, for the pain they will surely feel when the battle plays out. His thoughts focus on Meletye once more. He forces these thoughts aside, focusing on the matter at hand, and some hours later he and Morgoth’s commanders are finally dismissed. Mairon makes his way back to his private quarters, and on the way he passes the corridor where he had run into Meletye. He smiles to himself as he passes the spot; it really had been pleasant to see her, to see the smile on her face. She won’t be smiling when the battle is won, he thinks, and he sighs softly. He tries to focus his mind elsewhere, but try as he might, he cannot. Now that he is alone, there is little to distract him. He tosses and turns as he tries to take rest, constantly going back to the thoughts and feelings that had taken him so by surprise when he saw Meletye. She looks beautiful, he had thought in that moment. It had made him feel flustered, and that is what unsettles him so. He has found a pleasant sort of friendship developing with Meletye, he will admit that, and perhaps he has sought her out at times. She has intrigued him since the day they met, and taking time to talk to her, treating her with kindness and building a friendship with her is something that has brought him joy. But this, he thinks, feeling flustered by her? That is something else entirely. He groans quietly in frustration, and he forces himself to shift his thoughts elsewhere. She is the daughter of one of our greatest enemies, he reminds himself, and beneath the pleasantries, she hates us all. Even simple friendship with her is doomed to end one day. He finally drags his focus elsewhere, mulling over the War and the battle soon to come, but somewhere in the back of his mind, thoughts of Meletye still linger.

Chapter Text

Over the days that follow, preparations for the battle ramp up, and those held captive within Angband cannot help but notice something going on. There are soldiers everywhere, preparing to leave Angband. Whispers and rumours fly between the captives, and Meletye feels foreboding growing in her heart. She is with Eryssel on the day it all changes. They hear the horrifying screeching outside, they hear a rumbling sound, the stomping feet and chanting voices of Morgoth’s armies, and worst of all, they hear the distant but unmistakeable sound of many voices screaming in terror. The smell of smoke drifts through the halls of Angband, and Meletye knows something awful is happening out there. Several hours pass, and Meletye and Eryssel are sat together, wondering aloud what could be happening, when Idhron suddenly hurries into the room.

“Meletye, you’re needed.” Idhron says, breathing heavily.

Meletye stands, frowning slightly.

“Why, what’s going on?” she asks.

She knows from the look on Idhron’s face that it is nothing good. She meets his eye for a moment and she shakes her head slightly, suddenly realising she is not ready to hear what he has to say.

“Morgoth launched an attack.” Idhron says grimly. “And it was very effective. He used the dragon, and flames, and many, many orcs. The siege is broken. There are many of Morgoth’s men wounded, and they need us in the healing rooms.”

Meletye feels her heart sink, and for a moment all she can do is stand there, shocked. She thinks of all those elves out there, of her family and her friends, and she wonders how many of them are now dead. She hears Eryssel give a soft, shuddering gasp, and she knows they are all feeling the weight of this loss. Not only the loss of the elves, but the loss of the meagre hope they’d had. The hope that the elves might attack and free them from this living hell. Meletye turns to look down at Eryssel, who is still sat on the bed where they had been talking, and she sees tears streaming down her friend’s face. She crouches beside her, taking hold of her hands.

“I have to go, Eryssel.” She says softly, “I have to do my job. I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

Eryssel nods through her tears. Meletye squeezes her hands gently, and it takes all of her strength to hold herself together and not weep with her friend. She stands and leaves with Idhron, they hurry through the halls, and Meletye feels her hands shaking slightly.

“How bad was it?” she asks quietly as they walk.

Idhron shakes his head, looking miserable.

“Very bad.” He sighs, “Word is that the plains outside are littered with dead elves. Morgoth threw his most destructive monsters at them; they were simply overwhelmed. I imagine those who survived will be retreating.”

Idhron glances sideways at Meletye, catching the tight expression on her face, the way her mouth trembles slightly, and the unshed tears in her eyes. He stops walking, turning to face Meletye, but she doesn’t look at him.

“Meletye-”

“I’m fine.” Meletye interrupts him, trying not to let her voice tremble. “Hoping for their victory was a fool’s hope, I always knew the chances of them winning were very slim. I just- I just wish there was a way of knowing whether my loved ones survived.”

Idhron rests a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I know, Meletye. I know.” He says softly, “Sometimes what we do not know weighs more heavily on us than what we do know. It hollows the heart and leaves us feeling afraid. Just try not to fill that space with guesswork. It will only make things worse.”

Meletye nods silently, and Idhron gives her a kind, gentle smile.

“Come, we have work to do. We’ll be kept busy, I am sure. Perhaps once we are finished with our work, we will know a little more about the situation.” He says.

He and Meletye keep walking, making for the healing wing. The halls grow busier and busier as they approach, and when they arrive they find soldiers bustling around, injured orcs and men alike being carried or stumbling to the healers. Meletye feels her stomach contract as she and Idhron enter the healing wing and she sees the damage the battle has done even to Morgoth’s own soldiers. Every bed is occupied by injured soldiers. At the other end of the healing wing, there are already many bodies wrapped in shrouds. The smell of blood and burnt flesh fills the air, and Meletye feels sick for a moment. There is little time to focus on herself, however, as she and Idhron both leap into action. Before she knows it, Meletye is busy stitching wounds, setting bones, and cleaning and dressing burns. She gathers from the things the soldiers tell her that the battle was chaotic, that many of Morgoth’s soldiers were caught in the flames he sent forth, and many more were killed or wounded by elves who valiantly tried to fight back. That the elves had tried to fight and had not simply fled gives Meletye hope; she knows they will not give up easily. She treats soldier after soldier, trying to fight down the horror she feels, trying not to think about the smell of burnt flesh or the pain these soldiers are in, and the memories it all brings back for her. When she goes to fetch a salve for one soldier’s burns, Idhron quickly comes to check on her. She pauses for a moment in the supply room as she looks for the salve, trying to take deep, steadying breaths. The smell of the burns still lingers in her nostrils, and she shudders. For a fleeting moment, she can almost feel the flames licking up her skin, she can feel the agony again and smells the burnt clothing and hair and skin. She jumps and cries out when Idhron touches her shoulder, and he holds his hands up in peace.

“Easy, it’s just me!” he says in a soothing tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry. I just wanted to check if you are alright.”

Meletye nods sharply, turning away from Idhron.

“I-I’m fine. I’m looking for a salve.” She mutters.

She searches around the shelves, hands trembling, until she finds what she needs. She holds it tightly in her hand, breath shuddering slightly. Memories of her own past still bombard her, memories of burning skin and unrelenting agony, and the way it all felt like torture.

“Meletye, it’s alright.” Idhron says gently, “I know this must be overwhelming for you. If you need to take a moment-”

“I can handle it.” Meletye snaps, “They’re the ones who are hurt, not me. I’m here to do my job, and I will do it.”

Idhron sighs softly, gaze still resting on Meletye. He feels certain that her hiding her feelings and pretending she is fine will not end well, but he also knows he cannot force her to stop and take time for herself. He reaches into his pocked for something, drawing out a small bottle.

“Here,” he says, handing the bottle to Meletye. “It’s scented oil. Dab a little under your nose. It’ll help with the smell.”

Meletye nods, and she dabs a little just underneath her nose as he says. It fills her nostrils with the strong scent of the oil, refreshing and pleasant, and she finds it soothes her nerves a little. She hands the bottle back to Idhron with a small smile.

“Thank you.” she says softly. “I’d best get back to work.”

She goes back into the healing wing, heading back to the soldier she had been treating to apply salve to his burns. Before long, she is finished treating him and moves on to yet another soldier. She keeps working, keeps going, pushing down her own feelings, her own pain, for the sake of those who need her help. She loses track of how long she spends in the healing wing, tending to injured soldiers. She and the other healers take it in turns to rest, and when she has her chance to rest, she can barely even close her eyes. It takes several days before the tide of injured soldiers finally begins to slow down. When all is finally calm again, Meletye sits at a workbench crafting new salves to replace the ones they had used. Her hands shake as she works, and she cannot keep her mind from all she has seen over the past few days. She has watched countless soldiers die in front of her, she has stitched more wounds and set more bones and tended more burns than she could count. But one soldier in particular stands out in her mind- a young human soldier, barely twenty-five years old. Meletye had felt a horrible shock when she saw him; he looked like a child to her eyes, half his body burned and screaming in agony when his fellow men brought him in. They had begged her to save him, and between her hard work and the help of the other healers, she had managed to tend his injuries and he had stayed alive for nearly two days. Two days of hell, Meletye thinks bitterly. In the end, she simply held his hand as he died. He had murmured apologies over and over as his body trembled with fever Meletye could not bring down, he had begged for his mother, and all Meletye could do was offer him a little comfort. Her hands still on her work as she thinks of the boy, and she feels tears pricking in her eyes. She gives herself a moment to grieve, and then she hears the door to the healing wing open. She sniffs and wipes away her tears. Probably another commander here for a damage report, she thinks to herself. There have been plenty of them the past few days. She sets her things aside and stands, turning to face whoever it is, and she stares in surprise. Mairon stands there looking grim, though he still manages a small smile for Meletye.

“What are you doing here?” she asks sharply.

Mairon raises his eyebrows a little.

“I’m here for a report of the injured.” He replies calmly.

Meletye nods.

“We-we’ve treated some more injured soldiers since last we gave report.” She murmurs, “No more dead since then. There’s a log somewhere, I don’t know…”

She trails off, frowning slightly as she glances around. Mairon’s brow furrows in concern.

“Are you alright, Meletye?” he asks, sounding worried.

Meletye looks a little confused.

“I, uh- fine. It’s been a busy few days. Lots of soldiers. Lots of burns. Bad memories.” She replies.

Mairon gives a soft, sympathetic sigh. A moment’s silence rests.

“Bad memories? Of your- branding?” he asks gently.

Meletye blinks in surprise. Of course, she thinks, he probably doesn’t know about my burns. No-one ever sees the scars. The mention of the brand takes her by surprise, and she lifts a hand to gently touch the scarred skin on the back of her neck where Morgoth’s mark had been seared into her flesh. It had happened not long after she swore fealty, but before she was put to work. She doesn’t remember much of it; only that it hurt, and that she hadn’t had the energy to fight it.

“I- I think so.” she says hesitantly.

“Meletye, you look exhausted.” Mairon says, taking a step closer to her. “You should rest.”

Meletye nods numbly.

“I will. I will, I just- there’s still work to do. So many soldiers injured. So many dead. So many.” She murmurs.

Mairon comes even closer, and Meletye shivers ever so slightly.

“Please, sit down, Meletye.” Mairon says quietly, “You look ready to collapse.”

Meletye does as she is told and sits down. She can feel her hands shaking, still. As Mairon sits beside her, she glances at him and catches the concerned look on his face.

“Have you had any rest?” Mairon asks her.

Meletye scoffs softly.

“There’s been too much work for any of us to have much rest.” She says bitterly, “Your lovely master saw to that. Those soldiers didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Her voice trembles slightly, tears shine in her eyes, and Mairon remains silent, watching her with an expression of sorrow.

“There was a soldier, a boy. Not even thirty years. He begged us to forgive him for joining Morgoth. He said he wished he’d never fallen for his lies. And then, he begged for his mother. He died in agony and fear and confusion. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to suffer like that.” Meletye says, tears threatening to escape her.

“I know.” Mairon sighs, “I know. I’m sorry, Meletye. It shouldn’t-”

“Oh, don’t pretend to care!” Meletye snaps angrily, “Don’t pretend to care about them. Don’t pretend to care about us. I know you don’t. You don’t give a damn about our pain or the losses we’ve suffered or the fears we have. You just don’t.”

She turns away from Mairon, trying to force down her tears. She wishes he would leave. She feels so very fragile right now, as if the slightest touch will break her heart into a thousand pieces. She screws her face up against the agony of it all, and try as she might, she cannot prevent the whimper that escapes her. Mairon watches her, unsure of what to say. Seeing her so upset hurts something deep in his heart, and he cannot possibly explain that feeling.

“Meletye-”

“Oh, just go away!” Meletye cries, voice cracking with emotion. “Just leave me alone. Please.”

The final word is spoken with such grief that it makes Mairon want to weep with her. He stands, not wanting to upset her further, and he notices she is trembling. Part of him wants to comfort her, but he fears he would only make it worse. He thinks on her words for a moment, the mention of her losses and fears, and suddenly he knows what might bring her a little comfort.

“Alright, I’ll leave.” he says gently. “But before I do, you ought to know something.”

He hesitates for a moment. Morgoth will no doubt be furious if he finds out Mairon has told Meletye this. He brushes the thought aside.

“My sources tell me that your brothers survived the battle.” He says, and he sees Meletye’s body language shift at the words. “Apparently, your eldest brother has a very well-defended fortress somewhere north-east of here. He retreated that way, and though I do not know if the rest of your brothers are with him, I know they are alive.”

For a moment, his hand drifts towards Meletye, as though to rest a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Then, he stops and quickly jerks his hand back. Without another word, he turns and leaves the healing wing. Just as he opens the door to leave, he hears Meletye’s quiet voice behind him.

“Thank you.” she says softly.

 Mairon smiles to himself as he goes. Meletye hears the door close behind him, and she gives a soft, shuddering gasp. They’re alive, she thinks, thank the Valar, they’re alive. A strange, strangled laugh escapes her as she thinks of this, as relief and hope fill her mind. All these years, she has wondered and worried, and now she finally knows that her brothers are alive. She wonders if Mairon knows how much of a gift this is to her. She wonders if he knows that the words thank you feel insignificant in comparison to the joy she feels right now. He did not have to tell me, she thinks to herself, he could have just walked away and left me to my pain, but he didn’t. Meletye smiles as she continues her work, and as she does she finds her heart is full of gratitude and relief- and that she now sees Mairon in a much warmer light than she did before.

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the terrible battle, Meletye and her fellow captives grieve deeply for their losses. When Meletye first returns to their quarters to rest, she finds Eryssel waiting for her, and they weep together for the many lives lost, and for the loss of their hope. They both know that there is now very little chance of them ever escaping Angband, and it breaks their hearts. But, in spite of their pain, life goes on. They carry on with their work, and they decide that they will not allow the pain of all they have experienced to break their spirits.

Some time has passed since the Battle of Sudden Flame when something very unexpected happens. It is a perfectly normal day for those living within in Angband. Meletye and Idhron go to their work in the healing wing as normal, tending to injured soldiers and sick captives. They are going about their business as usual when they suddenly hear a distant commotion- the sound of a horn blowing, followed by a far-off pounding noise, as though someone is banging upon the gates of Angband. The room falls silent when they hear the strange noise, and they all listen intently, hearing the distant pounding ring out again several times. Then, there comes the sound of a voice, dim and difficult to make out- but very familiar to Meletye. He is calling to Morgoth himself, demanding he come forth and face him and fight. Meletye gasps softly at his words, and Idhron glances at her.

“It’s my uncle Fingolfin.” Meletye says, a slight note of disbelief colouring her voice. “He’s here.”

Her gaze meets Idhron’s for a brief moment, and he knows she wants to go to her uncle. The moment she begins to run, he darts forward and grabs hold of her, stopping her from taking another step.

“Wh- get off me, Idhron!” Meletye cries, “He’s right outside. He’s so close, if they open the gates I can slip out and- and-”

“And what?” Idhron snaps, “Get yourself killed, that’s what!”

Meletye shakes her head. She distantly hears her uncle’s voice again, and she falls silent. She has no idea how on earth his voice can be heard throughout the halls of Angband, but she is glad of it. Hearing the voice of someone she loves, someone she has missed deeply, means more than she can say. 

“Face me, you coward, and fight me with your own hand!” she hears him cry, “I await you here. Come, show your face.”

Meletye suddenly realises she is shaking.

“What is he doing?” she breathes, “He cannot face Morgoth. He’ll die. He’ll die, I can’t- I can’t let that happen, I have to get out there, I have to help him!”

She struggles against Idhron, but he will not let go.

“Meletye, stop this!” he pleads with her, “If Morgoth chooses to fight him, then nothing and no-one in this world will protect him. You know that.”

Meletye shakes her head in disbelief. She hears the distant sound of her uncle’s horn blowing once again, then the distant creaking as the gates open, and the echoing clang as they close again. She freezes, knowing that those sounds mean only one thing: Morgoth has taken up the challenge. Idhron senses the fight leaving her, and he lets go of her. He sees the grief and shock in her eyes, and he rests a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sit down, Meletye.” He says kindly.

Meletye nods, allowing him to guide her to sit down.

“Maybe he’ll survive.” She says quietly, “Maybe he’ll escape somehow.”

Idhron doesn’t say anything in response. He doesn’t want to crush what little remains of Meletye’s hope, though he feels her words come from desperation more than hope. Distant sounds drift through the halls of Angband, loud crashing thuds and the occasional bellow of rage. Seven times, they hear the sound of Morgoth screaming, in anger or pain they cannot tell, and it chills them to the bone. Meletye cannot stop herself from shaking where she sits, and she wonders what on earth is going on out there. After a short while, it suddenly goes silent. In her heart, Meletye knows it is over. They distantly hear the gates creaking once more, and Meletye bows her head. A heavy silence rests in the room, and Idhron comes to stand beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. The silent comfort means more than Meletye can say, and they stay like that for a while until they hear hurried footsteps in the corridor outside. An elf comes bursting into the room, and everyone starts and looks up at him in surprise. He is one of their healers, and he looks very worried.

“Mairon is coming.” He says hurriedly, “Everyone seems pretty angry. Specifically, angry with the High King and his people.”

All eyes turn to Meletye. She glances up at Idhron, meeting his eye for a moment, and he gives a silent nod.

“On your feet, Meletye.” He says firmly.

Meletye stands, frowning slightly.

“In the storeroom, now. Hide.” Idhron says urgently, quickly ushering Meletye along. “Come on, hurry, before he gets here.”

He ushers her into the storeroom, guiding her behind a tall shelf of supplies. Meletye still looks confused.

“But I don’t think Mairon will-”

“We don’t know that, Meletye.” Idhron says grimly. “I know there’s something of a friendship between the two of you, but that would not matter if his master gave him an order. But do not fear, Meletye. If he has orders to harm you, we will do all we can to keep you safe.”

Meletye swallows hard, trying not to let fear overwhelm her. There is a sudden bang as the door to the healing wing opens.

“Keep quiet.” Idhron whispers before he leaves.

Meletye stays where she is, silent and still, and she listens. She hears Mairon striding into the healing wing. Outside, Idhron calmly stands before him, arms folded behind his back.

“Lord Mairon. How may we help you?” he asks smoothly.

He takes in Mairon’s appearance, the strange look in his eyes. The usual calm appearance is cracking, and for the first time Idhron thinks he looks rather worried.

“I need healing supplies. Now.” Mairon replies shortly.

The few elves in the healing wing glance at each other in surprise, and Idhron frowns slightly.

“Healing supplies?” he asks, “I didn’t think he could be-”

Mairon gives him a dangerous look, and Idhron falls silent. He clears his throat softly.

“What kind of supplies, my lord?” he asks, forcing himself to keep his voice calm.

Mairon gives a quiet sigh, glancing around at the others, and he moves slightly closer to Idhron.

“Bandages. Something to clean injuries. Salves for healing. Whatever you can give me.” Mairon says in a low voice. “Anything to treat injuries caused by a sword and- and talons.”

Something flickers in Idhron’s face, as though he is trying to fight back a smile. Mairon fixes him with a hard stare, and no words are needed. It is a look that plainly tells Idhron not to push his luck. Idhron bows his head to Mairon and turns to go into the storeroom.

“I will fetch what you need, my lord.”  Idhron says calmly, “I know where everything is.”

Mairon follows him slowly, stopping at the door of the storeroom. He glances around, watching Idhron as he fetches the supplies. He glances behind him, making sure nobody else is close enough to overhear him.

“Where is Meletye?” Mairon asks quietly.

Idhron freezes, one hand resting on a bundle of bandages. The question seems to take him off guard, and Meletye stays as quiet and still as she possibly can.

“Not here.” Idhron lies, “Why do you want to know where she is, anyway?”

Mairon notices the look of worry on Idhron’s face, and he catches the tiniest glance he makes towards one of the rows of shelves.

“I simply want to know she is well, that’s all.” Mairon says hurriedly, “I mean no harm. My master is angry, of course, but I will talk him down. This was not Meletye’s fault.”

His gaze flickers briefly to the shelf that hides Meletye. He knows she is there, even though he cannot see her. Idhron’s brief glance was enough to tell him that. She deserves to know, he thinks to himself, she deserves the chance to grieve before Melkor wields it over her. He clears his throat softly.

“Fingolfin is dead.” Mairon says with a sigh.

Idhron frowns slightly as he stands before him, arms full of healing supplies, and behind the shelf, Meletye presses a hand over her mouth.

“He was able to wound Lord Melkor, as I am sure you have guessed, but he paid the price. His body was taken away by a great eagle.” He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering once more to Meletye’s hiding place. “I- I’m sorry for Meletye’s loss. I know it will hurt. Look after her, Idhron.”

Idhron seems to be speechless. Mairon swiftly takes the healing supplies from him, and without another word he sweeps out of the room, closing the door behind him. Idhron waits until he hears the door of the healing wing closing before he goes to Meletye’s side. She has sunk down to the floor, both hands clamped over her mouth, and she is shaking, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, Meletye. I’m so sorry.” Idhron says gently.

He is by her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She brings her hands from her mouth and she gives a pained cry of grief. She gasps and shudders and sobs, and Idhron simply holds her. Meletye feels the pain of it all overwhelming her completely, and her heart breaks to think of her uncle dying alone and in pain. Her sweet, beloved uncle, who welcomed her when she had no-one else, who endured hell to bring his people to Middle-Earth and never once stopped fighting for them. She cannot put into words just how much it hurts to lose him, and yet beneath the grief there is another feeling: pride. Fingolfin did what they all thought impossible; he wounded Morgoth himself, and that thought fills her with pride for her uncle.

For a little while, Meletye stays held in Idhron’s arms as he comforts her as best he can. Then, when she finally feels a little stronger, he walks her back to her lodgings. The halls of Angband are eerily quiet, they see very few orcs or guards, and everyone they do see gives Meletye venomous looks. Eryssel seems to be waiting for them when they arrive, she takes in Meletye’s tear-stained face and red, puffy eyes, and she embraces her friend without a single word. She feels Meletye trembling as she holds her, and Idhron gives a soft, sad sigh.

“I trust you’ll take care of her, Eryssel?” he asks quietly.

Eryssel nods.

“Of course. You do not bear this grief alone, Meletye.” She says softly, voice wobbling slightly.

 Idhron watches as Eryssel guide Meletye to sit down on her bed, whispering soothingly to her, and he feels his heart break for her. He swallows hard, forcing himself to keep it together.

“I’ll leave you be, Meletye. Just know that you are not alone. We’re all with you, no matter what.” He says.

Meletye sniffles and nods silently, and Idhron quietly leaves the room. Meletye settles herself so that she lays with her head in Eryssel’s lap, and Eryssel strokes her hair in comfort. They weep together, and after a while Meletye begins to tell Eryssel stories of her uncle, stories of his kindness and courage and strength. She feels the heavy weight of her grief, but at the same time she somehow feels the burden becoming a little lighter as she shares her pain with her beloved friend.

Over the days that follow, Meletye finds herself lost in her grief for her uncle. When she tries to work, she is clearly distracted and lost in her own mind, and eventually Idhron tells her to take some time to grieve. She sits in silence in her quarters, listening to her fellow captives whispering rumours, whispering of Morgoth’s rage over what happened. She wonders if his rage will turn to her soon- and she wonders when Morgoth will choose to show his face once more, for nobody has seen him since the day he killed Fingolfin. As Meletye grapples with her grief and sorrow, elsewhere in Angband Mairon works hard to help his master. He has been the only one to see Morgoth in the wake of the duel, the only one to see his injuries and his pain, and as his lieutenant he is the one to pick up the pieces as his master recovers. Several days after the duel, he is summoned to Morgoth’s side. He goes to him as quickly as he can, finding his master sat with his bandaged leg propped up.

“You asked for me, my lord?” Mairon asks as he enters the dimly lit room, closing the door behind him.

Morgoth nods and gestures for him to sit.

“Yes. We have matters to discuss, Mairon.” He replies.

Mairon sits down, wondering what this could be about. His gaze flits briefly over Morgoth’s injuries; the slashes on his face seem to be healing well, though they will likely scar, but the wounds to his leg clearly still pain him. Morgoth winces slightly as he shifts his position, and Mairon waits patiently to hear what he has to say.

“How fares my stronghold, Mairon?” Morgoth asks.

“All is well, my lord.” Mairon replies calmly, “Everything is running just as it should.”

Morgoth nods briefly.

“Hm. Good.” He murmurs, “And that wretched Fëanorian?”

Mairon hesitates for a moment, feeling a slight flicker of annoyance.

“I hear she is- is suffering adequately, my lord. Apparently, her uncle’s death has all but destroyed her.” he replies quietly.

Morgoth looks satisfied.

“Very good. I must admit, I was sceptical when you argued against bringing down punishment on the elf, but I think you were right. Perhaps the grief of her uncle’s death, and the bitterness of knowing it came by my hand, is punishment enough. And it will, as you said, last far longer than any physical torture would.”

Mairon nods silently, feeling a brief rush of relief. Morgoth had been angrier than he had ever seen him when he first returned to Angband. He was hell-bent on raining fire on any and all Noldor in his reach, for the simple crime of being associated with someone who dared defy him so openly, so brazenly, in his own land. It had been quite the task for Mairon to persuade him not to harm Meletye, and he is very glad he succeeded. She has suffered enough already because of us, he thinks to himself. He is shaken out of his thoughts when Morgoth suddenly moves and pushes himself out of his seat. Mairon quickly stands, reaching out to help him, but Morgoth brushes him away.

“Stop fussing, Mairon. I am perfectly capable of walking by myself.” He snaps.

Morgoth grimaces as he walks slowly towards the war map laid out across a large table, limping badly and hissing softly with each step he takes. Mairon supresses a shudder as he watches. It is no wonder he does not want any to see him, he thinks, he does not want them to know a mere elf could do him such harm. Morgoth stops when he reaches the table, leaning heavily against it, a sheen of sweat coating his brow.

“You wish to discuss war matters, my lord?” Mairon asks, glancing down at the map.

Morgoth nods.

“I do, Mairon.” He replies, thoughtful gaze flickering across the map before them. “I require something of you. As great a help as you are here in Angband, I now need you somewhere else.”

Mairon frowns slightly.

“My lord, are you sure now is the right time to-”

“Yes, Mairon. It is.” Morgoth says sharply, “And I would remind you not to question my orders. You know the consequences of that.”

Mairon bows his head.

“Of course, my lord. My apologies.”

Morgoth huffs out an irritable sigh before he continues.

“We are making good progress, as you well know. But to move further across Beleriand, to topple the elven strongholds, we need to secure a path to the west. We need the Pass of Sirion.”

His fingers brush along the map, coming to a halt over Tol Sirion.

“I need you to take the tower of Minas Tirith, Mairon. You will have any soldiers or creatures you require to complete this task.” Morgoth says.

Mairon nods slowly, looking thoughtful.

“It is a key strategic stronghold. It makes perfect sense for us to capture it.” he murmurs, “Very well. I will see it done, my lord.”

The briefest smile flickers across Morgoth’s face.

“Very good, Mairon. I am sure it will be an easy enough task; I have no doubt that those residing within will flee the moment they see you.” he replies.

They both fall silent for a moment, contemplating the task at hand. Then, Morgoth turns to his lieutenant once more.

“Go, Mairon, and make your plans. As I said, I will give you whatever forces you require to make this stronghold our own.”

“Of course, my lord. I will not let you down.” Mairon replies.

He bows his head and he leaves, and for the first time in days, his mind is occupied only by tactics and battle plans. He thinks about what soldiers he will need, which creatures he ought to bring with him, what route he should take in approaching the isle. He hopes it will be as easy a task as Morgoth seems to think it will be, and part of him hopes he will be able to avoid too much unnecessary death when he takes the place. It is some hours later, when he has been sat silently planning in his chambers, that his mind drifts back to Meletye once more. He feels a stab of guilt when he thinks of how much she must be hurting right now. At least I persuaded Lord Melkor not to torture her, he thinks grimly, the grief she is feeling is painful enough. He feels a little sorrowful when he realises that it will probably be a long time before he sees her again. Part of him wishes he could request to take her along with him to work as a healer there, but he knows it would not be allowed- and even if Morgoth permitted it, she would most likely bolt the second they left Angband. It almost pains him to admit to himself that he will miss her and the conversations they have, and the bond that has been slowly growing between them. He also cannot help but worry what will happen when he is not there to temper his master’s wrath. He decides he must trust to Meletye’s own resourcefulness and the care of her friends to keep her safe.

Chapter Text

In the weeks following the duel between Morgoth and Fingolfin, things slowly return to normal. The rumours and whispers about the duel begin to quiet down. One day, Morgoth leaves his chambers and goes about his business as usual. He limps around Angband ensuring all is in order, and at the same time, there is a noticeable uptick in the brutality of the guards, no doubt at his orders. Any word or action that could be taken as ‘insubordination’ is punished cruelly, prisoners who look a little too long at Morgoth’s limp are beaten for it, and every captive in Angband is worked to the bone and punished if they let their exhaustion show. All of this means more work for Meletye and her fellow healers, and it tires them greatly.

“I do hope they stop with this nonsense soon.” Meletye says to Idhron one day.

They are in the healing wing as they talk, tidying up having just finished treating yet another fellow captive. Idhron sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“I don’t think they will stop, Meletye.” He says grimly, “They’re reminding us how much power they have over us- how much power he has. They’re reminding us that no matter what happens, they always have the upper hand. That isn’t going to go away, especially not now we’ve all seen that it is indeed possible to hurt Morgoth. He wants to make sure we’re all too frightened to fight back.”

Meletye sighs softly.

“I wish I could say it wouldn’t work.” She says sadly, “But I know it will. People are too scared to stand up for themselves. And things just keep getting worse. Every day, we see more and more people beaten by the guards, or collapsing with exhaustion and hunger. I wish- I just wish we could do more. Fight more.”

Idhron comes closer to Meletye, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know this is difficult, Meletye. But there are still ways we can fight him, even if we cannot do it openly. We can stand by one another, care for one another. We can refuse to let him break our spirits. You and I have been here long enough to know that keeping one’s strength is an enormous victory.” He replies.

Meletye turns to look at him, giving him a wobbly smile. She sees the warm kindness and encouragement in his face, and it lifts her spirits a little. She knows he is right; there is always a way to fight back against Morgoth. For a moment the two of them simply stand there, sharing a quiet moment of comfort.

“You know, I sometimes wonder if things would be a little less cruel if old Mairon was still here.” Idhron says with a sigh, “He always seemed to treat us more fairly than Morgoth does.”

Meletye scoffs softly before she can stop herself.

“I doubt it.” she says bitterly, “He’s been by Morgoth’s side since the very beginning. He’s not exactly put a stop to any of his evil, has he?”

Idhron raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“I thought the two of you were becoming friends before he left?” he says, sounding perplexed.

Meletye rolls her eyes.

“I’m not sure ‘friends’ is what I’d call it. But there was something like friendship growing between us.” Meletye says, and she sighs lightly, shaking her head. “I suppose I’ve just had a lot of time to think in the weeks since he left. And I keep coming back to the same thought- that he could stand up to Morgoth, he could say no, he could stop people being tortured and abused and enslaved, but he doesn’t. He’s probably helped orchestrate some of Morgoth’s worst atrocities. He's Morgoth’s lieutenant, he must have helped him plan the deadly attacks and the destruction of so many homes and families. Maybe the supposed friendship was no more than a deception.”

Idhron sighs softly.

“Maybe you’re right.” he murmurs, “But I still do think that things were a little kinder when Mairon was here.”

Meletye frowns slightly as she remembers the kindnesses Mairon had shown to her over the years. Kindnesses that he didn’t have to show, that likely would have landed him in trouble with Morgoth had he known. But he still carries out Morgoth’s will, she tells herself, he is still an enemy to my people. Despite this, she still feels conflict stirring in her heart. She wonders if one day she will ever be able to figure out which part of Mairon is the true him: the ruthless or the merciful? She has little time to ponder this, however, as they suddenly hear the distant bang of a door. A resigned look comes into Idhron’s eyes, and he nods briefly at Meletye. Immediately, they both spring into action. Meletye settles herself at a workbench, resuming her work crafting a salve, and Idhron goes to their logbook, quickly checking that their work has been noted down correctly. After a moment, the door to the healing wing opens, and Meletye glances up to see Donir standing there. She sighs quietly at the sight of him. His cold gaze lands on her, and she feels foreboding creep over her heart.

“On your feet, elf.” Donir says sharply, “You will show due deference.”

Meletye frowns slightly as she sets aside her things and stands, wondering what is going on. All becomes clear when she hears the uneven footsteps outside. A shudder runs through her when Morgoth enters the room, stooping slightly as he steps through the doorway. Meletye quickly lowers her gaze and bows her head. Donir bows and steps aside as Morgoth passes him, looking keenly around the healing wing. Meletye glances at him briefly, noting the scars marking his face, and the limp that still plagues him. The slightest smirk flickers across her lips as she casts her eyes downwards again. For the moment, Morgoth ignores her. Idhron stands aside as he carefully inspects their logbook before moving on to inspect the rest of the room. The atmosphere is tense and anxious as they all wait for Morgoth to find some reason to punish them. Meletye looks at Idhron, meeting his eye for a moment, and for a moment it feels as though they are speaking without words. Stay calm. Do not let him rattle you. Morgoth seems to finish his inspection after a few minutes, and he comes back to stand before Idhron.

“You clearly run a clean and efficient healing wing, elf.” Morgoth drawls.

Idhron bows his head slightly.

“Yes, my lord.” He replies quietly. “Our patients deserve nothing less than that. We work hard to make them well and keep them well, and to get them back to their roles here in Angband.”

“Hm. Good.” Morgoth says shortly.

He turns and begins to walk away, and for a moment Meletye thinks he will leave without so much as looking at her. Then, he stops in his tracks. He turns his head towards Meletye, and a haunting smirk creeps across his face. Meletye swallows hard and braces herself. He moves slowly towards her, like a predator stalking its prey. She hears the slight drag of his foot as he limps, and Meletye thinks of the wounds her beloved uncle left on him. He left his mark on the wretched bastard, she thinks with pride. She keeps her head bowed, not out of deference or respect, but so that Morgoth does not see the satisfaction in her face. She feels him stop just in front of him, she feels his gaze burning into her, but she still does not look at him.

“Is she working hard, hm?” Morgoth asks. “Is she earning her keep?”

“She is.” Idhron says firmly, “Meletye is one of our very best healers. Her skill and dedication to her work is unmatched.”

Morgoth chuckles quietly.

“One of your best, is she?” he says, a slight derisive note to his voice. “Well, these Noldorin elves are supposedly rather skilled. But they are also prideful, and vain. Bloodthirsty even to their own kin. They are unruly, like petulant children who cannot recognise their betters.”

Meletye stays silent, ignoring the anger flaring in her heart. Her hands are still folded behind her back, and she squeezes her fingers tightly. She knows Morgoth wants her to react, so that he will have a reason to punish her. She will not give him that satisfaction.

“Lift your gaze, elf.” Morgoth says coldly, “Look upon your master.”

Meletye reluctantly lifts her face to look up at him. She sees malice and anger shining in his eyes, and she is certain that he sees hatred in hers. Morgoth scoffs softly.

“Perhaps Mairon is right about you. Maybe there is something admirable about your strength. Not many people could survive the grief of all you have lost. Your grandfather. Your father. Your uncle. I am sure it all hurts terribly. Many would have broken beneath the weight of such grief by now” Morgoth sneers.

Meletye swallows hard. Morgoth begins to pace slowly in front of her.

“But, of course, your beloved family brought their pain upon themselves. They orchestrated their own deaths when they dared to think they could stand in my way. And believe me, elf, I crushed their foolish ambitions. Quite literally, in your dear uncle’s case.”

He chuckles to himself, and in the brief moment he turns away from her, Meletye closes her eyes, gathering her strength and trying to still her shaking hands.

“It was quite something, you know. That duel. I must admit, your uncle fought rather well for a lowly elf. But he was no match for me. When he eventually fell down to his exhaustion, I crushed the life out of him. I felt every bone break beneath my foot, and I watched him choke on his own blood.”

Morgoth has stopped moving now. He stands still, staring at Meletye, his gaze boring into her, searching for any hint that his words cause her pain. Meletye forces herself to stay calm, she forces down the sick feeling rising in her throat as Morgoth’s words conjure horrifying images in her mind. I will not let him see the cracks, she tells herself firmly, I will show him how strong my will is. The self-satisfied smirk slowly fades from Morgoth’s face as he sees no reaction in Meletye’s face. Meletye hopes he will grow bored of his little game soon.

“I trust you understand why I tell you these things, elf?” he asks curtly.

In that moment, all Meletye wants is to tell Morgoth exactly what she thinks of him- but she knows in her heart that he would not punish her alone if she did. All her friends would suffer, too, if she speaks her mind. Instead, she swallows her pride and she nods.  

“Yes, my lord.” She says softly, “So that I understand what awaits me if I disrespect you.”

Little does he know that the pain would be worth it, she thinks bitterly.

“Precisely. And that goes for all of my thralls.” Morgoth replies, looking around the healing wing as he speaks. “I will gladly make an example of anyone who dares to defy me. No matter how worthwhile they are to my cause.”

He casts one last contemptuous look at Meletye before he turns away. All those in the room bow their heads as he leaves, and nobody moves a muscle until they are certain he is gone. As soon as they hear the distant door in the corridor bang closed, Idhron hurries to Meletye’s side. She is shaking where she stands, and she tenses and flinches away from him when he tries to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Meletye-” he begins.

“Don’t.” Meletye says sharply, “Please, just… just don’t, Idhron.”

She moves to sit down at her workbench, breath coming in shaky gasps. She cannot stop herself from trembling, and her heart pounds. Idhron cautiously moves closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Meletye. You didn’t deserve that.” He says gently.

Meletye shakes her head.

“No. I d-didn’t. I-I…” she gets out.

She gasps softly as tears suddenly overwhelm her. Idhron quickly comes and wraps an arm around her, and this time she does not shrink away. She leans into him, she lets him hold her close and she weeps.

“I just want my family.” she whimpers in between tears. “I miss them. I want to be with them, I want to grieve with them. I would give anything to be able to leave this place and see them again.”

Idhron rests one hand on her head as he holds her.

“I know, Meletye.” He murmurs, “I know. Do not lose hope, my beloved friend. You’ll see them again one day.”

Meletye sniffles softly, brushing away her tears as she nods.

“I know.” She says softly, “I know that to be true in my heart. Whether in this world or in the Halls, I will see my family again.”

“Well, I personally hope it happens in this world. I’d hate to lose you, Meletye.” Idhron replies.

Meletye looks at him, and she smiles sadly.

“That feeling is very much mutual, my friend.” she tells him, “So, how about we both do our best to stay alive?”

Idhron nods.

“That sounds like a good plan.” He agrees.

Meletye takes in the gentle kindness in Idhron’s gaze, the feel of his warm hand holding hers, and she gives a soft laugh.

“Oh, I thank the Valar every day for you, Idhron. And for Eryssel, and every other kind soul in this place. I would have lost my mind and my strength long ago if not for you.”

Idhron smiles back at her, and he squeezes her hand gently.

“And that, my friend, is how we fight back. We give each other the strength we need to keep going.” He says kindly. “But as lovely as this is, we still have work to do. Come, let’s not give him a reason to punish us.”

Meletye nods, and she turns back to her work. Idhron pats her shoulder as he stands, and he goes about his work, too. Despite the cruelty of Morgoth’s words, despite the pain he so clearly wished to cause, Meletye has a warm feeling of friendship and strength in her heart as she goes back to her work.

Chapter Text

As time passes by, things carry on in much the same way within Angband. Meletye continues her work alongside Idhron in the healing wing, regularly caring for wounded soldiers, and for captives who have been punished or worked too hard. They listen carefully to the rumours and news that they hear, constantly hoping to hear any kind of hint that things might be going in favour of the elves. It has been almost a decade since Mairon departed Angband when more news comes to Angband, news that shocks many. Word comes to them that Mairon’s stronghold of Tol-in-Gauroth has fallen, and that Mairon himself was overcome in a fight with Luthien, famed daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maiar, and Huan the Hound. Most of the captives within Angband are very excited by the news, and they happily discuss it anytime they are out of earshot of the guards. But for Meletye, the news brings yet another devastating blow, for her cousin Finrod was killed before Tol-in-Gauroth was destroyed. She weeps all night when she hears of his death, and she wonders how many more of her family will be lost before this wretched war ends. Her only consolation is that Finrod died with courage, just as her uncle did- and she takes great pride in the fact that Huan helped overpower Mairon. She sits away from the others in the healing wing one day, quietly working with some herbs as her fellow healers once more discuss what has happened.

“I wonder when he’ll come slinking back here?” Meletye hears one of the healers say. She knows they are referring to Mairon.

“Oh, I imagine he’ll take his time.” Another healer says with a scoff, “Morgoth must be furious about it. It’ll be quite embarrassing for Mairon to admit that he lost a strategic fortress to a woman and a dog.”

Meletye chuckles quietly to herself. That, at least, has been quite the source of amusement for her. Huan always was a very good boy, she thinks, the best dog in all Arda. She remembers the way the hound always seemed to sense her feelings when she was upset or scared, and the way he stayed by her side for days when she found out Maedhros had been kidnapped. Then, her smile slips as she thinks of why Huan had abandoned his former masters. She grips the pestle a little harder as she grinds herbs, feeling anger prickle within her. She doesn’t know if the rumours of her brothers’ involvement in this tale are true, but she thinks they must be if Huan left them to protect Luthien. The idea that they had wanted to force her to marry sickens Meletye.

“I never thought Mairon would be beaten by someone like that. And if the rumours are true about that elf using songs of power against him? Well, that’s quite something. It’s a pity the elf didn’t survive.”

Meletye goes still, and she closes her eyes for a moment, fighting against a sudden tidal wave of grief that threatens to overwhelm her. She grips the pestle so tightly now that her knuckles turn white, and she starts slightly when someone taps gently on the workbench. She looks up to find Idhron standing there, watching her with a sorrowful look in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Meletye?” he asks quietly, “I can ask them to stop discussing it, if it’s upsetting you.”

Meletye nods curtly.

“I’m alright, Idhron.” She replies.

She starts carefully grinding the herbs again, a light frown creasing her brow. Idhron leans against the workbench, keeping an eye on his friend.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Meletye? I know this whole situation must be very hard for you. Losing family is already unbearable, but to lose family because of someone who was once a friend-”

“He was not a friend.” Meletye snaps, interrupting Idhron. “I think these events have proven beyond any doubt that Mairon is no friend to any elf. He’s nothing but a lying, murderous bastard.”

She sighs heavily and keeps grinding herbs, thumping the pestle into the mortar a little harder than necessary.

“It’s not just that, either. Those rumours about my brothers hurt my heart almost as much as Finrod’s death.” She says quietly.

Idhron nods slowly.

“I understand, Meletye. But- well, those rumours are just that. Rumours. How are we to know if they are true?” he says.

Meletye looks a little conflicted.

“Morgoth has spies everywhere. These rumours came directly from the guards, and they probably heard it from spies. No doubt Morgoth wanted me to hear about it. And then there’s Huan. He’s very intelligent and incredibly loyal.  He followed my brother even to unknown lands. He wouldn’t leave his side without good reason.” Meletye sighs again and shakes her head. “As much as I don’t want to believe it, I think it is true. I often fear that my brothers would not recognise me if I saw them again. Maybe it would go both ways, and I would not recognise who they have become.”

She sets the pestle aside with a thump. Idhron reaches out and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Meletye. For your loss. For the pain and the betrayal you must be feeling. If you need to talk about any of it, I am here.” Idhron says gently.

Meletye nods silently, and she turns to give Idhron a small smile.

“Thank you.” she murmurs. “It means a lot to me, Idhron. Truly.”

Idhron gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze before he leaves her be. Meletye then carries on with her work, hoping it will distract her, but her mind is still swirling with thoughts. She thinks of Finrod, of his kindness and courage, and she remembers how kind he was to her when she lived with their uncle’s people. She remembers the foresight he once had, that she would find herself alone in a dark and difficult place. She wishes he had been wrong. She wishes she was with her family right now, grieving together and supporting one another through awful times. But no, she thinks bitterly, I am here alone. She wonders if Finrod was alone when he died, and her heart breaks to think of him dying in such a terrible place in such a painful way. Then, her thoughts inevitably turn to Mairon. She feels anger, hot and fierce, surge through her heart as she thinks of what he did to Finrod. More than that, she feels the deep hurt of betrayal. No matter what she says to Idhron, she knows that there really was friendship growing between her and Mairon, and it only makes this loss sting more. Part of her has missed him at times, but now she hopes he never comes back. She hopes he never dares show his face in Angband ever again.

The talk surrounding the fall of Tol-in-Gauroth and Mairon’s defeat takes a very long time to die down. Morgoth’s fury at the event is clear for everyone to see, and Meletye wonders how he will seek revenge on those who caused it. She and Eryssel talk about it one day, both wondering what this will mean for the War.

“Maybe the fall of the fortress will make things easier for the elves?” Eryssel muses as she stirs a large pot of broth.

Meletye looks thoughtful. She sits on a counter beside the stove, watching Eryssel as she cooks. People bustle around the large kitchen they are in, but Meletye and Eryssel pay them no heed as they enjoy spending time together.

“Maybe.” Meletye murmurs, “If they are able to properly regain the Pass of Sirion, then it will lend them an advantage. That’s why Morgoth took it in the first place- it granted him access to the rest of Beleriand.”

For a moment the two of them fall silent. Eryssel glances at Meletye, and a slight smile flickers across her face.

“You know, I really ought to put you to work if you’re going to stay here.” she says teasingly.

Meletye chuckles softly.

“I chopped those vegetables, didn’t I?” she replies. “Besides, both of us cherish these opportunities to spend time with-”

Meletye suddenly falls silent. Those in the kitchens stop their work as something in the air shifts. Out of nowhere, Meletye feels an inexplicable sense of hope rise in her heart. Silence fills the room, and each person there knows that somewhere in Angband, something monumental is happening. Sudden hurried footsteps ring out in the hall, and one of the kitchen workers, a man, bursts into the room.

“She’s here.” he says, chest heaving. “She’s here. Luthien.”

Gasps and mutters of shock spread through the room.

“What?!”

“Why did she come here?”

The man shakes his head, and he looks terrified.

“I have no idea. All I know is that we’re to stay here.” he says. He looks at Meletye. “You ought to go back to your lodgings, or the healing wing. They might be angry if they find you here, they’ll say you’re in the wrong place.”

Meletye nods, and she slides of the counter and turns to Eryssel. Eryssel looks frightened, but she forces her lips into a smile. She reaches out and takes Meletye’s hand.

“See you soon, Mel. Be safe.” she says softly.

Meletye smiles back at her.

“I will be. See you soon.” She replies.

She squeezes Eryssel’s hand gently before she leaves the kitchens. She hurries through the halls of Angband, and her heart is pounding. She cannot quite believe that Luthien is really here. She suddenly stops dead in her tracks as something comes to her mind. Luthien brought down Tol-in-Gauroth, she thinks, she’s more powerful than we understand. She could get us out. Wild visions of freedom swirl through her mind, of reuniting with her family, and for a moment the feeling of hope is so strong that she almost laughs aloud. Without even realising what she is doing, she suddenly turns and starts heading towards the entrance of Angband. She is brought out of her thoughts when she suddenly hears guards clamouring ahead, and she ducks into an alcove just in time. She hides from their sight as they rush past. Meletye stays there for a moment, trembling, and she wonders if she has lost her mind. If she is caught trying to escape, the punishment will be agonizing and endless. But this could be my only chance, she thinks, I could make it out to my family. I could tell them the weaknesses of this place, and one day I could come back and free my friends. The thought of she and her friends being free, of seeing her brothers and feeling their arms around her, spurs her onward. She hurries on, silently hoping and praying that nobody stops her. She has just rounded a corner when she suddenly comes across two guards, along with a terrifying wolf. The beast raises its hackles and growls at her, and Meletye gasps in fear. Both guards point their spears at her, and Meletye fights the urge to run. She glances at the wolf, poised to attack, razor-sharp teeth bared and eyes shining. She knows it will rip her throat out before she even has chance to take another step.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?” one of the guard snarls, “Prisoners should be in their lodgings or work details.”

“I-I’m just-”

Meletye abruptly falls silent as she hears something. The guards look around, distracted, and even the wolf goes quiet. The sound of a beautiful voice singing drifts through the halls. Meletye listens in amazement. The voice is beautiful beyond description, and it carries an incredible power. She knows exactly who is singing that song. She gasps softly as the wolf suddenly flops to the floor in a deep sleep, and watches in confusion as both guards shake their heads and blink before slowly slumping to the floor. This is it. This is my chance, she thinks. She hurries past the now-sleeping guards, and she breaks into a run as she follows the voice. She goes past more sleeping guards, and she is just starting to think she might actually escape when it happens. Her head swims with exhaustion, and she slows to a halt.

“No.” she whispers, “No, please. Let me stay awake.”

She breathes heavily, trying in vain to fight the power of the song. She leans against a nearby wall and presses a hand to her head. She fights and fights, but it is no good. She slides down the wall and feels her eyes closing.

“Please...” she breathes, and she falls into a deep sleep.

When Meletye wakes with a sudden jolt, she has no idea how long has passed. She pushes herself to a seated position, and looking around blearily, she realises the guards she can see are still sleeping. Run, now, she tells herself firmly, they are still asleep, and this is your only chance. She steels herself and stands, setting off running without another moment’s hesitation. She leaps over sleeping bodies, she darts around corners and crashes through doors, and before she knows it, she can see the gates of Angband ahead of her. They are still open. Her heart leaps, and she runs even faster. She is closing in on the gates when she is knocked to the ground as a great, furred shape bolts past her. She looks up to see Morgoth’s most terrifying werewolf streak past her and out of the gates, chasing after Luthien and Beren. She quickly stands again and makes for the gates. She is so close to freedom she can almost taste it. She can feel wind on her face, she can smell the air outside. She hears the deafening creaking before she understands what it means, and she can only watch in horror as the great gates begin to close before her.

“NO!” she cries.

It is too late, and just as she reaches them, the gates of Angband clang shut with a horrible finality.

Chapter Text

Meletye refuses to believe it. Her hands rest against the cold metal of the gates, and she shakes her head.

“No… no.” she sobs, “Please don’t leave me here.”

She pounds against the gates, so hard that she bruises her hands. Tears overwhelm her and she sinks to her knees, weeping for the loss of her hope. She doesn’t even turn when she hears Morgoth’s distant scream of rage, or running footsteps behind her. She stays where she is, sobbing on her knees, hands still resting against the gate.

“Well, well. Look who tried to escape.” Morgoth’s voice snarls.

Meletye sobs quietly. She doesn’t turn to face Morgoth. She doesn’t acknowledge him. In her despair, she finds she doesn’t even care what he does. She briefly wonders if he will kill her. Her heart leaps as she thinks of the people she will see again if he does. Her uncle. her grandfather. Finrod. Taniel. She prepares for a killing blow, but instead she feels hands grab hold of her and drag her away from the gate. They force her to her feet, standing before Morgoth. She doesn’t dare look at him. Then, she feels his blackened, withered fingers grip her face tightly, tilting it upwards and forcing her to look upon him. He looks angrier than she has ever seen him, eyes shining with unfathomable power and rage, and it terrifies her.

“You will pay for this, elf.” He growls, “You will know the very meaning of pain.”

Meletye’s eyes drift upwards slightly, and she suddenly spots something. There in his iron crown where there should be three Silmarils, there are only two. The empty space in the metal shines like a beacon to her, and she smiles.

“They took a Silmaril.” She says softly, “They came right into your realm and took it. They did what we all thought impossible.”

She laughs suddenly, and Morgoth’s features contort with rage. He lets go of her, drawing back for a moment, glaring down at her. Then, without warning, he reaches out and he strikes her hard. Pain throbs through her face, stars flash before her vision, and Meletye feels herself fall. As she lands, she hits her head hard on the stone floor, and she falls unconscious.

Dark dreams swirl through Meletye’s mind as she sleeps. She relives the worst moments of her life. She feels blood on her hands, hot and wet, as she cradles Taniel in her arms and watches her die again. She hears Indis wailing in grief, sees the burned and mangled body of her grandfather. She hears the death-cries of elves, and she sees the terror in her victim’s eyes as she kills for the first time, and no matter how hard she tries to clean it away, she still sees their blood on her hands. She sees anger and disappointment in her brothers’ eyes, she hears her father’s cruel words and the rage in his voice as he tells her she has let him down, that she is a coward. She feels his hand connect with her face as he hits her, and she sees the disgust in his eyes before he leaves her lying on the floor. Despair fills her heart as she weeps for all she has lost, and the pain and sorrow does not ease when she finally begins to wake. She slowly becomes aware of cold stone beneath her, of metal shackles pinching her wrists, and a throbbing pain in her head. She whimpers as she wakes, and she realises she must be in a cell. When she opens her eyes, her vision is blurred, and it takes a lot of effort to focus on what she sees. The cell is dark, and the only light comes throw the small window in the door. She can dimly hear footsteps in the corridor outside, and the quiet sound of guards talking. She moves slightly, carefully testing the shackles on her wrists. They are painfully tight, the chains securing her to the wall are short, holding her wrists slightly above her, and when she looks carefully, she is sure she can see welts on her wrists already. She gives a soft whimper as she looks around the cell again, and she suddenly hears the sound of someone chuckling. She glances at the door and sees the face of a guard staring at her through the window.

“Well, she’s awake.” He sneers, “I’ll be sure to tell Lord Melkor. I think he has some special punishments in store for you.”

The guard walks away again, and Meletye bows her head, tears pricking in her eyes. Was it worth it, she thinks bitterly, or was I a fool to think I could escape? She tries to make herself think of hopeful things, to lift her own spirits, but it is little use. Tears trickle down her face, she bows her head and sobs quietly in the dark cell. She does not know how long she has been weeping when she hears sudden noises outside her cell. She door is unlocked, and she gasps softly and looks up as she hears someone coming into the cell. Her sinks as she sees Morgoth standing above her, malice shining in those terrible eyes. Two guards accompany him, and he nods briefly to them. The guards unlock the shackles, and Meletye feels a brief flicker of hope before they force her to stand, drag her arms above her and shackle her from the ceiling instead. She struggles against them as they move her, but her head still spins from the blow she received, and she does not have the strength to fight very much. Morgoth smirks slightly as he stands before her, watching with a keen eye. Meletye feels the shackles digging into her wrists painfully, even more than they did before. She can just about hold herself on her tiptoes, but it is not easy. Morgoth suddenly chuckles, and Meletye glares at him.

“Now this feels rather familiar. A flame-haired Fëanorian, chained before me, with no idea of the pain to come. Perhaps I should hang you by one hand, too?” he sneers.

Meletye feels anger surge in her heart. She glares at Morgoth, taking in the cruel amusement in his expression.

“Whatever you do to me, it does not matter.” She snaps, “It doesn’t change anything. I’ll still be stuck in this godforsaken place. And you’ll still have one less Silmaril. Oh, how my brothers will rejoice when they find out you were overpowered.”

She laughs softly to herself, but she is cut off when Morgoth suddenly reaches out and grasps her throat tightly. She chokes and struggles for breath as Morgoth leans closer to her.

“You ought to mind your tongue, elf, before you lose it.” he snarls, “That thieving little witch will live to regret her foolish actions. And you will regret your little escape attempt.”

He lets go of her throat, and Meletye gasps and coughs. Morgoth gazes at her with contempt as she tries to compose herself.

“I expect loyalty of my thralls, elf. Perhaps it is time you learn what happens to those who disobey me.” he says quietly.

Meletye scoffs quietly.

“I am not- your t-thrall.” She gets out between heaving breaths, “I never will be.”

Morgoth chuckles darkly.

“You can tell yourself that as much as you like, elf. But it does not change anything.” He replies mockingly.

He glances at the guards.

“You know what to do.” He says simply.

He turns and leaves the cell, the door clanging shut behind him. The guards smirk in a horrible way as they approach Meletye, and she shrinks away as much as she can as one reaches out and grips her face tightly in one hand.

“I think it’s time we taught you a lesson about respect.” He sneers.

She tenses as he raises his fist, groaning when he punches her hard in the stomach. The blow makes her rock in the shackles, damaging the skin at her wrists even more. She closes her eyes as the guards begin their torture, and before long she is screaming in agony. She does not know how long they torture her for. When they finally ease back and leave her alone in the cell, she is too weak and exhausted to even hold herself up. She hangs in the shackles with her head bowed, blood dripping from her wounds, broken ribs screaming with every breath, wrists throbbing where the shackles cut into them. She doesn’t even have the energy to weep as she hangs there. She takes in ragged breaths, and she wonders how much of this she will have to endure- and if she even has the strength it will take to survive it.

The time that follows passes by in a haze of pain and fear. Days blend into each other until Meletye loses all track of time. All she knows now is pain and punishment and torture. She screams and bleeds and shudders in the shackles every time the guards hurt her, but she refuses to let a single plea slip past her lips. She endures, and she keeps her strength. She knows that Morgoth wants to grind her down until she breaks and grovels and begs for it to end, for him to show mercy. She will not let him have that satisfaction. And so, the torture continues. Weeks pass by, slipping into months, and Meletye feels her grasp on sanity begin to loosen. She feels despair rising in her heart, but she fights each day to keep going, to stay strong. She has been imprisoned for a few months when it all changes. She is alone in her cell one day, shackled to wall as she often is, when she hears footsteps in the corridor and a key scrabbling in the lock. She groans softly, knowing that more pain probably awaits her. She is surprised when the door opens and Morgoth enters the cell. She hasn’t seen him once since the day she tried to escape. He stands and gazes down at her, and Meletye shudders slightly, trying to shift away from him.

“I hear you are being stubborn, elf.” Morgoth says coldly.

Meletye doesn’t reply, and Morgoth scoffs quietly at her.

“You could end the pain in an instant, elf. If you just admit that you did wrong. If you just ask forgiveness for what you did.” he tells her.

He crouches down so he can look right at her, but Meletye bows her head and refuses to meet his gaze. She doesn’t see the anger that flickers in his face as she refuses to even acknowledge his words.

“You aren’t the only stubborn one here, elf. Apparently one of your friends has been causing trouble on your behalf.”

That gets Meletye’s attention. She slowly lifts her head to look up at Morgoth, dread filling her heart at his words. Morgoth chuckles.

“She was rather rude to one of our guards. She seemed quite angry about your imprisonment. Clearly, she does not understand that disobedience deserves punishment. As does insolence, and disrespect.” He smirks as he rises to his feet. “You have that in common, it seems. Perhaps if you learn your lessons together, you will encourage each other to submit like the dogs you are. Guards!”

Meletye gasps in horror as she hears a commotion outside. Two guards appear, and between them they drag Eryssel.

Chapter Text

Meletye cries out softly in horror as she watches the guards drag Eryssel into the cell. She is fighting like hell, kicking and shouting as they drag her. They shackle her to the opposite wall, and Meletye sees bruises already blooming on her friend’s skin. They lock eyes, and Meletye feels desperation fill her heart.

“NO!” she cries, “Please, don’t hurt her! Please!”

Morgoth simply laughs and shakes his head as he turns to leave.

“Punish me in her place!” Meletye begs, “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything. You want me to grovel, I will grovel at your feet, I will do anything if you just spare her.”

Morgoth stops in his tracks. He turns to look at Meletye, he sees the fear and desperation in her eyes, she gazes at him as she breathes heavily and she prays he will show mercy.

“Meletye.” Eryssel breaths, “Meletye, don’t-”

She falls silent when Morgoth shoots her a furious look. He then turns back to Meletye, a smirk twists across his face, and she knows it is hopeless.

“It’s a little late for that, elf. Guards- make sure you break them both.” He sneers.

With that he leaves the cell. The guards close in on Eryssel, who cries out in fear, and they begin their torture. They beat Eryssel mercilessly, and Meletye is helpless to stop the horror unfolding before her.

“NO!” She screams, “No, stop it! Stop, please, STOP!”

She pulls on the chains that secure her to the wall, she fights with everything she has to get towards Eryssel, but the chains are far too strong. The shackles dig painfully into her wrists as she fights, she feels blood trickle down her arms, and her own screams of horror and rage mingle with Eryssel’s. She cries and begs the guards to stop, and all she can do is watch as they beat her friend, as they cut her and burn her and break her bones. Eryssel locks eyes with her, both women weeping, and Meletye can almost hear her voice in her mind. Never stop fighting them. Remember it is worth the pain. It is no comfort to Meletye. She stills screams and fights, she tries to rip herself out of the shackles and feels a crunch and shock of pain in her left wrist as she does so. The guards seem to relish in their pain, laughing as they torture Eryssel, mocking Meletye as she rages at them, and it seems to last forever. They only stop when Eryssel stops moving, when she slumps in the shackles against the floor and stays there. One of the guards kicks her hard in the ribs, and she doesn’t react at all.

“Eryssel?” Meletye says faintly, “Please, don’t be…”

She feels sick as she stares at Eryssel’s motionless form. Silence hangs in the air, and the guards remove the shackles from Eryssel’s wrists and drag her out of the cell, leaving a trail of blood on the floor as they go. Meletye catches one last glimpse of Eryssel’s face as they go, unconscious and so battered and bruised that she is hardly recognisable anymore. The cell door bangs shut, and Meletye is left alone with nothing but the smell of her dear friend’s blood. She finds her breath comes far too quickly, horror overwhelms her, and she breaks down. She wails and cries, tears pour down her face, and in her hurt and anger she begins to thump her head against the wall behind her, harder and harder until stars flash across her vision and the guards realise what she is doing. They rush in, bellowing at her to stop, but it is too late. With one last blow against the wall, Meletye feels darkness wash over her and she knocks herself out.

When Meletye wakes up, hours later, she hopes the horror she witnessed was nothing but a terrible dream. But when she sees the dried blood on the opposite side of the cell, she knows it was real. She shifts slightly, wincing at the pain in her wrists and the pounding in her head, and when she glances at her left wrist she sees it is very swollen. She realises she must have broken it when she tried to free herself from the shackles. She wonders where Eryssel is, whether she is alive or dead, and she weeps to think of the pain her beloved friend endured, and the pain she might be enduring now. She weeps for a long time, until she hears the door open once again. She braces herself for pain, but the guard who enters does not come towards her to hurt her. She frowns slightly as she watches him come in. He is young, fresh-faced. He looks deeply uncomfortable, and when he pauses and glances down at Eryssel’s blood still staining the floor, the look of horror on his face deepens. He glances briefly at Meletye, sees the tears streaking down her face and her swollen and bruised wrist, and he leaves the cell. When he comes back a few minutes later, he carries a small bucket and a rag. He closes the door behind him, and he cleans away the blood on the floor. He doesn’t look at Meletye as he works, though she gazes at him, quietly fascinated by his actions.

“Your friend is alive.” He says quietly as he works, still not looking at Meletye. “She’s badly hurt, but alive.”

When he is done cleaning, he throws the now bloodied, filthy rag into the bucket, and he approaches Meletye slowly and cautiously. She tenses when he comes close, shrinking away from him, and he holds his hands up.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He murmurs, “I wanted to look at your wrists. They’re hurt.”

Meletye frowns. No guard has ever treated her this kindly. She takes in his appearance, the smooth skin, the dark curls of hair- and the tips of pointed ears barely visibly beneath them.

“You’re an elf.” She croaks.

He sighs quietly and nods as he carefully examines her wrists.

“Yes. I was born here, in Beleriand. I was captured with my love. I swore fealty in exchange for her release.” He whispers. “I don’t regret it. But I hate that I have to guard my own people.”

Meletye’s frown deepens. Before she can ask any more questions, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll get you some food.” He says simply, and he leaves.

Meletye sits alone, staring at the now clean floor where Eryssel’s blood once was. She cannot decide whether Eryssel’s survival is a good thing or not. If she were dead, she would be beyond suffering, she thinks sadly, but Morgoth will not allow her such an escape. Her mind turns to the elf who has just left the cell. She wonders who he might be. Before she has chance to ponder much on this, however, the door opens again, and the elf returns. He carries some food with him, and he sets it carefully before Meletye. He removes the shackles on her wrists, gently so that it does not hurt her. Even with his care, she still hisses softly as he removes the shackle from her broken left wrist. She looks carefully at it, seeing how badly bruised and swollen it is. The elf frowns slightly, and he glances at the door before carefully withdrawing something from his pocket.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to Meletye’s wrist.

She hesitates, and then nods, extending it towards him. The item from his pocket turns out to be a small container of salve. Meletye recognises it as one they use in the healing wing to treat wounds and reduce pain. He carefully applies it first to her left wrist, and then to the cuts and sores on her right wrist. After a moment Meletye feels the pain ease a little, and she sighs softly in relief.

“I’m afraid I can do little more for your injuries. Not without drawing attention.” He murmurs, “Though perhaps if you tear that blanket and tie it tightly around the broken wrist, it might be enough to help it heal.”

Meletye nods silently. The guard slips the salve back into his pocket and is about to stand and leave when Meletye speaks up.

“Who are you?” she asks softly, “Why are you helping me?”

The elf smiles sadly.

“I am helping you because we are of the same people.” He says softly. “Different houses, but both Noldor. My name is Alyaro. My parents came to Beleriand with Fëanor’s people. I was born during the Siege, when things were fairly peaceful throughout the lands. But peace didn’t last, and I lost my parents to war some time ago.”

He pauses for a moment and gives a soft sigh.

“I have great respect for your family, my lady. It surprised me to discover you were alive, when I first came here. I do not think it would surprise Lord Maedhros, however. He looks for you everywhere he goes, and he and all your brothers miss you deeply.” He murmurs.

Meletye gasps softly. Tears fill her eyes.

“They- they miss me?” she whispers, “They look for me?”

Alyaro gives a quiet chuckle.

“Of course they do, my lady. Why wouldn’t they?” he replies kindly.

Meletye has tears streaming down her face now. She cannot express what this means to her. For so long, she has been so sure that her brothers have forgotten her. She didn’t consider that they might miss her as much as she misses them. Alyaro reaches out to take her hand, squeezing gently.

“Do not lose heart.” he says quietly, “Our people are fighting harder than you can imagine, and they will not rest until Morgoth falls. Stay strong, and one day we will escape this living hell. And when that happens, I promise you your brothers will greet you with open arms.”

There is a noise out in the corridor, Alyaro quickly glances at the door and lets go of Meletye’s hand. He stands and makes to leave the cell, nodding briefly at her as he leaves. Meletye sits in stunned silence for a minute when he goes, and then she suddenly laughs quietly to herself. Her brothers are still out there, still thinking of her, still looking for her. That thought her gives her all the hope she needs. Suddenly, she feels she can endure anything Morgoth throws at her, because now she has a hope and a light that Morgoth cannot extinguish.

Chapter Text

Following Morgoth’s cruel punishment of her and Eryssel, Meletye often hears her dear friend screaming in pain, and it breaks her heart completely. When it finally stops one day, she fears the worst- until she overhears guards talking and realises Eryssel did not die, but was released and put to work again. Meletye wonders if she will ever be released from the cell. She has been imprisoned for a little over a year when it finally happens. She is lying on the floor of the cell, staring listlessly across the room when she hears noises at the door. She doesn’t look up when the door opens and someone comes in and stands before her, instead remaining on the floor and staring at the guard’s boots before her. 

“What torture will it be this time?” she sighs, “Burns? Pulling nails? Or just a good old-fashioned beating?”

She hears the guard give a quiet chuckle.

“None of the above.” He replies, “In fact, there won’t be any torture at all.”

Meletye looks up when she recognises the voice speaking. It is Alyaro, and he is smiling as he stands above her. He crouches down before her, and she realises he looks rather happy. He reaches out and carefully removes the shackles from her wrists.

“On your feet, elf.” He says, speaking a little louder than before. “It’s time for you to leave this cell.”

Meletye gasps softly, feeling relief flood her as she stands. She is a little unsteady on her feet, and Alyaro takes hold of her hand to steady her. She meets his eyes briefly, and he smiles encouragingly. Then, he takes hold of her upper arm and escorts her out of the cell. There are another couple of guards standing just outside the cell watching her leave. She keeps her eyes down, not even daring to look at them for fear they will find some reason to keep her here. She ignores the jeers and mutters as she goes, hobbling a little as the pain of her injuries takes hold. When they leave the cell corridor and there are less people around, Alyaro wraps an arm around Meletye to support her, and she clings on to his other hand.

“Th-thank you.” she murmurs.

Pain throbs throughout her body as they walk, but Alyaro’s steadiness helps her keep going.

“That’s alright.” Alyaro says softly, “I’ll take you to Idhron. I’m sure he can fix you up, or at the very least ease your pain a little.”

Meletye nods, breathing shakily as they keep moving. She feels tears prick in her eyes as she thinks of Idhron. She has missed him very much this past year. Then, her thoughts drift to Eryssel, and she suddenly needs to know what happened.

“What happened to Eryssel?” she asks, “I know she was released, but beyond that I have no idea.”

Alyaro looks a little uncomfortable.

“She- it’s a little hard to explain.” He sighs, “She’s not- quite herself. She endured rather a lot of torture and pain. It seems to have damaged her mind.”

Meletye shakes her head in disbelief.

“But she- she’s the one of the strongest people I know.” She says, horrified.

Alyaro sighs sadly again.

“I know. But even the strongest among us can break in the worst circumstances.” He replies. “I’m sorry, Meletye. It isn’t right, what happened to her.”

Meletye feels shocked.

“Is that why he released her from the cells?” she asks quietly, “Because he’d damaged her enough?”

“I think so.” Alyaro says, “And I think- I think he did it to send a message to his thralls. That he will do the same to them if they step out of line.”

Meletye scoffs angrily.

“My friend is not a message. She is far more than that.” she grumbles, “Just when I think I cannot hate Morgoth more than I do already, he does something else utterly despicable and proves me wrong.”

Alyaro murmurs in agreement. Meletye stays silent as they keep walking, quietly stewing in anger at Morgoth, and before long they have reached the healing wing.

“Here we are.” Alyaro says, bringing Meletye out of her thoughts, “Let’s head inside. I’m sure Idhron will be able to help you.”

He reaches out and opens the door and guides Meletye inside. She sees Idhron sat at a desk, writing something in their logbook, and her heart leaps to see him. He looks up as they come in, and a strange expression comes over his face when he sees Meletye- a mixture of happiness and horror. He leaps from his seat and hurries over to them, and Meletye reaches for him as he approaches. She almost collapses into his arms and he holds her close, one comforting hand resting on her head. He feels her shaking, feels something wet on his shoulder, and he knows she is weeping.

“It’s alright, Meletye. I have you. You’re safe.” he says softly.

She nods numbly against him before pulling back. Tears streak her face, and Idhron gently cups her cheek and wipes them away. Meletye feels something warm and pleasant settle in her heart as she looks into that wise old face for the first time in over a year, and she manages a small smile for her friend. Idhron glances behind her at Alyaro, and a slight frown creases his brow for a moment.

“Thank you for bringing her here, guard. I’ll take care of her.” he says quietly.

Alyaro nods briefly. He makes to leave, but suddenly turns back to Meletye.

“Take care, my lady.” He says, bowing his head to her. “And do try to stay out of trouble. I’d rather not see you back in those cells.”

Meletye chuckles softly.

“I’ll try, Alyaro.” She replies, “And- thank you. For being kind. For giving me hope. It means more than I can say.”

Alyaro doesn’t quite seem to know what to say. He just nods and then leaves the healing wing. Meletye turns back to Idhron, who looks rather confused. She bites back a laugh at the look on his face, but her amusement quickly fades when she tries to take a step forward and feels the all the pain come rushing back. She gives a soft cry of pain, and Idhron quickly steps in to support her.

“Easy, Meletye. Take it easy, nice and slow. That’s it.” he says gently.

He guides her to a bed and helps her get comfortable on it. She closes her eyes and gives a contented sigh as she lays her head back on the pillow, and Idhron chuckles.

“Comfortable, are we?” he asks.

“You know, surprisingly, I am! In spite of all the hurt. I’d almost forgotten how nice pillows were.” She murmurs.

She opens her eyes and smiles at Idhron.

“I missed you, my friend.” she says softly.

Idhron smiles back at her.

“I missed you too, Meletye.” He replies.

He takes her hand and squeezes gently, and his warm, gentle smile soothes Meletye’s heart. She feels safe again, she realises. Safe in the kind hands of her dear friend.

Chapter Text

 Meletye shuffles on the bed in the healing wing, shifting into an upright position and making herself comfortable. She sees sadness in Idhron’s his eyes as he looks over her.

“May I examine your injuries?” he asks quietly.

Meletye nods, and he begins gently examining her. She winces slightly when he checks the worst injuries, and he murmurs quiet apologies as he works. After a few minutes, he goes into the storeroom and comes back again with healing supplies. He starts tending to Meletye’s injuries and glances at her with a sad smile as he does.

“What’s the story with that guard?” he asks curiously, “He called you ‘my lady’. I don’t understand why any guard would do that.”

Meletye smiles slightly.

“His name is Alyaro.” She replies, “And it turns out he’s one of my people. His parents came here with my father. I think he must have been with my brothers for a while, judging by the way he talked and the things he knew.”

Idhron nods slowly.

“So, he knows who you are?” he says, “He knows that you’re one of Fëanor’s children?”

“He does,” Meletye nods, “Apparently, he has a lot of respect for my family. That’s why he still calls me ‘my lady’ sometimes- only when no other guards or soldiers can hear, though. He told me when we first met that my brothers still search for me, still think of me.”

Idhron smiles at that.

“I’m sure that meant a great deal to you.” he says softly.

Meletye nods.

“It did.” she murmurs, “Especially so because we met in such a dark moment. It was just after- just after I saw Eryssel…”

Meletye’s voice cracks and she trails off into silence. Idhron looks devastated at the mention of Eryssel. Meletye meets his eye for a moment, he sees the silent question there, and he sighs.

“I cared for her, when she was first released from the cells.” He says in a low voice, “She was terribly hurt, so much so that I wasn’t sure I could save her. When she recovered a little, she was conscious, but completely silent, and she looked… haunted. She’d flinch if anyone came near her, she’d barely eat or sleep. Even now, she still isn’t the same. It’s as though they injured her very soul. I fixed the physical wounds, but I could not mend her heart.”

Tears shine in his eyes as he speaks, and Meletye reaches for his hand. He stills when she touches him, hand resting atop his, and tears spill down his face.

“They tortured her in front of me, when they first brought her in.” Meletye whispers, “I begged them not to hurt her. I told Morgoth I would do anything, I would grovel on my knees for him if he just left her alone. But he wouldn’t. I think he knew that- that seeing someone I love being harmed would hurt me far more than any torture could.”

Idhron shakes his head, disgusted.

“He’ll fall one day, Meletye. I promise you that.” he says bitterly, “Evil never prevails. Not when there are good people to keep it in check.” 

Meletye nods and sniffles softly, and Idhron suddenly chuckles.

“Apparently, it was quite the scene when Eryssel told that guard just what she thought.” He says with a fond smile, “The guards were talking about you, saying you were a coward and a traitor for trying to run. And she told them that you did what we all wanted to do- the only difference between us all is that you had the courage to actually do it. She said we’d all leave this hellhole in an instant if we could, and we’d leave the dirty rats behind us.”

“Wow!” Meletye exclaims, “No wonder they were so angry with her.”

Idhron chuckles again.

“Yes, it was a surprise to none of us when the guards carted her straight to the cells for that. It was a very brave thing for her to do, speaking up for you.” he replies.

Meletye murmurs in agreement, then falls silent as Idhron continues to tend to her injuries, as he applies soothing salve to her broken ribs and cleans the many deep cuts left all over her body. She catches the occasional look of sorrow as he sees the extent of her injuries, and her heart breaks for him as she thinks of how he has now had to treat injuries for his two dearest friends. She wonders if her and Eryssel being brought to him was some kind of punishment for him, if it was something Morgoth had ordered to cause Idhron sorrow. She is so lost in her thoughts that she hardly notices when Idhron is done. She starts slightly when he rests a hand on her shoulder.

“I apologise, I didn’t mean to startle you, Meletye.” He says gently, “I think I’ve seen to everything. Are there any other injuries that you want me to look at?”

Meletye thinks for a moment of her left wrist- the broken bone never did heal right, and it still causes pain sometimes. But Idhron wouldn’t be able to do anything about that, she thinks.

“There’s no other injuries.” She replies, “Thank you, Idhron. I’m glad Alyaro brought me to you. You’re the most wonderful friend to me.”

Idhron smiles sadly.

“I could say the same about you, Meletye. I’ve missed your company very much.” He says softly, “Now, I’ll give you a draught to settle your pain, and then you can sleep here for tonight. You’ll be more comfortable.”

He goes to fetch Meletye a draught, and she quickly drinks it all and tries to make herself comfortable in the cot. Idhron tucks the blankets around her, and he rests a hand on her head for a moment.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Meletye.” He murmurs, “I thought we’d never see you again when I heard about your escape attempt. I would’ve been delighted if you had gotten out of here, but knowing you were in the cells and being completely unable to help you was awful. It’s good to have you back.”

Meletye smiles softly, she opens her mouth to reply, but she finds the draught is suddenly making her very sleepy, and she doesn’t have the energy to talk.

“It’s alright, Meletye. I know.” Idhron says gently, seeing the tiredness in her eyes as she tries to talk. “You just rest now, my beloved friend. I’ll stay by your side tonight. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

His words are dim and distant to Meletye, and she closes her eyes as tiredness washes over her. She feels comfortable and safe, and she drifts into a pleasant and peaceful sleep with her friend right by her side.

Over the weeks that follow, Meletye begins to recover from her ordeal. She spends a couple of nights in the healing wing, and then she goes back to her old quarters which she shared with other captives. Eryssel is there when she gets back, and though she gives the tiniest smile at the sight of Meletye, she doesn’t speak a single word to her. She is a shadow of her former self, and it breaks Meletye’s heart to see it. She tries her best to talk to Eryssel and comfort her, but Eryssel always remains silent, simply staring across the room or at the floor with hollow eyes. Some nights, Eryssel wakes crying out in fear, and whenever this happens she lets Meletye climb into the bed with her and hold her and comfort her. Meletye hates to see her friend hurting this much, but on the occasions she feels Eryssel’s trembling calm in her arms, she takes heart in the fact that Eryssel can be comforted, that she does show signs of hearing and understanding the kind words and gentle actions. She hopes and prays that one day, they will be free of this place and Eryssel will be given the chance to heal from her many hurts.

When Meletye has recovered enough, she is put back to work in the healing wing. She is reluctant to leave Eryssel’s side, but the other captives assure her that they will all look after Eryssel. When Meletye goes back to the healing wing, Idhron seems delighted to see her, and she in turn delights in working with her friend again. Nothing can dull that delight, not even when the guard gleefully tells her that she isn’t allowed to do any actual healing work, she is only allowed to scrub floors and tidy and mend things. She is just glad to be out of that awful cell and back with the people she cares about. But as time passes by, things start becoming more difficult. Many of Meletye’s fellow captives now brush her away and ignore her, and she soon realises why. Most are afraid of being punished for associating with Meletye, and some blame her for what happened to Eryssel. They look at her with disdain, they whisper to each other when she walks past, and before long it is all becoming very lonely. She is in the healing wing one day, on her knees scrubbing the floor, when she once again notices people whispering about her. Two of the healers pause and look at her, and one of them seems to be about to approach her when the other stops them.

“No, don’t talk to her.” Meletye hears them whisper, “Didn’t you hear what happened to her friend? All because she tried to run away.”

Meletye tries to ignore them, keeping her head down and scrubbing the floor a little harder. She hears footsteps, and then hears Idhron clear his throat loudly.

“Don’t you two have better things to do?” he snaps at the two healers, “Go on, do something useful instead of placing blame on someone who does not deserve it.”

They both move away. Meletye sniffles softly, trying to hold back tears as she works. She senses someone close to her, and then Idhron kneels beside her. He rests a hand on her shoulder gently, and she stops and turns to look at him. He smiles kindly at her.

“Why don’t you take a break, Meletye?” he suggests, “That floor’s almost clean enough to eat off!”

He looks rather insistent, so Meletye nods. She pushes herself to her feet, wincing as the movement hurts her left wrist. Idhron helps her up, and he looks a little worried when he notices her pain.

“Are you alright, Meletye?” he asks quietly.

“I’m alright,” Meletye nods, “It’s just my wrist. It never did heal right after I broke it, and it still hurts sometimes. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Idhron sighs softly.

“I’ll see if I can come up with something to ease the pain.” he says kindly, “You shouldn’t have to just deal with it day after day.”

Meletye nods silently. She and Idhron sit down at a table, and Idhron looks keenly at her, worry evident in his eyes.

“How are you holding up, Meletye?” he asks quietly.

Meletye shrugs.

“Alright, I guess.” She replies, “I’m pretty much recovered from the injuries I had.”

“That’s not quite what I meant, Meletye.” Idhron says, “I know things are difficult for you right now. I’ve heard the things people are saying. I’ve seen them treating you unkindly.”

“I’m fine.” Meletye says firmly, “I can handle it. I’ve dealt with worse, my friend.”

Idhron still looks a little worried, but he sees the stubborn look in Meletye’s eyes and decides to let it slide.

“Alright.” He sighs, “But please remember that I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

For a minute they sit in silence before Idhron decides to change the subject.

“Did you hear that old Mairon’s back?” he says suddenly.

There is the slightest flicker in Meletye’s face.

“Is he now?” she says drily.

“He is.” Idhron replies, “I can’t imagine he’s having a particularly nice time right now. Morgoth was furious after all that happened.”

Meletye murmurs in agreement. Silence falls again, and Meletye doesn’t particularly feel like talking much. She especially doesn’t feel like talking about Mairon. After a few minutes, she quietly excuses herself and she goes back to her work, trying to turn her mind away from Mairon and his return to Angband. No matter how much she tries, however, her thoughts still turn to him, and she finds bitterness and anger creeping into her heart as she thinks of all he has done.

Chapter Text

Deep in hidden cells within Angband, Mairon lays on the floor. He is curled slightly, one arm tucked over his head, and he shakes violently where he lays. Morgoth stands above him, and Mairon cannot bear to look up at him, to see the rage in those terrible eyes. His whole body throbs with pain, and he can feel blood trickling from the wounds he bears.

“I-I’m sorry, master.” He stammers, “P-please, forgive-”

“Forgive you?” Morgoth sneers, “Really, Mairon? You let that fortress slip through your fingers. You let that woman and her dirty human walk right in and take it.”

“She was t-too strong.” Mairon gets out.

He hears Morgoth scoff angrily at him.

“On your feet, Mairon. Now.”

Mairon groans softly, but he forces himself to his feet, wincing as pain throbs through him. When he stands before Morgoth, he breathes heavily, trying hard to master the pain, and he shudders when Morgoth reaches out and cups his chin in one hand.

“Look at me, Mairon.” He says quietly.

Mairon reluctantly lifts his eyes. He meets his master’s gaze, and for a brief moment, he wonders if this might be the moment his master forgives him. But then, he sees the dark, angry flicker in Morgoth’s eyes, and he knows it is not.

“They took one of the Silmarils, Mairon. All because you let them go. All because you were not strong enough, not brave enough, not loyal enough. You never were quite good enough for anyone, were you Mairon?” Morgoth sneers.

A soft sigh escapes Mairon’s lips, and he closes his eyes as pain of an entirely different kind tears through his heart.

“Say it.” Morgoth snaps.

His grip tightens painfully, nails digging into flesh, and Mairon winces. The longer Mairon hesitates, the more it hurts.

“I- I’m not good enough.” He murmurs. “I let you down, master. I failed you.”

“That’s right, Mairon.” Morgoth replies, “You let me down, when I gave you a chance to shine. You didn’t just let me down, you let yourself down. I think you know, in your heart, that you deserve this pain.”

Mairon braces himself, he feels his master’s grip on him tighten even more, and then he feels pain rip through his body, as if his every nerve has been set on fire. He screams in agony, writhing around in Morgoth’s unrelenting grip, and when the pain finally eases he realises his feet are no longer touching the ground. Morgoth has lifted him into the air. He meets his master’s gaze for a moment, he sees the sickening smirk on his face, and he feels himself drop to the ground. The air is knocked out of him, and he has no chance to recover at all before Morgoth draws back and kicks him, hard, in the ribs. He cries out as he feels bones break on impact, and he curls on the floor and whimpers. He hears Morgoth pacing slowly before him, and he wonders if Morgoth will end this now. Maybe in death, there will be some peace, he thinks. But the killing blow does not come. Instead, he hears Morgoth’s snide voice.

“Get out of my sight, Mairon. And get yourself cleaned up. Unfortunately for me, you’re still my lieutenant, and you have work to do.” He says coldly.

Mairon struggles to his feet once more, one hand resting over his ribs. Every inch of him feels battered and bruised, and he limps out of the cell. He keeps going until he is out of Morgoth’s sight, until he has rounded the next corner. He stops then, and he gives himself a moment to feel it all. He rests against a wall, he lets his tears fall, and he weeps. Then, he steadies himself, he dries his tears, and he focuses his power. He feels it ripple across his body, not fixing his injuries, but hiding them from view. He forces himself to stand tall, to look calm, and he walks away with his head held high.

Over the next few hours, Mairon tries to go about business as usual. He briefly stops by the healing wing, quietly asking for healing supplies to be sent to his quarters, and then he continues with his usual work. Every moment he feels pain throb through him, but he ignores it. Just as he tries to ignore the sneers and the looks and the mocking whispers sent his way by most of the orcs and guards. He feels it all weighing heavy on his heart. I used to command respect, he thinks bitterly, and now they all mock me. He forces himself to keep working, to keep moving. There are many moments when the pain almost overwhelms him and he manages to keep going, but when he has been going for a few hours, he finally feels it break him. He finds himself in a quiet corridor, completely alone, and he allows himself a moment of rest. He gives a quiet groan and he leans against the stone wall. The cold stone soothes him a little, and he breathes deeply as he tries to master the pain. Then, he hears a sudden sound. He hears someone sniffling quietly, and he realises he is not alone. He gathers himself and he keeps walking along the corridor, following the sound, and something in his heart stirs as he realises it sounds familiar, somehow. He draws closer to the sound, and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees who it is. Sat on a stone bench, weeping alone, is Meletye. Mairon feels a rush of emotions when he sees her. He remembers the friendship they shared before he left. He remembers how he convinced Morgoth not to harm her when Fingolfin duelled him. He remembers the way he would often feel a little flustered in her presence, as though some small part of him wished for more. And then, he feels a surge of guilt and he sees her cousin’s face in his mind, twisted with fear as he came face-to-face with a werewolf. Mairon shudders at the memory. He knows in his heart that Meletye will be furious with him. He should turn and walk away. He shouldn’t talk to her; it will only upset her more. He urges himself to leave, but he cannot do it. She’s hurting too, he thinks, maybe she feels as lonely as I do. That loneliness, that desire to be seen, to connect with someone, takes over him. He cautiously steps forward.

“Meletye?” he says gently, “Are you alright?”

Meletye gasps in surprise and turns to face him. Surprise, anger, and something strangely tender flickers across her face. Then, her expression hardens and she stands to face him.

“You stay the hell away from me.” she says angrily.

Mairon looks devastated for a moment.

“I just- wanted to say hello. I wanted to know how you are.” He says, sounding strangely sad.

Meletye scoffs angrily.

“You want to know how I am, hm?” she snarls, “I’m angry. I’m hurting. I’m heartbroken. Because I’m stuck in this godforsaken place. Because I’m apart from the people I love most in the world. Because you killed someone I held very dear.”

Mairon looks speechless for a moment. He sighs sadly.

“I’m sorry, Meletye.” He says quietly, “I really am.”

Meletye laughs aloud at that, a cold, mirthless sound.

“Don’t think you can fool me. I know you’re not sorry.” She snaps, “I know you don’t give a damn. He was one of the only people who turned to me with kindness when I first left my brothers. He was good, and kind, and you killed him!”

Meletye is pacing now. Tears stream down her face, and she turns every bit of grief and rage and hurt she feels towards Mairon. He wishes he could make this better.

“Meletye, I truly am sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t want-”

“Oh, just shut up!” Meletye screams at him, “Stop lying to me! If you want to do something good, then you can just leave me the hell alone, you bastard!”

She advances on him, completely blinded by rage, and before she even realises what she is doing, she shoves him hard. It catches Mairon completely off-guard, and he falls backwards against the wall. The moment he hits it, he cries out in pain. He collapses to the ground, curling in on himself, clutching his ribs, crying out and gasping as the pain overwhelms him. He struggles to catch his breath, and Meletye stands and stares at him in shock.

“Oh, come on.” She scoffs, “I hardly even touched you!”

She frowns slightly as he stays on the ground groaning, and she suddenly realises he is struggling to breathe. She knows she shouldn’t care. She knows she should just walk away and leave him there, but something stops her. She sudden realises that it does not feel good to see him in such pain. She crouches down before him.

“You’re actually hurt, aren’t you?” she murmurs. He doesn’t reply. “Alright, just- just try to breathe. Good, deep breaths. It’ll help, I swear.”

She hesitantly reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches when she reaches towards him. He pants and gasps and trembles, trying hard to master the pain he feels, but it is too much. He feels the control of his powers slipping and realises he can no longer maintain his illusion. He feels it slide away, and Meletye gasps in horror. She sees bruises, cuts and blood everywhere she looks. Deep, crescent-shaped cuts mark his face, one eye is puffy and bloodshot, and the way he clutches his ribs tells Meletye that they are most likely broken.

“Oh, by the stars above.” She breathes, “Did- did he do this to you?”

Mairon nods. His head bows, long hair swinging down to hide his face from view, and while Meletye cannot see his tears, she still hears the sounds of sorrow he tries so hard to hide. He is utterly broken, she realises, and it hurts her heart to see it. She looks around, wondering what she should do. It scares her a little to see Mairon like this. She watches him pant and groan on the floor, and she steels herself and makes up her mind. She will do what she can to help him.

“Here, let me help you up.” She says, reaching towards him again. “I’ll take you to the healing wing.”

Mairon shakes his head.

“No. Not there.” He gets out through gritted teeth.

Meletye sighs.

“But you need treatment. You’re hurt pretty badly.” She argues.

Mairon forces himself to sit up, wincing as he does so.

“I know.” He groans, still clutching his ribs with one hand. “But I won’t go there. My rooms. I have some-some supplies.”

Meletye sees the stubborn look in his eyes, and she knows he won’t be convinced otherwise.

“Fine.” She sighs, “I’ll help you there.”

Mairon looks hesitant, but then he nods. Meletye gets beside him and she helps him up. It feels strange, to have his body, his warmth, lean against her so much. It brings back those thoughts she used to have about him, and she shakes her head slightly to clear her mind. She suddenly realises she doesn’t know where Mairon’s chambers are.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Left after this corridor.” Mairon pants, “And then I- I’ll show you.”

Meletye nods shortly, and she and Mairon set off down the corridor. It is slow going, they pause plenty so Mairon can regain himself, but they gradually make their way towards his rooms. The whole way there, Meletye silently hopes and prays that nobody will see them, fearing some kind of punishment if Morgoth finds out she helped Mairon. To her relief, Mairon directs them down quiet corridors and they don’t see a single soul. When they finally reach Mairon’s rooms, Meletye gives a soft gasp. They stop just inside, and she looks around in amazement. The rooms are beautifully decorated, lit with torches and candles, rich wooden furniture spread throughout the rooms. It’s alright for some, she thinks to herself. She helps Mairon hobble over to a large, comfortable-looking bed, and he sits and collapses back onto it with a groan. Meletye stands where she is for a moment, catching her breath. Mairon lays on the bed, panting and groaning quietly, and Meletye sighs softly. She doesn’t know why she is doing this, but she knows she cannot just leave him here, alone and injured. She steels herself silently, and she prepares to tend her enemy’s injuries.

Chapter Text

In the quiet rooms of Mairon’s chambers, Meletye prepares to tend to Mairon’s injuries. She glances around the room as Mairon lays on the bed, wondering where to find the supplies he mentioned.

“There’s some supplies over- over there.” Mairon says, pointing.

Meletye looks at where he points, and she sees a pile of healing supplies. She goes over to fetch it, and she spots a fire, kettle and water barrel nearby, too. She glances back at Mairon.

“Is this clean water?” she asks.

“It is.” he murmurs.

Meletye fills the kettle and begins heating some water. While she waits, she looks through the healing supplies. Bandages, cloths, herbs, a salve. Perfect, she thinks. She makes sure she has everything ready, pours warm water into a bowl, and brings everything over to Mairon. She sets it down and drags a chair over, and she sits down and rolls up her sleeves. Mairon is still laid back on the bed, hands resting on his ribs, and she raises her eyebrows slightly.

“I’m going to need you to sit up a little so I can tend those injuries. I can’t exactly straddle you to do it.” she tells him.

Mairon shuffles into an upright position, resting against the headboard, and Meletye sees a pink tinge creep across his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?!” Meletye exclaims, “So that’s what you’re into, injuries and straddling? You little freak!”

Mairon laughs for a moment, before he groans and grabs his ribs again.

“Oh, ow! Don’t make me laugh.” He replies, smiling, “What can I say. Maiar like to have fun.”

Meletye chuckles and shakes her head. She tears some herb leaves, adding them to the warm water to steep, and she looks over Mairon’s injuries. She frowns slightly as she examines him, finding cuts and bruises and broken ribs. Mairon catches the look on her face, and he gives a rueful smile.

“He did quite some damage, didn’t he?” he says.

“He did.” Meletye sighs, “He’s rather good at that.”

She soaks a cloth in the herb-steeped water, and she begins cleaning Mairon’s wounds. He hisses and pulls back when she cleans blood from one of his cuts, and she scoffs quietly.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad. I’m just cleaning it.” she says.

Mairon sighs softly, but he doesn’t say anything. He stays still as she cleans his injuries and applies salve to the cuts and bruises, wrapping bandage around one of his arms to protect the worst cuts. He watches her work, quietly impressed.

“Why are you helping me?” he asks her suddenly.

Meletye’s brow furrows for a moment.

“I’m just doing my job.” She says shortly, “I’m a healer. I care for the sick and the injured, no matter who they are. And in this place, I make sure Morgoth’s men are healthy. That’s all there is to it.”

She sighs as she continues tending to his injuries.

“How come you didn’t just heal yourself?” she asks him, “I always thought Maiar had healing powers.”

“We do.” Mairon replies, “And I did. But these days I just- I don’t seem to be able to do it very well. But even if I could, I doubt I could heal injuries Lord Melkor inflicted. He’s far more powerful than I am. He can curse the wounds he afflicts.”

Meletye shudders at the thought, and she feels grateful that Morgoth never tortured her himself. It was always the guards who did his dirty work.

“I didn’t think Maiar could lose their power.” She murmurs.

“Well, neither did I.” Mairon sighs, “Healing is the only thing that seems to be fading over the years. Maybe it’s because I don’t do it very often. Or maybe I’m simply losing that part of myself. The further I stray, the less good I can do. It could even be a punishment. I’m certainly enough of a disappointment to them for that to be the reason.”

Meletye pauses for a moment, surprised to hear Mairon talk like this. His voice is bitter as he speaks, and he suddenly laughs lightly and shakes his head, as though trying to dismiss his own words. Meletye thinks she knows who they are. Mairon clears his throat softly.

“You know, I’m a little surprised you helped me.” he says quietly, “I don’t deserve it.”

“Hm. It surprised me, too, if I’m honest.” Meletye replies, “You killed someone I love dearly. I thought about walking away and leaving you there to rot. But I couldn’t. I don’t know why.”

Mairon smiles sadly.

“I do. It’s because you’re good.” He says softly, and Meletye scoffs. “No, you really are. I see it in you. You stayed and helped me even though I’ve hurt you terribly. Only someone with real goodness in their heart could do that.”  

Meletye finishes tying a bandage as he speaks, and her hands go still. Mairon looks at her intensely.

“Meletye, I am sorry.” He says, voice tight with emotion. “I truly, truly am sorry. I swear to you, I didn’t want to kill him. I wish so deeply that I could change it all. I regret his death, more than you can know.”

Meletye shakes her head, anger rising in her heart again. She goes to pull away, but Mairon reaches and grabs her hand to stop her leaving. Meletye gasps softly at the action.

“Please, listen to me.” he begs, “I did not want to kill Finrod, or any of his company. But there were orcs there. And men loyal to- to him. He has eyes everywhere. I did what I had to in order to survive.  Had I had any other option, I would not have killed them. Haven’t you ever been in a situation where the only choice left was to kill?”

Meletye shivers slightly as memories of that awful day at Alqualondë wash over her. She knows all too well the pain and the endless guilt that killing can bring. She feels tears brim in her eyes, and she shakes her head.

“You still had other choices.” She whispers, “You could’ve let them go. You could’ve run, left this life behind you and made things right.”

“No. I couldn’t have done that.” Mairon counters, “One wrong move, and every single man and beast in that place would have turned on me. I would have suffered a horrible death at my master’s hand. Your cousin and his friends would have died anyway. Lives and loves and dreams would have been destroyed no matter what I did.”

Mairon gives a soft, frustrated groan.

“That’s the trouble with following Melkor. I thought it would give me freedom. Instead, I became a slave to his will.” He says bitterly. “Sometimes, I hate who I have become because of him.”

Meletye sighs softly. She glances down, suddenly realising that Mairon is still holding onto her hand. He seems to realise it, too, and he quickly pulls away, and a blush creeps across his cheeks once more. Meletye feels her face warming, too. For a brief moment, she almost wishes she could keep holding his hand. It was warm and soft and oddly comforting. She clears her throat softly.

“I know that feeling well.” she sighs, “I’ve changed so much because of him. I dread to think what my brothers would say if they could see me. I doubt they would recognise the person I have become.”

Mairon frowns slightly. He can see the pain in Meletye’s eyes as she speaks.

“You came here to save your brother.” He says quietly, “That’s a very brave thing to do, Meletye. I’m sure they would see that.”

She scoffs softly, shaking her head.

“You didn’t hear the things they said before I left them. And my father, he…” she trails off into silence, shaking her head. “I let them all down the day I swore fealty. They’d be horrified if they could see me now.”

The bitterness and pain in her voice is evident. For a moment, silence rests. Mairon wants to comfort Meletye, but he isn’t quite sure what to say. Then, Meletye sighs and shakes her head slightly.

“Anyway, there’s no use dwelling on such things.” she says quietly, and she glances over Mairon’s injuries again. “Are your injuries feeling better? There’s not much I can do for the broken ribs, but hopefully the salve helps the cuts and bruises a little.”

Mairon smiles gratefully.

“It all feels much better. Thank you, Meletye.” He replies.

Meletye nods shortly.

“Good. Take it easy, if you can.” She says.

She begins tidying away the healing supplies. She thinks as she works, and she realises she doesn’t feel quite as angry with Mairon as she did before. The pain in his eyes as he spoke to her of Finrod’s death seemed very real. She turns slightly as she tidies things, glancing at Mairon. He is still resting on the bed, one hand on his ribs. She recognises the exhaustion and the sorrow in his expression, and she feels a stab of pity for him.

“I believe you. I believe you didn’t want to kill Finrod. I believe you when you say you regret it.” she says suddenly.

She senses Mairon turn to look at her, but she doesn’t look at him as she speaks.

“I’m not saying that I forgive you, or that I’m alright with all that happened, because I’m not. I hate what you did to Finrod, and to all those people. But I- I know very well the guilt and pain that comes when you kill someone you shouldn’t. I know it never quite goes away. I know that you always feel their blood on your hands.” She says quietly.

She glances back at Mairon again, and she finds he is gazing at her with tears in his eyes. She sighs softly, picking up a small container of salve and bringing it back to Mairon. He frowns slightly as she approaches, he sees the sadness in her eyes, and he suddenly remembers that she had been weeping when he found her. I’ve been so focused on my own pain that I forgot she was hurting, too, he thinks.

“You were weeping when I first ran into you.” he says suddenly. “Why were you weeping? Did someone hurt you?”

Meletye is close to the bed again, and she stops walking. She pauses before she answers, and she doesn’t miss the almost protective tone in Mairon’s last question.

“It’s- it’s been a little difficult for me here, recently.” She says with a sigh, “People are not treating me kindly. You see I- I tried to escape, when Luthien and Beren took the Silmaril. Morgoth imprisoned and tortured me for it. And when Eryssel spoke up for me, he had her tortured, too. I had to watch.”

She falls silent and bows her head for a moment. She doesn’t see the horrified look on Mairon’s face.

“She’s not been the same since.” Meletye says softly, voice trembling slightly. “And people either blame me for what happened to her, or they avoid me for fear of being punished for associating with me. It’s been rather lonely.”

Mairon sighs sadly.

“I’m sorry, Meletye. You do not deserve that.” he says gently. “Pay them no heed. People can be fickle. Believe me, I know. I’ve been dealing with much the same thing since I returned here. You are not alone. Always remember that.”

Meletye gives him the tiniest smile.

“I’ll try.” She says softly.

She sets the salve she still holds down on the table beside Mairon’s bed. She gives a soft sigh and glances over his injuries once more.

“You can apply this salve to the cuts and bruises and to your ribs. It should help the pain a little. If you need more, come by the healing wing for some.” She says quietly.

She turns and slowly starts to leave. Her hand is resting on the door handle when she hears Mairon speak.

“Meletye.” He says.

She turns to look back at him, and he smiles kindly at her.

“Thank you.” he says softly, “You didn’t have to help me. I cannot express how grateful I am.”

Meletye nods.

“You’re welcome, Mairon.” She replies.

With that she leaves, closing the door quietly behind her. She stops just outside the door, and she lets out a shaky breath. She still doesn’t quite know why she helped Mairon, but part of her is glad she did. She sets off back to her lodgings, and as she walks she cannot stop thinking of Mairon and the things he said. She finds Eryssel asleep when she gets back to the lodgings, and the other captives there simply ignore her, not even bothering to ask where she has been. For once, Meletye welcomes this, for it gives her chance to think without being interrupted. When she settles down in her bed, her thoughts are still on Mairon. She thinks of everything he said, of the pain and guilt he clearly feels, and she wonders what would have happened to him if he had tried to spare Finrod. She goes over scenarios in her mind, and she realises that Mairon was right. Even if he had tried to spare Finrod, it wouldn’t have worked. Finrod still would have died and so would Mairon. She cannot help but feel pity for Mairon. She understands the guilt and the pain he is feeling right now. She had no choice when she killed at Alqualondë, and Mairon has no choice either when it comes to killing for Morgoth. It seems he may be just as much a slave as I am, she thinks. She sighs as she tosses and turns in bed, and she tries her best to put Mairon from her mind. But try as she might, she still dreams of him that night, of the feel of his hand holding hers and the sound of his laughter- and elsewhere in Angband, Mairon dreams of her, too.

Chapter Text

As time passes by, Mairon recovers from his injuries. Meletye quietly watches him in the days and weeks following their encounter, and whilst he still keeps his injuries hidden from view, she notices him change as he recovers. He stands taller, he breathes more deeply, his movements become a little freer. He comes back to the healing wing for more salve several times in the first couple of weeks, always coming when it is quiet, but after a little time, he simply comes to return the empty pots rather than to collect more salve. Meletye is in the healing wing with Idhron, late one night, when Mairon returns the last empty pot. He comes to the workbench where Meletye sits crafting a new salve, placing the pot down on the table gently.

“Thank you.” he says, quietly so Idhron does not hear, “I’m feeling much better now.”

Meletye looks up at him, silently assessing his posture and body language. He looks well, she thinks to herself.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She whispers.

In the low light, she sees a smile flicker across Mairon’s face, she sees the gratitude in his eyes, and he nods briefly before turning away.

“All looks well in here.” Mairon says as he leaves, speaking normally once more. “Keep up the good work.”

He quietly leaves the healing wing, and Meletye can’t help but follow him with her eyes as he goes. She hears Idhron clear his throat, and she turns to find him watching her with his eyebrows raised. She sighs and rolls her eyes at him.

“What’s that look for, Idhron?” she grumbles.

“Oh, nothing.” Idhron says lightly, “Just wondering what’s going on there. He’s been in and out a few times the past couple of weeks to get salve. But he’s never told us who it was for.”

Meletye sighs softly.

“It’s nothing.” She says quietly, “He just needed the salve. I said he could come to us for some.”

Idhron looks surprised.

“You mean he was the one using it? He was hurt?” he asks.

Idhron comes closer, and when Meletye glances at him she sees he is frowning slightly. She sighs again.

“Yes.” She says shortly, “He was hurt. Morgoth punished him when he came back to Angband. I came across him in one of the corridors, and I helped him.”

Idhron looks even more shocked by that news.

“I must admit, I’m surprised you helped him. You were very angry with him, especially after what he did to Finrod.” he says quietly.

A bitter smile comes across Meletye’s face.

“It surprised me, too.” she says softly, “And I was very angry when I came across him, so angry that I tried to attack him. His pain, his injuries, caught me off-guard. He was in agony, Idhron, so much so that he could hardly even breathe. I couldn’t leave him like that. I had to help.”

“That’s very good of you, Meletye. Especially after all he’s done.” Idhron says gently.

Meletye simply shrugs.

“Maybe.” She sighs, “Or maybe I’m just doing what a healer does. Helping someone, no matter who they are.”

Idhron smiles.

“I suppose that is what we do, isn’t it?” he says softly, “We tend to the pain of others, no matter the pain they have caused themselves.”

Idhron hesitates for a moment, and he looks thoughtful.

“How did he seem, when you treated him?” he asks, “Something seems a little… different about him, lately. Though it’s hard to put a finger on what exactly is different.”

Meletye frowns in thought.

“Well, he was in pain, of course.” She replies, “And he seemed- he seemed regretful. He told me he was sorry for what he did to Finrod. He had the air of someone who wished he could change his actions.”

Idhron looks quite surprised.

“He seemed regretful?” he says, puzzled. “And did you believe him? When he said he was sorry?”

“I did.” Meletye says simply. “I didn’t want to believe him. But I saw the pain in his eyes as he spoke of it all, and I knew he was telling the truth. He really does regret his actions, and not only that, he regrets who he has become under Morgoth. That’s a feeling many of us can sympathise with.”

She looks up at Idhron, taking in the surprise in his expression, and she shakes her head slightly.

“I’ll go and clean this up.” She says quietly, tapping the empty salve pot.

She picks it up and walks away to wash it, leaving Idhron to his own work. When she twists the lid off the pot, she frowns slightly. There seems to be something inside of it, and she tips it out onto her hand. It is a small piece of paper, folded tightly. She glances around to make sure Idhron is not watching her, and she sets the pot aside so she can unfold the paper. She finds a short note, written by Mairon.

Meletye, the note reads,

I want to thank you for all you have done for me. You showed me kindness when I did not deserve it. Your actions showed me that goodness can still exist even in a place like this, and that gives me immeasurable hope. I will do what I can to make your life easier here. Know that I will always make time for you if you need anything.

Yours in friendship, Mairon.

Meletye glances around again, seeing Idhron immersed in his work. She cannot keep a smile from her face as she reads Mairon’s note, and she carefully folds it up and tucks it away safely in her pocket. She goes about washing the salve pot, as though nothing has happened- though for the rest of the evening, she feels a strange, pleasant warmth in her heart whenever she thinks of the note.

A little over a week later, Meletye finds herself with some free time for the first time in a while. She has been made to work all day recently, from daybreak to late night, so when she arrives at the healing wing to be told she has the day off, she is rather surprised. She finds herself wandering through the halls, briefly stopping by the lodgings to check on Eryssel. Meletye finds her sleeping soundly in her bed when she checks on her. It’s no surprise she’s so tired, Meletye thinks to herself, damaging her wasn’t enough for Morgoth. He still works her to the bone, too. She sits down on her own bed, glancing at Eryssel as she sleeps. She sighs sadly, remembering how they used to spend their rest days together. She feels tears threatening to rise, feels her heart shatter as she is reminded of just how much Morgoth has taken from her, and from Eryssel. She shakes her head to clear it, and she rummages in her chest for a small book, tucked safely away. She gets up to leave the lodgings again, pausing only to gently tuck the blankets more securely around her friend. She leaves Eryssel to sleep, and she once more wanders the halls of Angband. She doesn’t quite know where she wants to go. She just knows she wants somewhere quiet where she won’t be disturbed. She finds herself in an empty corridor, and she doesn’t realise until she sits down that this is the same corridor she and Eryssel used to spend their days in. Meletye wonders if she should find somewhere else, but she decides she does not have the energy to go elsewhere. She stays where she is, and she opens the book and begins reading through the now very familiar pages. The occasional guard or orc comes through the corridor, but Meletye pays them no heed, and they pay her no attention, either, as she sits in a quiet corner with her book.

Mairon makes his way through Angband as he carries out errands for Morgoth. He finds himself wandering down a familiar corridor, and he smiles to himself as he remembers the time he came across Meletye and Eryssel down here, enjoying their free time together. He is making his way down the corridor when he stops in surprise- sitting in a quiet corner, almost as though his thoughts had conjured her, is Meletye. A smile graces his lips and he comes to a halt. How different this is to our last meeting in a corridor, he thinks to himself.

“Meletye!” he says, and she glances up. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Meletye smiles slightly when she sees him.

“Hello, Mairon.” She says, “I didn’t quite expect to be here today, either! Idhron told me I had the day off when I got to the healing wing. I haven’t had any days off, lately.”

Mairon looks a little surprised.

“No days off at all?” he asks.

“None at all,” Meletye replies, shaking her head. “I suppose it’s just another way to punish me.”

Mairon gives a soft sigh, and Meletye realises that he looks rather annoyed. She finds she has to fight back a smile as she thinks of Mairon being indignant on her behalf. Mairon clears his throat softly and gestures towards the book in Meletye’s hands.

“What are you reading?” he asks her.

Meletye glances down at the book, fingers running gently along the cover.

“Oh, it’s just a book about the art of healing.” She replies, “What herbs to use, salve recipes, how to tend to particular injuries, that sort of thing. I’ve read it so many times that I could probably recite it in my sleep, but it’s better than nothing.”

Mairon chuckles softly.

“I suppose that is one of the drawbacks of a place like this- sources of entertainment are few and far between.” He murmurs.

Meletye nods in agreement.

“It gets very boring. And lonely. Especially if you don’t have many people to talk to.” she says softly.

Mairon gives her a sympathetic glance. He takes in the sadness in her eyes, the way she looks around the corridor with the air of someone remembering better days.

“You used to spend your free time with Eryssel, didn’t you?” he says gently.

Meletye sighs and nods.

“I did.” she replies, “We’d always find some way to while away the hours. I still spend time with her, whenever I can. I talk to her, read to her. But I’m not sure she really notices I am there. Sometimes it feels like I am talking to a ghost.”

“I’m sure she does notice, Meletye.” Mairon reassures her, “I am sure she finds comfort in your presence.”

Meletye scoffs softly.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She sighs, “Either way, it does not take away the pain I feel for her, or the grief I feel for the person she used to be. I miss hearing her voice.”

Silence rests for a moment, and Mairon glances up and down the corridor, seemingly making sure nobody is around. He moves closer to the bench Meletye sits on, and she seems to start slightly when he moves towards her.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the bench.

“Sure.” Meletye mumbles with a shrug of her shoulders.

He sits down on the opposite end of the bench to her, and she shuffles slightly to give him more space. Mairon does not miss the slight tension in her posture, the uncertain look in her eyes. She meets his gaze for a moment, and he sees a silent question in her eyes. Why are you even talking to me?

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting. Please, do tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.” He says quietly, “I could use some company today.”

Meletye gives a soft sniffle, and Mairon realises her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“A bit of company never hurts.” She replies, and she clears her throat softly. “Anyway, uh… what do you do in your spare time?”

Mairon hesitates for a moment. He wonders if he should try to talk to her about Eryssel, try to offer her some comfort, but he sees the look in her eyes and he realises that is the last thing she wants. She wants distraction, he thinks to himself, I know that feeling well. He decides to give her what she wants.

“Well, when I have spare time, I quite often spend it in my workshop.” He replies, and he smiles slightly. “I’m never as happy as I am in that place. The heat of the forge, the roar of flames and glow of metal, it all soothes my heart when things get difficult.”

Meletye smiles, too.

“That sounds nice.” She says softly.

“Mm. It is.” Mairon murmurs, “And the best part is that it is my space, my workshop, and nobody disturbs me there. I can be myself.”

Meletye closes her eyes for a moment, remembering the days she spent in her father’s workshop back in Tirion. She thinks fondly of the many days spent there and how wonderful it was to create beautiful things with her father and her brothers. She gives a soft, sad sigh when she opens her eyes again. Those days will never come back, she thinks sadly.

“I miss crafting things like that.” she sighs, “I miss working alongside my brothers and my father, I miss the days we were all together and we were happy and they didn’t hate me. I miss home, my mother, the feel of Treelight on my skin. And the markets, the festivals. The feel of grass beneath my feet and stars shining above me. I miss it all so much.”

Mairon isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He feels a twinge of guilt when he remembers Meletye would still have all of that if his master hadn’t stolen it from her. 

“I know nothing will bring those days, or that happiness, back to you, and for that I am sorry.” Mairon says gently. “But perhaps I could find you something to remind you of home, something to ease the ache a little. Or I could even ask Lord Melkor to allow you to join our smiths? I know you love to create things, and it does the soul good to have a craft it loves.”

Meletye hesitates. Hope shines in her eyes for a moment, and Mairon can tell she loves the idea of forging something again. Then, it fades away and she shakes her head with a soft sigh.

“I would be crafting weapons.” She says quietly, “And those weapons would be used to kill my people. I cannot do that. There’s enough blood on my hands already. I want to create something beautiful for once. Something good.”

A heavy silence rests for a moment, and Meletye bows her head, avoiding Mairon’s eye. She suddenly thinks of something, and she looks up at him again.

“Maybe- maybe there’s something else you could get for me?” she asks hesitantly.

“I cannot promise anything, but I can certainly try!” Mairon says. “Name it, and I will do my best to find it for you.”

“I’d like a plain, empty book, and something to write with.” she tells him, “I used to keep a diary, long ago. I’d write down my feelings, my struggles, my joys. I stopped when we came to Beleriand, for I did not wish to write down the horrible things I had seen. Things certainly haven’t improved, but maybe keeping a diary will help me feel more like my old self.”

Mairon smiles warmly at her words, and Meletye feels her heart flutter a little at the sight. How does he manage to look so damn attractive when he smiles?

“I’ll find something for you, Meletye. It should be easy enough to find a plain book and something to write with, but even if it was a difficult task, it would be worth it. There is nothing better than having something that makes you feel like yourself. Without that, we can lose ourselves far too easily.” He says kindly.

Meletye smiles back at him.

“Thank you, Mairon.” She whispers.

He nods briefly, and he slowly stands up again with a soft sigh.

“I have things to do.” He says, sounding a little glum. “But I will get you what you have asked for as soon as I can.”

He glances around, looking slightly nervous even though there is nobody around. He moves slightly closer, and he slowly, hesitantly reaches out to rest a hand on Meletye’s shoulder. She looks up at him, surprised, and he meets her shining eyes with a smile.

“I know this place can feel lonely, but you are not alone, Meletye. You have friends who care for you very deeply indeed. Never forget that.” he says softly.

Meletye feels the smallest shiver run through her as she feels the intensity of Mairon’s gaze. She feels as though he is staring into her very heart, and she suddenly feels understood. She realises that he knows just how lonely and dark this place can be. He gently squeezes her shoulder, and then he turns and he walks away. Meletye picks up her book again, clutching it tightly, and she gets up to leave, too. She still feels warmth on her shoulder where Mairon had rested his hand, and she ponders on his words and actions as she leaves the corridor behind her. Her mind conflicts between soft, warm happiness at his kind words, guilt for being kind to someone who has hurt her family so much, and the anger and uncertainty that still lingers in her heart. She knows her family would detest her if they knew she was striking up a friendship with Mairon. But friendship is still friendship, no matter what shape it takes, she thinks to herself. It is unexpected, it is strange, but it is oddly beautiful, and I need all the friends I can get in this godforsaken place.

Chapter Text

A few days after their conversation, Meletye returns from work late at night to find Mairon’s gift for her tucked under her pillow. She is laying down to sleep when she finds it, and she looks around to make sure her fellow captives are asleep before she takes it out. In the dim candlelight she opens the pages and finds written on the first page:

Meletye, I hope this book helps you feel like yourself. Write out your feelings, express yourself, and if you think of things you want to forge, make note of them in this book with the promise that you will make them one day. I hope it brings you some joy.

– Mairon

She smiles widely to herself, briefly flicking through the plain pages of the book, finding charcoals tucked away neatly in the centre. She stows the book away carefully, hiding it in her trunk, and she settles down to sleep with a smile on her face.

Time passes by from Mairon’s return to Angband, and the whispers about him, the snide comments and looks begin to die down. Life in Angband begins to return to normal. Meletye works hard in the healing wing with Idhron, and she gradually begins to reclaim the role she once had as a respected healer. When she isn’t working in the healing wing or spending time with Eryssel, she likes to find quiet corners to sit and write in her journal. She documents the small moments of joy she finds, she sketches the things she wishes she could create, and she writes down what she would say to her brothers if she could see them. She finds it all very cathartic, it soothes her on her bad days, and she feels grateful to Mairon beyond words for this gift he has given her. Every time Meletye sees Mairon, he has a smile for her, and he seems genuinely happy to see her. They take time to talk whenever they can, and their conversations are pleasant and light, always focused on Meletye’s healing work or Mairon’s forging or the small things that have happened within Angband. Meletye finds herself growing increasingly fond of Mairon, especially when he makes a joke or a comment that gives her a glimpse of his true self. It all takes her very much by surprise, but she enjoys the companionship he brings.

As months turn into years, rumours begin to fly around Angband once again. The captives whisper among themselves that something is coming, that outside of Angband a union is forming of elves, men and dwarves. The guards try to squash all rumours, but in spite of this people still talk. Meletye finds herself with the guard Alyaro one day, as he stands guard over an unconscious prisoner Meletye is tending to. The healing wing is quiet, and Meletye glances around her before glancing at Alyaro.

“Have you heard the rumours that are going around?” she asks him quietly.

She steals a glance at Alyaro, and she sees him glance around nervously, making sure nobody is listening.

“I have heard them.” he replies.

Meletye carefully checks the prisoner is still unconscious before she speaks again.

“Do you know if they are true?” she whispers.

Alyaro crouches down beside the cot, closer to Meletye, under the pretence of checking the bindings securing the prisoner to the cot. Her hands still for a moment as their eyes meet, and she feels hope soar in her heart when she sees the look in his eyes.

“From what I have heard, they are true.” He murmurs, “And I believe it is Lord Maedhros behind the union. They have already reclaimed many of the lands they lost before.”

Meletye gives a soft chuckle, but her laughter suddenly dies when she thinks of something.

“But if rumours of it have come to Angband- Morgoth must know about it.” she says softly.

“That is also true.” Alyaro sighs, “I think he knows a great deal about them and their plans. He and his commanders seem to be constantly shut up in strategy meetings, these days. Personally, I hope that the elves have a few tricks up their sleeves that Morgoth does not know about. But they are many, and they are strong. Perhaps they can weaken his grip on these lands.”

Meletye is about to reply when the doors to the healing wing open. Another guard comes in, and Alyaro quickly rises to his feet. Meletye keeps her head down as Alyaro speaks to the other guard and quietly leaves to let the other guard take over. She continues tending to the sick prisoner, but her mind is racing. Now she knows that the rumours are true. A great deal makes more sense to her now; the high activity in the weapons forge, the numbers of soldiers coming in with training injuries, the heightened tension among the guards- not to mention the distinct absence of Mairon she has noticed. He must be in war meetings with his master much of the time. That’s why I haven’t seen him very much lately, she thinks to herself. She feels nervous at the thought of another battle, but also immensely proud of her brother for arranging such a strong union. She hopes against hope that they will be successful in spite of Morgoth’s knowledge of them.

All of Angband seems to wait with bated breath as rumours continue to spread. One day, the captives wake to find the whole place full of activity. Soldiers are moving up to the gates, and guards stand at any corridor leading to the higher levels of Angband, ensuring no captives or thralls can sneak up to the gates. In the healing wing, the supply room is suddenly full of all they will need to treat battle injuries, and several healers are chosen to go out onto the battlefield if necessary. Meletye is unsurprised to see that herself and Idhron are not chosen for this task. The atmosphere in Angband is tense and expectant, and all Meletye and her friends can do is wait for the chaos to begin. When they hear the distant sound of armies chanting and many feet marching out of Angband, they know battle has begun. Meletye tries to keep herself as busy as she can, knowing that if she does not keep her mind occupied, she will lose herself in worry for her family. She knows they are out there, fighting for their people. It feels strange, being so close to her brothers and yet so far away. There is a steady trickle of injured soldiers coming into the healing wing, keeping them occupied, though far less injuries than with the previous battle. Meletye doesn’t quite know what to make of that. As they work, they hear the sounds of battle growing louder, and they soon realise the armies are coming closer to Angband. That thought briefly brings Meletye hope, until she hears an injured orc-soldier gloating about how their enemies have no idea what is coming for them. Still the sound of battle comes closer and closer, until they can discern elven voices among the battle-cries. Worried-looking guards come by to check on those injured, and Meletye overhears one of them talking to a soldier.

“They’re nearly at the gate,” she hears the guard mutter, “It seems they took our forces by surprise when they charged. But they will be cut down.”

Meletye looks up sharply at these words. She sees Idhron with another soldier, she meets his eye, and she knows they are both thinking the same thing. Will they actually win? Could this be the day we finally have freedom? At that moment, they hear a distant pounding sound ring through the halls. People gasp and murmur at the sound, and all guards and any soldiers strong enough hurry from the room to go and defend the gates. Meletye almost lets a chuckle slip past her lips, but she forces herself to stay silent. Her heart is pounding, and she silently considers how best to get to the kitchens and find Eryssel if the armies really do take Angband. She and the healers are silent, listening to the sounds far above them, and they hear the pounding noise stop. They hear the battle-cries of soldiers, bold and courageous, until that suddenly stops, too. Meletye feels horror flood her heart as the battle-cries are replaced with blood-curdling screams. She distantly hears orcs bellowing and chanting, and the sounds of battle grow quieter as it begins to move away from the gates. She hears bone-chilling roars and howling ring out, she realises Morgoth must have put forth his very worst beasts, and she feels her hope die.

As the battle continues, Meletye forces herself to go about her work and tries her best not to think about the horror unfolding on the plains of Anfauglith. She feels her hands tremble as she works, and she finds herself having to fight back tears. Word comes to them that Morgoth’s forces have the upper hand and are destroying their enemies, and it breaks her heart. To make things even worse, after a little while they suddenly begin receiving injured captives. Men and elves who barely even had time to register that they were being dragged by their enemies into hell itself. Seeing them shatters what little is left of Meletye’s hope, and she knows her people are facing the most terrible losses. She watches one of her patients, a young man who had been unconscious the whole time she tended to him, be taken away to the cells by the guards. She goes into the supply room, and she feels herself break. She stills with one hand resting on a pile of clean bandages, and she feels the enormity of it all hit her hard. She bows her head and weeps, and she sinks down to the floor with her back against the shelves. Tears pour down her face, head in her hands, and she dimly hears the supply room door opening.

“Meletye, are you in here? We need more bandages and salve for- oh.”

It’s Idhron coming to check on her, and his voice trails off as he sees her weeping on the floor. He crouches down beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t say anything; he simply lets her weep.

“I- I can’t bear it, Idhron.” Meletye whimpers as her tears begin to slow, “So much death. So many brought into this godforsaken place.”

Idhron gives a soft sigh.

“I know, Meletye.” He says quietly, “But right now, we have to be strong. They’re bringing those captives to us because they want us to break. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, Idhron.” Meletye sobs softly.

Idhron carefully wraps his arms around Meletye and he rises with her, making her stand. He takes her hands and meets her eye with a steady gaze.

“I know this hurts, Meletye. I know it is unbearable. But we still have a job to do. Those captives need us. They are hurt, and terrified. They need to see that being in Angband does not have to destroy you completely.” He says firmly.

He gently reaches to dry Meletye’s tears, and he smiles fondly at her.

“It hasn’t destroyed me, nor has it destroyed you. We can show them how to face this hell with their heads held high. We can show them that there are some things Morgoth cannot steal.” He murmurs.

Meletye feels a slight shiver run through her. The thought of going back out there and stepping right back into the pain and misery and despair breaks her heart and terrifies her. She suddenly thinks of her brothers, out there somewhere fighting, and for a moment she feels as though Maedhros is whispering in her ear. Don’t ever let fear stop you from doing what is right. She steels herself, and she nods briefly at Idhron.

“Alright then. What supplies did we need?” she asks quietly.

Idhron smiles sadly, and he nods, too.

“We need bandages, salves, draughts for pain and for sleep, and cloths to clean wounds with.” He replies.

Meletye gathers supplies into her arms, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds and her hands still shake. Idhron leaves the room with some supplies, and she follows him. She swallows hard as she emerges from the supply room, seeing injured elves, men and soldiers everywhere she looks. She hears people weeping, crying out in pain, groaning, and she smells blood and singed flesh. She is trying to decide who to go to next when the door bursts open and several guards come in, dragging between them a furious elven soldier. He is badly injured, but he is still trying to fight in spite of the blood pouring from his side. He kicks and writhes and resists the guards around him, and he bellows insults at them in Quenya. Meletye feels the ground rock beneath her as she realises she knows this soldier. He came with Fëanor’s host to Beleriand. She stays where she is, standing stock still, eyes wide. He screams and fights as the guards force him down onto a cot, and he turns towards Alyaro, who is among them.

“Get your hands off me, you dirty thralls!” he sneers, “I’ll die free before I become his slave.”

He suddenly spits at Alyaro, who groans and reaches to wipe it from his face. Another guard hits the soldier, hard. It does nothing to subdue him; if anything, it only makes him angrier. The same guard turns to look at Idhron.

“Give him a sleeping draught, now.” He orders Idhron, “We need him alive. He’s strong. He fought alongside the Sons. He could be valuable.”

Meletye shudders at his words, and Idhron scoffs.

“Give it yourself. I won’t do your dirty work.” He snaps.

The guard growls in anger, reaching out to snatch a bottle from Idhron. They struggle to pin the elf down, pinching his nose so he opens his mouth. Meletye watches, horrified, as they force the draught down his throat and clamp his nose and mouth shut so he has no choice but to swallow it. Idhron sighs as he watches, and Meletye knows he is feeling just as angry and horrified as she is.

“Meletye, I’ll need your help treating him.” Idhron says, glancing back at her.

The elven soldier’s head snaps up, and his gaze suddenly lands on Meletye. His eyes widen, he recognizes her, and his face darkens.

“You!” he gets out, “You- you- you traitor!” he bellows.

He fights against the guards even harder, and Meletye gasps softly. Even as sleep begins to creep over him, he still fights.

“How dare you serve him, you coward! You’re a disgrace to your family! You’re scum. All of you. Traitors! You- you…”

The elf’s words slur, he breathes heavily, and he trails off into silence as the draught finally makes him sleep. He slumps in the grip of the guards, and the one who had hit him gives a heavy sigh.

“Hmph. He gave us quite the fight, didn’t he!” he says, and he chuckles drily. “Well, he’ll soon learn it is fruitless, or he’ll be as dead as their precious High King. Keep him tied up. Alyaro, you will watch over him. You healers will make him well, understood?”

The guard steps away from the elven soldier and moves closer to Idhron as he speaks, standing tall and glaring at Idhron. Idhron meets his stern gaze without the slightest hint of fear.

“Of course.” He says smoothly, “We will do our very best to make him well.”

The guard nods curtly and walks away, soon followed by the others. Idhron quickly gets to work, examining the elf’s injuries. Another healer comes to help him. Alyaro stands alone guarding the unconscious elf, and Meletye is sure she can see him shaking. She still does not move, staring in shock at the elf, now tied down to the cot. The guard’s words echo in her mind. He’ll be as dead as their precious High King. In her heart, she knows exactly what those words mean. She just doesn’t want to accept it. She doesn’t want to believe that Fingon is dead.

“Come, Meletye. Let’s get to work.” Idhron says, voice trembling slightly.

Meletye doesn’t answer. Idhron looks up to find her standing there, shaking, still clutching an armful of supplies. Tears shine in her eyes, and she slowly shakes her head.

“I can’t do it, Idhron.” She says softly, “He’s right. I’m a traitor. I disgraced my family.”

Idhron stands and slowly approaches Meletye, leaving the healer helping him to tend to the soldier. Meletye looks devastated, and Idhron senses that she is a hair’s breadth away from breaking down completely. She looks around at the room, and tears spill down her face as she sees how many captives are there. She knows countless more soldiers lie dead outside, and now she knows her beloved cousin is among them.

“Meletye-” Idhron begins, but she just shakes her head.

“Don’t.” she says sharply, “Nothing you can say will help.”

Her breath trembles, more tears spill down her cheeks, and her face crumples.

“I’m sorry.” She breathes, “I know I have a job to do, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

Her arms slip and the supplies tumble to the ground. She turns and makes for the door, and Idhron hurries forward and grabs her wrist to stop her. She turns to face him, and the fire of grief and rage in her eyes nearly makes him quail before her.

“Meletye, please.” He pleads quietly, “If you go now, they will punish you. I know it is impossible, but you must stay until they let you leave.”

Meletye gives a soft, humourless laugh.

“Let them punish me.” she says softly, “It cannot hurt any more than this.”

With that, she wrenches herself out of Idhron’s grasp, and she quickly leaves the healing rooms. She hears people telling her to stop, but she pays them no heed. Her footsteps speed into a run, and she wonders if she is trying to outrun the agony she feels. But no matter how fast she runs, she still feels grief overwhelm her. Her cousin Fingon is dead. Most likely, her brothers are dead, too. The union has been broken with ease, countless elves, men and dwarves are dead, and Meletye and all her people are left with nothing but tears unnumbered.

Chapter Text

Meletye rushes through the halls of Angband, tears streaming down her face, and she doesn’t even know where she is running to. She ignores her surroundings, and when she comes to herself again, she is in her lodgings. She closes the door behind her and leans against it for a moment. She glances around the room, finding it empty, and she goes to sit down on her bed. She rests her head in her hands and she sobs. She feels herself shaking, tears pour down her face, and her breath comes far too fast. She cannot control it, and she feels herself spiral out of control. She thinks of Fingon, she wonders if his body is being despoiled by Morgoth’s foul creatures right now, and she sobs even harder. The pain of it all overwhelms her, and her heart breaks as she thinks of the pain this battle has brought. She sits and weeps alone for a long time, lost in her grief. When her tears finally begin to slow down, she starts to realise just what kind of mess she may have brought on herself. She left the healing wing when she was supposed to be working. She shirked her duties. Morgoth certainly won’t take kindly to that, she thinks bitterly. She suddenly hears a door bang at the end of the corridor, she hears footsteps, and she braces herself for the punishment that is sure to come. The door to the lodgings opens, and she looks up, expecting to see guards at the door. Instead, she sees Mairon standing there. He stays stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at her sat on the bed, eyes puffy, tears staining her face. He sighs softly, closing the door behind him and slowly approaching her.

“He must have a really special punishment in store if he’s sent you.” Meletye says quietly.

Mairon frowns slightly at her words. He hears her voice tremble slightly, and he realises she is still trying to hold back tears.

“I’m sorry, Meletye.” He says gently, “I know you must be hurting right now. I know you are grieved.”

Meletye groans quietly, reaching up to run a hand through her hair in frustration.

“Oh, just stop it.” she snaps, “You always do this. You always say you’re sorry, but are you really?”

Mairon doesn’t quite know what to say. Meletye is on her feet now, and she gives him one contemptuous glance before moving away from him. She stands with her back to him, arms folded tightly. A heavy silence rests for a moment.

“I truly am sorry for your losses, Meletye.” Mairon says quietly, “Such grief is a terrible burden to bear.”

Meletye tries in vain to suppress a soft sob. She clings tightly to her elbows, as though trying to hold herself together, and she bows her head. She hears Mairon slowly moving closer to her. She does not look up, not even when he is standing right beside her. She fights to hold back tears, and she steels herself, wondering if he is about to march her out of the room to be punished.

“Go on, then.” she says, voice tight with emotion, “Do what you must do. See to my punishment.”

Mairon gives a soft sigh, and he closes his eyes for a moment, thinking. His master’s face swims before him, and he hears his demand hissing in his ears. You decide her punishment, Mairon. You decide the pain she feels. He opens his eyes again, looking at Meletye, head still bowed, trembling slightly, and looking as though the slightest touch might shatter her completely. Something strange stirs in his heart, and he realises it is sorrow. It pains him to see her so broken. I will not cause her anymore pain, he thinks to himself, she does not deserve it.

“I’m here because I was worried for you, Meletye.” Mairon says calmly, “I heard you left the healing wing because you were upset. I wanted to make sure you were well. I’m here- I’m here as your friend, Meletye.”

He slowly, tentatively reaches out and rests a hand on her shoulder, half expecting her to flinch away from him. To his surprise, she doesn’t- but he does feel a shiver run through her. Meletye still does not look at him, she keeps her head bowed and fights to hold herself together. She wants to turn away from him. She wants to brush him off. But at the same time, part of her yearns for comfort, for kindness, for someone to let her weep and rage and feel her pain. That part of her grows by the second, and at the same time her grief builds and builds until it threatens to erupt from her. She feels the warmth of Mairon’s hand, gentle and soothing, rest on her shoulder. It brings a little comfort, but it is not enough. She can feel her resolve weakening, she knows she is so close now to letting her defences down.  He keeps his hand on her shoulder, now gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

“You do not have to face this pain alone, Meletye. I am here for you.” he murmurs.

All at once, Meletye feels her composure shatter completely. A sob escapes her, and she can no longer hold back the tears. She weeps, and when Mairon wraps his arms around her, she does not fight him. Instead, she leans into his warmth, his kindness, his comfort. She hears him murmuring words of comfort, she feels his hand resting on her head, and she lets her sorrow out. She stays held in Mairon’s arms for a while, and gradually her sobs begin to calm down. When she feels a little more steady, she pulls back from Mairon. He rests his hands on her shoulders, offering her a gentle smile. She manages the tiniest smile in response, and she makes no effort to move away from him. She lets him brush away the remaining tears and guide her to sit down on her bed. He sits beside her, and he gives her a moment to settle herself before he speaks.

“Do you wish to talk about any of this, Meletye?” he asks her.

Meletye gives a quiet, bitter laugh.

“What is there to talk about, hm?” she replies, “My people were defeated yet again. Countless dead lie out there on Anfauglith. My brothers may be among them. And my- my cousin Fingon is d-dead.”

Her voice trembles again, she feels tears rise once more, and Mairon rests a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“Your brothers survived.” He says softly, “They had to retreat, but they are alive.”

Meletye gives a soft sigh of relief, but she feels her heart breaking all over again as a new thought comes to her.

“Maedhros will be devastated.” She murmurs, “He made this Union. He must have had so much hope, only for it to be shattered completely. Not to mention the terrible grief he will feel for Fingon’s loss. They were so close. Fingon saved him from hell itself. He- they- oh, my sweet, beloved brother. I wish I could be there for him.”

Mairon doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Meletye brushes away tears that spill down her face.

“It isn’t even just the grief of the battle that weighs on my heart.” she says quietly, “There was an elf, in the healing wing. A captive. I realised as soon as I saw him that I knew him. That he was one of my brothers’ soldiers.”

Mairon looks rather surprised by that. Meletye sighs sadly, hands moving to fiddle with the fabric of her clothes in a somewhat nervous way.

“His name is Vórimo.” She murmurs, “I’ve known him a long time. He came to Beleriand with my father’s host, and since father’s death, he has served as a soldier under Maedhros. He was dragged into the healing wing, kicking and screaming despite his injuries. But the moment he heard Idhron say my name, the moment he realised I was working in the healing wing, his anger turned to me. He called me a traitor. He said I was a disgrace to my family, that I was scum. The worst part is knowing that he spoke only the truth.”

“It isn’t true, Meletye.” Mairon says, his voice gentle yet firm, “I am sure that with time, he will come to understand that you did not betray or disgrace anyone. He will realise that you did what you had to do in order to survive, the same as every other person in this place.”

Meletye sniffles softly.

“I know I had no choice but to swear fealty. I know it was either that or death. But still, I cannot shake the feeling that Vórimo’s opinions would be shared by my brothers if they knew I was here. Maedhros never swore fealty, even when he was tortured and put through hell. But I did.” she says softly.

Mairon frowns slightly.

“You and he are different people.” He reminds her, “And by the time you came here, Lord Melkor had already learned that pain and torment may not work on a Fëanorian. He knew he had to try something different with you- and that something turned out to be your worst nightmare come to life. Many people would, and have, chosen to swear fealty rather than facing pain, loneliness, insanity, starvation. You didn’t just swear fealty and be done with it, either. You chose to make a life for yourself in a difficult place. That’s admirable.”

Meletye sighs softly and nods. She glances at Mairon and gives him a small smile, feeling unable to put into words how grateful she is for his comforting words. He seems to understand, and he smiles back at her warmly. He seems to suddenly realise he still has a hand resting on her shoulder, and he quietly moves it away. Silence rests for a moment, until Meletye breaks it.

 “So, what happens now?” she asks quietly, “I shirked my duties. Surely, I am to be punished for that?”

Mairon shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t think that is necessary.” He replies, “You’re hurting enough as it is. I see no need to add to that pain.”

Meletye frowns slightly.

“But- won’t people expect some sort of punishment? If you let me off, then they’ll-”

“That isn’t for you to worry about, Meletye.” Mairon says firmly, cutting her off. “If anyone is foolish enough to question my judgement, then that’s their problem, not yours.”

Meletye nods silently. She still looks quite thoughtful, and she turns to look at Mairon, taking in his expression as though searching for something.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers, “You wouldn’t do this for anyone else. Why do it for me?”

The question seems to catch Mairon off-guard. He turns to look at Meletye, eyes wide, and he struggles to find words. He knows in his heart why he is doing this for her, but he cannot find the courage to say it out loud. Meletye meets his gaze, and for a moment he could swear he sees something like longing in her eyes, he feels anticipation hanging between them. He wishes he could offer her more than simple comforts. He wishes he could hold her tight and never let go. He wishes he could protect her from pain and sorrow. He wishes she could be his and he could be hers. Meletye waits for him to speak, watching a subtle blush creep across his face. Then, he gives a soft chuckle.

“I- I did it because you’re my friend, Meletye.” He says quietly.

His eyes hold a strange tenderness as he looks upon Meletye, he still gazes at her intently, and then he suddenly shakes his head slightly, as though bringing himself out of something. He clears his throat before he speaks again.

“And quite apart from any friendship we might share, you are rather valuable to Lord Melkor. You’re one of our best healers, and we need your skills. You cannot heal if you are hurt yourself.” He says, voice suddenly taking on a rather formal tone.

He stands up quickly, and Meletye stays sat on the bed, surprised by Mairon’s abrupt movement. Mairon bows his head slightly to her.

“I will speak with the guards and make sure they know there is to be no punishment, by my command. Be well, Meletye. You should probably return to your work as soon as you are able. Lord Melkor will not be pleased if you are away from your duties for too long.” He says calmly.

Before Meletye can say anything else, Mairon leaves the room, closing the door behind him.  She stares at the door, bewildered by his sudden change in demeanour, the rapid change from gentle to formal. What on earth just happened, she wonders to herself. She sits alone in the silent room, and it gives her opportunity to reflect on the moment she has just shared with Mairon. She thinks of the comfort he gave her, of the feel of his arms holding her, and she smiles. Enemy or not, it really did feel wonderful to be comforted by him, she thinks. She replays in her mind his gentle embrace, his kind words, and the look on his face when she had questioned his motives. He had said he spared her from punishment because she is his friend, but Meletye cannot help but doubt the truth of his words. She feels sure there is something more that he is hiding, something betrayed by the flush of his cheeks and the intensity and then tenderness in his eyes. The thought inexplicably makes Meletye’s heart flutter. She feels her face grow warm, and for a moment she pictures herself walking hand-in-hand with Mairon, laughing with him, loving him. Then, she shakes her head. Stop that, she scolds herself silently, he is still the enemy. He hurt your family. Your brothers would hate to see you with him. She sighs heavily as guilt and worry wars with happiness, and the warm feeling that comes with companionship. She stays in the lodgings for the rest of the day, keeping to herself when her fellow captives begin to return for rest in the evening. Try as she might, she finds it impossible to keep Mairon from her thoughts, and she constantly replays in her mind the words he spoke to her, and the feeling of him holding her, comforting her. Little does Meletye know, as Mairon goes about his business in Angband, his mind is consumed by thoughts of her.

Chapter Text

The following day, Meletye goes back to her work in the healing wing. She feels sick with anxiety when she goes there, first thing in the morning. Idhron is there already, and when he sees her, surprise flickers in his face. He hurries over to her.

“Meletye. Are you alright?” he asks her quietly.

Meletye forces a smile to her lips.

“I’m alright, Idhron. At least, as well as I can be with a broken heart.” she replies.

Idhron sighs softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. He glances around briefly and gently moves her to the side of the room, where it is quieter. His gaze flits over her, and Meletye recognises the look of a healer assessing someone for injuries. Relief and confusion show in his expression.

“You look perfectly fine.” He says, a note of disbelief to his voice. “No injuries that I can see. Meletye, what on earth did they-”

“Nothing.” Meletye says simply, cutting him off. “There wasn’t any punishment. Morgoth left it to Mairon to decide my punishment, and he decided there would be none.”

Idhron looks even more surprised at that.

“Why?” he asks quietly.

Meletye gives a soft sigh and shrugs.

“Well, I suppose he- he didn’t think it was necessary. I think he saw how distressed I was and realised I was hurting enough without anyone inflicting torment on me.” she replies.

Idhron frowns.

“But I’m not sure that quite-” he begins.

“Oh, just let it be, would you!” Meletye grumbles, cutting him off again. “I wasn’t punished. Why don’t we just take that victory and let it go. Goodness knows victories are damn hard to come by in this place.”

Idhron raises his eyebrows at the outburst. He suddenly notices that Meletye’s cheeks look very slightly pinker than usual, that she is carefully avoiding meeting his eye, and he wonders just what she might be hiding from him.

“What work needs doing?” Meletye asks, keen to change the subject.

“There’s certainly no shortage of work- but are you sure you’re ready? I’ve never seen you quite as distressed as you were yesterday.”

Meletye frowns slightly.

“In all honesty, I wish I could take time to sit with the pain I feel and grieve properly. But Mairon told me to get back to work as quickly as I could. He said Morgoth would be angry if I didn’t, and the last thing I need right now is to incur his wrath.” She sighs.

Idhron nods understandingly.

“If I could give you that time, I would, my friend. But we don’t have the freedom for such things.” Idhron murmurs.

He glances around the healing wing, pondering the work that needs doing. His gaze lands on Vórimo, and Meletye turns and follows his gaze. Vórimo glowers back at them, and Meletye swallows hard as anxiety rises once more. Idhron turns back to look at Meletye with a knowing glance and Meletye shakes her head.

“No, Idhron. I can’t. You saw how angry he was with me.” she protests.

“I know, but he needs treatment. Since he woke a few hours ago, he’s been fighting and thrashing so much that he’s already bled through his bandages. I think he must have torn his stitches. Problem is, he now won’t let anybody touch him.” Idhron explains.

“You think he’ll let me touch him?” Meletye scoffs, “Come on, Idhron. You’re no fool. You should know how that will end.”

“You’re no fool either, Meletye. You’re my best healer, and not just because of your practical skills, but because you have always been excellent with our patients. I’m sure you can come up with something.” Idhron counters.

Meletye sighs, glancing back at Vórimo. He isn’t looking at her anymore, he stares up at the ceiling above him. Even from across the room, she can see blood staining his bandages and pallor in his skin. She thinks of the times she has seen him fight so ferociously for her family, she thinks of his loyalty and the many long years he spent in the service of her father and then her brother. It’s about time I gave something in return for his hard work, she thinks to herself. She nods briefly at Idhron, and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you, Meletye. Thank you. I am sure you will get through to him in a way the rest of us cannot.” He says kindly.

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving on, and Meletye quickly gathers the things she will need. She takes a moment to steel herself before approaching Vórimo. He glances at her as she approaches, anger evident in his gaze, and then he goes back to staring at the ceiling. Meletye sets her things down on the table beside his cot, and the guard watching over him chuckles drily.

“Good luck with that, elf. He’s a feisty one.” he drawls.

Vórimo’s gaze flicks to the guard, and he suddenly lifts his head and spits at him. The guard looks furious, and he starts towards Vórimo, fists clenched. Meletye holds her hands out to the guard.

“Enough! Leave him be.” She snaps, “I’d say he has enough injuries already without you adding to them.”

The guard growls quietly, glancing down at Vórimo and looking even angrier at the smirk on his face. He glances back at Meletye, who meets him with a steely gaze, and he huffs and sighs. He goes back to standing guard, and Meletye sits herself down beside the bed. She glances over Vórimo, taking in the various injuries across his body. She feels her heart break a little as she looks at him; she dreads to think how much pain and horror he has experienced these past few days. Vórimo doesn’t look at her, he glares resolutely at the ceiling once again. But Meletye sees the slight tremble in his hands, clenching and unclenching rhythmically, the slight shine to his eyes and the hint of something else hiding behind the anger. He’s terrified, she realises, and who wouldn’t be, in this situation? She clears her throat softly, ready to get to work.

“May I?” she asks Vorimo, gesturing to one of his bloodied bandages.

“No.” Vórimo snaps.

Meletye sighs softly, ignoring the way the guard chuckles darkly. She can sense that Vórimo is hurting right now, and she wishes she could make things better for him. She slowly, tentatively reaches out to rest her hand on his.

“Vórimo-” she begins quietly.

Her fingers brush against his, and Vórimo instantly reacts. He lashes out, knocking Meletye’s hand away and reaching to hit her.

“Don’t touch me, you traitorous bitch!” he bellows.

His movement is abruptly stopped by the restraints securing him to the bed. Meletye moves back, startled. The healing wing goes very quiet, all eyes turning to look at Meletye and Vórimo. After a moment, people go about their business once more, and Meletye focuses her attention on Vórimo. He is breathing heavily, grimacing, fists clenched tightly, and Meletye knows he must be in terrible pain.

“Vórimo, please let me help you.” she says quietly, leaning closer to him again.

Vórimo groans quietly, apparently unable to answer. The guard watching over him scoffs, and Meletye looks up at him sharply.

“What did I tell you, elf?” he sneers, “Some people cannot be helped. We should take him to the cells and let him rot there.”

Meletye feels anger stir in her heart, she glares at the guard, and she rises to her feet. He shifts to face her, too, and Meletye meets his gaze without fear.

“He cannot be helped, is that your opinion?” she replies, voice laced with venom, “Who’s the healer here, hm? I don’t think it’s you.”  

The guard scoffs softly.

“If you think you can fix him, be my guest. Waste your own time.” He snaps.

Meletye chuckles quietly.

“Of course, I’ll waste my time by doing my job and helping someone.” She says drily, “Why don’t you do something actually useful and bring me some hot water? It looks like everyone else is too busy to fetch some right now.”

The guard huffs irritably and glances at Vórimo.

“I’m meant to guard him.” he grumbles.

“He’s tied to the bed and can barely move for the pain he’s in. And even if he did somehow escape those bindings and get out of the healing wing, there are guards everywhere. I really don’t think you need to worry. Now, some hot water would be very helpful. I can do my job, and then you can go back to your job of- I don’t know, hurting people and looking menacing.” Meletye replies.

She meets the guard’s gaze calmly, staring him out, and after a moment he sighs and leaves to fetch some water, grumbling irritably as he goes. Meletye smiles to herself and sits back down beside Vórimo, and she catches the tiniest glimpse of a smirk on his face.

“Seems your father’s fire is alive and well.” he gets out, voice still strained with pain.

Meletye smiles slightly.

“I suppose it is. At least, it is when the guards won’t leave my patients to heal in peace and quiet. This is a healing wing, not a cell. They know that we healers are in charge here, and yet they still try to cause trouble.” She replies.

She sighs softly, looking over Vórimo once more. She briefly meets his eye, but he quickly turns away from her, resolutely glaring at the other side of the room.

“Vórimo, you need to let me tend to your injuries. I can see how much pain you are in. Please, just let me help you.” she says quietly.

Vórimo ignores her completely. Meletye sighs again, and she glances around the room before leaning closer.

“Alright. Then how about we come to an agreement? You let me tend to your injuries, and I answer the questions I know you have. How does that sound?” she asks in a low voice.

Vórimo slowly turns towards her, looking thoughtful. Meletye can see curiosity in his eyes, and she waits with bated breath, hoping that curiosity will get the better of him. After a brief consideration, he sighs quietly and nods.

“That seems fair enough.” He says gruffly.

Meletye nods and rolls up her sleeves. She grabs a bottle of draught from the small table beside them, and she uncorks it and offers it to Vórimo. He shrinks away slightly, eyeing the bottle with trepidation.

“It’s a draught for pain.” she tells him, “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. I made most of these draughts myself.”

“You know, strangely enough, that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Vórimo quips.

He stares at the bottle for a moment, wincing when he shifts a little.

“Will it make me sleep?” he asks quietly.

Meletye sees a hint of fear in his eyes, and she immediately understands why he is so nervous.

“No, this one won’t.” Meletye assures him, “It will alleviate the pain you feel, but it won’t make you feel drowsy at all. I promise.”

Vórimo nods slowly.

“Alright. But only because I know you don’t take promises lightly.” He murmurs.

He takes the bottle and gulps down the draught quickly, and Meletye makes sure she has everything ready, giving the draught a minute to work. By the time she has her things prepared and has cleaned her hands with alcohol, Vórimo is looking more relaxed. He looks at her sharply when she reaches for a dirty bandage on his arm, but he doesn’t object. She removes the bandage, frowning slightly when she sees the injury beneath. She examines it carefully, checking the stitches and seeing what needs to be done. She sees the guard returning, and he sets a bowl of steaming water on the table before walking away again. He stands further away from them than he did before, likely hoping to avoid any confrontation, and Meletye is quietly grateful for this. It will give me chance to talk to Vórimo properly, she thinks to herself as she adds herbs to the hot water. The refreshing scent of them fills the air, and Vórimo breathes deeply as Meletye soaks a cloth and begins cleaning the wound on his arm.

“So, I’m sure you have questions for me.” she says quietly, “Please do ask them.”

Vórimo glances at her again, frowning slightly.

“Why are you here?” he asks her, “Most of our people believed you to be dead.”

Meletye smiles sadly.

“I’m here because I made a drastic choice in an attempt to save my brother.” She says softly, “I came here when Maedhros was held captive. I told Morgoth I would swear fealty in exchange for his freedom, and convinced him that I was far more valuable to him as Fëanor’s only daughter. I was about to swear fealty when the guards burst in and told him Maedhros had escaped.”

Vórimo’s eyes widen slightly.

“But you- that means you’ve been here for centuries.” He exclaims.

Meletye nods.

“I have.” She sighs, “It feels like forever and no time at all. It’s a terrible situation, and yet I have found ways to make my time here mean something. Like my healing work. It makes things feel a little more normal. This place might be hell, but it’s becoming a hell that I call home. From time to time, I have had hope that I might escape one day. But it is always fleeting.”

Vórimo looks puzzled. He is silent again for a moment as Meletye works, still carefully cleaning and re-bandaging his injuries.

“So you- you swore fealty to free Maedhros and he escaped at the same time?” he asks.

“No, I was about to swear fealty when he escaped.” Meletye clarifies, “I refused to swear fealty at that point. Morgoth couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain, so why should I uphold mine? He imprisoned me. I don’t know how long I was in that dark cell, all alone, but it was a long time. In the end, it was starvation that made me give in. That, and the constant reminders that I was alone and forgotten by my kin. I was losing my mind in that place. I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

Meletye frowns slightly as memories of that terrible time come back to her. She takes deep breaths to steady herself, and she forces herself to focus on her work instead. When she looks back at Vórimo, she finds he is gazing at her with sadness in his eyes.

“They didn’t forget you.” he says quietly, “Your brothers. They never did, and they never will. They still look for signs of you, everywhere they go. Maedhros and Maglor especially. They refuse to believe you died.”

“I try to tell myself that, as often as I can.” Meletye says softly, “But it isn’t easy. I’m so far from them, and often all I can think of is how disappointed they’d be to see me here.”

Vórimo doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Meletye keeps working in silence, cleaning Vórimo’s wounds and re-stitching some of them, offering more pain draught when he needs it. She has been working for some time when Vórimo finally speaks again.

“Why do you work for him?” Vórimo asks her suddenly, “Why do you not just- refuse?”

Meletye gives a soft, humourless chuckle.

“I’m afraid it’s not much of a choice.” She replies, “It’s work or be tortured. And at least with healing work, I am helping people.”

“You’re helping Morgoth’s people.” Vórimo points out.

Meletye raises her eyebrows.

“Not all the time. I’m helping you, aren’t I? I you certainly aren’t one of Morgoth’s people.” She retorts, “We quite often care for captives. Prisoners who were hurt too badly during torture or punishments. Cooks or smiths injured as they work. People who have simply grown too sick or too weary to work. And when we do care for Morgoth’s soldiers- well, it’s hard not to feel pity for some of them. Like the boys barely into adulthood who regret the choices they made, or the men who swore fealty to protect their families. You’ll soon realise that Morgoth’s people are not his people at all. A good number of them would run or surrender the moment Morgoth fell. They’re just people who, given the chance, would rather live their lives in freedom. Everyone in this place except him is a slave in their own way.”

Vórimo sighs softly and goes quiet again. Meletye can tell he is pondering her words, and she decides not to disturb his thoughts. Before long, she has finished tending to him, and she neatly ties the last bandage.

“There. All done. I hope you feel a little better now.” She says with a small smile.

Vórimo nods silently. He glances over at the guard, and then back at Meletye.

“What happens to me, now?” he asks, voice tinged with worry, “Will they take me to a cell? Torment me until I swear fealty?”

Meletye sighs sadly. She glances at the guard, ensuring he is not listening.

“They will take you to a cell, yes.” She says quietly, “And it won’t be a pleasant experience. But I will keep you here for as long as I can, as I do for any captives brought into my care. I’m the one with healing knowledge, after all. Not them. If I say you need to stay, then who are they to question that?”

A slight smile flickers across Vórimo’s face, and Meletye smiles herself.

“That’s just one way we like to rebel. It’s quiet, and hidden, but it’s better than nothing.” She murmurs.

She grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed, and she carefully drapes it over Vórimo.

“Try to get some rest. Regain your strength. And remember that when you resist him, you do not do it alone. But if you decide to swear fealty to spare yourself- well, you’re not alone in that, either.”

Meletye has stood and is about to turn away from him when he suddenly reaches out and grabs her hand. She looks at him with a slight frown, taking in the tears suddenly shining in his eyes.

“I wish I wasn’t here.” he whispers, “I wish those orcs had killed me. I’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

Meletye crouches beside him, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know, Vórimo. I feel that way, too. More often than I care to admit.” She says softly, “But we cannot decide which battles we face. All we can decide is how we face them. And we can choose to face them with our heads held high, like the most heroic of our kindred have.”

Vórimo nods silently, refusing to let his tears fall, blinking them away. Meletye gives his hand a gentle squeeze before she leaves him to rest.

Over the days that follow, Meletye watches as Vórimo begins to recover. He allows the healers to care for him without much fuss, and true to her word, Meletye keeps him in the healing wing for a little while longer than necessary. Only when she can keep him there no longer, when it is becoming obvious even to the most simple-minded guards that he is well, does she let him leave. She watches him go with a heavy heart, and she quietly hopes that he will be able to face the pain he is sure to endure with courage and pride.

Chapter Text

Over the week that follows, the dust begins to settle in the aftermath of the terrible battle. Mairon goes about his usual business, keeping an eye on the guards as they manage the new captives, and ensuring all goes smoothly around Angband. He carefully listens for news about     Meletye, and he is relieved to hear that she is back working again. The last thing she needs right now is for Lord Melkor to find some reason to punish her, he thinks. He wants to find time to speak with her and make sure she is alright, but he knows that she will be just as busy as he is right now with all the wounded brought to the healers following the battle. He contents himself with listening for information about her instead, knowing that he would hear something if anything untoward happened. He has just finished an inspection of the guards one day when he hears her name mentioned by one of them. He stops just around the corner of the corridor when he hears them talking, and he realises that none of them know he has overheard their conversation.

“Yeah, Meletye. That’s her name. That healer.” He hears a guard grumble, “Too big for her boots, if you ask me. She struts around that healing wing like she owns the damn place.”

Mairon frowns slightly as he listens.

“You’re just bitter because she put you in your place, Aldan. Can’t even intimidate a healer, you.” another guard laughs.

Mairon chuckles quietly to himself at that. Good for her, he thinks. He hears the guard Aldan scoff irritably.

“I’m not bitter. It just doesn’t seem right that she gets away with everything. I reckon she needs taking down a peg or two.” Aldan snaps.

The other guard laughs again.

“Oh, and you’re the one to do it, I suppose?” he taunts.

“Hmph. I’d gladly do the honour of punishing that bitch.” Aldan sneers, “Make her know her place. I’m sure I could think of some inventive ways to make her a bit more useful. I’d put that rude little mouth to better use, for starters.”

Mairon feels white-hot anger surge through him. His jaw clenches, hands tighten into fists, and he hears a roaring in his ears. Master yourself, Mairon, he tells himself firmly, you cannot punish him simply for speaking ill of her. He stays where he is, still listening- though now also imagining his fist breaking the guard’s bones. Aldan is still ranting to his friends.

“You hear what she did, after the battle?” Aldan asks, “Stupid bitch shirked her duties. She ran off from the healing wing and didn’t go back ‘till the next day. Apparently, it was up to Mairon to decide her punishment, and he just let her off. Can’t imagine any other prisoners would be treated like that.”

The other guards murmur in agreement, and Mairon prepares to step around the corner and reveal himself. Go on, little maggot, he thinks, say something else. Give me a reason I can justify to my master. Aldan still does not stop talking.

“It was a stupid decision on old Mairon’s part, if you ask me.” Aldan grumbles, “Don’t know what clouded his judgement. Maybe he’s getting old and growing soft.”

Mairon smirks to himself. Then, he slowly steps around the corner, relishing the look of terror on the guards’ faces when they spot him. Aldan turns as white as a sheet as Mairon advances on him. The atmosphere is suddenly incredibly tense, and none of the guards dare move a muscle.

“What were you saying, guard?” he asks.

His voice remains calm, like the stillness that hangs before a storm breaks. Aldan is silent for a moment, stammering when he finally finds his voice.

“I-uh, n-nothing, my lord. Nothing at all.” He stammers.

Mairon chuckles darkly.

“Hm. First you dare to question my judgement. Then you lie to my face. Dear me, this does not bode well for you, does it?” he says.

Aldan shivers slightly, and his friends all back away from him.

“My lord, I’m sorry, I-I-”

“On your knees, you dog.” Mairon says coldly.

Aldan doesn’t dare disobey, and he gets down on his knees, now visibly shaking.

“Please, my lord, have mercy. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He begs.

Mairon shakes his head.

“You’re sorry you were heard, guard. Not for your words. You know full well that insubordination is not tolerated in Angband.” He snaps. “Nor is it for you to decide how one of Lord Melkor’s captives is punished. That’s far above your station.”

Aldan looks terrified now. Mairon reaches out, gripping his face in one hand and holding tight.

“Perhaps, if you’d had the courage to own up to your foolish words, I might have been a little less hard on you.” Mairon growls, and then suddenly laughs at his own words. “Ah, I’m fooling nobody, am I? You’d be suffering no matter what.”

He pulls back for a moment, and then he hits Aldan hard in the face. Aldan cries out and falls to the ground, clutching his face. The other guards gasp and back away, and Mairon glares at them all.

“Go on. Spread the word.” He says angrily, “Tell your fellows what to expect if any of them dare question me again.”

They all take off running down the corridor, desperate to escape his wrath. Aldan tries to scramble away from him, but Mairon is too fast. He grabs him by the scruff of his neck, stopping him moving any further.

“Ah, ah. I’m not done with you yet, you repulsive little maggot.” He sneers.

He drags him down the corridor to the nearest empty cell, throwing him inside and slamming the door shut behind them. Aldan scrambles backwards away from him, and Mairon advances on him with his fists clenched. Aldan breathes heavily, whimpering slightly in his fear. Mairon thinks of the things he had said about Meletye, and for a horrible moment he imagines what this guard might do to her if she was alone with him. The thought of such terrible things, and the crude way Aldan had spoken, angers him far more than any questioning of his judgement. When he grabs hold of the guard and begins his punishment, he knows that he does this for Meletye rather than for himself.

Mairon takes his time punishing Aldan. When he is finally done, Aldan lays on the floor, unmoving, and unable to do anything more than moan in pain. Face battered and swollen, breath laboured, bones broken. Mairon scoffs softly at the pitiful man below him.

“You will not question me again, will you?” he snarls.

Aldan cannot answer. Mairon sees the swelling at his jaw and knows he has broken it. He makes as if to kick him, and Aldan whimpers and shakes his head. Mairon nods, satisfied.

“Good. Keep that wretched mouth shut from now on, and do as you are told.”

He turns and stalks out of the room, leaving Aldan there alone. He can rot for all I care, he thinks bitterly. Every guard he goes past bows their head and keeps out of his way, and as he goes he carefully massages his bruised knuckles. He doesn’t quite know where he wants to go, but before long he finds himself alone in his workshop. He fires up the furnace and prepares his tools, and he works out the rest of his anger with hammer and anvil and fire. He stays in his workshop for hours, and it soothes him greatly. It doesn’t take very long for the blazing anger in his heart to calm to an ember, and when it does calm, he thinks of Meletye. I was right to punish that guard, he tells himself, he could have been dangerous to her if left unchecked. He cannot help but wonder how Meletye would feel if she knew he had done this for her, and doubt creeps into his mind. He cannot imagine she’d be thrilled by his actions. He sighs heavily as he works, and he wishes once more that he and Meletye could simply belong to one another. If she was mine and I was hers, then nobody would hurt her, he thinks to himself. But would Melkor ever approve of that? He works and he thinks for quite some time, ignoring the soreness of his bruised knuckles. He lets himself get lost in thoughts about Meletye, thoughts that he is not yet ready to give voice to. He does not leave his workshop again until he finally feels calm once more, until he has settled his thoughts and cooled the fire within him. He cleans himself up, wiping away the sweat and the soot and the guard’s blood still staining his hands. He leaves the workshop and makes his way through the halls of Angband, ready to go about his business once more. He doesn’t get very far before he suddenly comes across someone else. He sees the corrupted elf approaching him, and he slows down a little. He feels certain Donir is looking for him. Sure enough, Donir stops in front of him and bows his head.

“Lord Mairon. I am glad I found you.” Donir says politely.

“What do you want, Donir?” Mairon asks lightly.

Something like amusement briefly flickers across Donir’s face.

“Lord Melkor sent me to find you. He wishes to speak with you.” Donir tells him, and his gaze briefly flits to Mairon’s bruised knuckles. “I’m sure you can guess what the topic of conversation will be.”

Mairon swallows hard and nods, unconsciously reaching to touch the bruises.

“Of course. I will go to him right away.” he says quietly.

He sets off again, quickly skirting past Donir and leaving him behind. He feels fear building as he makes for his master’s rooms, and he cannot shake the feeling that he is in for an unpleasant experience. His worries are confirmed when he arrives and sees a guard, one of Aldan’s friends, speaking with Morgoth. The guard quickly bows his head to Morgoth and leaves when Mairon arrives, closing the door behind him.

“My lord.” Mairon says, forcing himself to keep his voice calm, “You wished to see me?”

He slowly comes closer to his master, fighting every instinct that screams at him to run. Morgoth paces slowly before him, and he looks furious.

“Yes, Mairon. I’ve had a rather interesting conversation with that guard. Apparently, you beat the guard Aldan to within an inch of his life. Would you care to explain why?” he says coolly.

Mairon folds his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

“He was disrespectful, my lord.” He says calmly, “He questioned my judgement. That demanded punishment.”

“But did it demand such a severe punishment?” Morgoth asks, “The man is severely injured. If he survives, he certainly will not be the same. The punishment does not quite fit the crime, Mairon.”

Mairon can feel panic rising in him, but he tries his best to ignore it.

“I apologise, my lord. I- I must have gotten carried away. I should not have let him anger me so.” he replies.

Morgoth is stalking around him now, and Mairon feels very much like prey being circled by a predator.

“Hm. I think you did get carried away, Mairon. Tell me, precisely what judgement of yours did the guard question?”

Mairon hesitates for a moment before he answers.

“He questioned my judgement regarding Meletye.” He mumbles.

Morgoth scoffs softly.

“I didn’t quite catch that, Mairon. Speak up.” He says sharply.

“He questioned my judgement regarding Meletye.” Mairon repeats, louder and clearer this time. “He seemed to think she ought to have been punished.”

Morgoth simply nods.

“You already know my thoughts on the matter, Mairon.” He says darkly, “I happen to agree with that guard.”

Mairon shakes his head slightly.

“With all due respect, my lord, you left the decision to me. It is a decision I stand by. I saw how much she was hurting. Any beating or physical pain would only have distracted her from the grief and anguish she felt.” He replies, “And in any case, the sort of punishment the guard wished to inflict on her is nothing short of abhorrent.”

Morgoth laughs softly.

“Oh, you’d know all about abhorrent things, wouldn’t you?” he mocks, and Mairon bows his head. “Do you really still stand by your decision, Mairon? Especially when it is so clearly opposed? Perhaps she should have been punished. Perhaps she still should be.”

“No.” Mairon says firmly.

Morgoth stops in his tracks, turning to look sharply at Mairon. The anger in his eyes makes Mairon’s blood run cold.

“I- I don’t think that is a good idea, my lord.” He says, steadying his voice. “If we punish her now, then we will simply be pandering to the wishes of those beneath us.”

“Or perhaps it would simply send a message.” Morgoth counters, “What if other captives decide they can disobey the way she did? They need to know it is not to be tolerated.”

Mairon swallows hard. He is struggling to see how he can spare Meletye any more pain. Before he has chance to say anything more, Morgoth speaks again.

“I am sure you can understand that someone needs to be punished, Mairon.” He says, and a devious smirk creeps across his lips. “Whether it is her being punished for shirking her duties- or it is you being punished for your lapse in judgement.”

Mairon freezes.

“M- my lord-”

“That is the decision, Mairon.” Morgoth snaps, cutting him off. “You, or her.”

He stares intently at Mairon, eyes boring into his very soul. I cannot let her be harmed instead of me, Mairon thinks to himself, I cannot be that cowardly.

“What will it be, Mairon? How firm do you really stand by your judgement of her?” Morgoth asks.

Mairon cannot help but feel there is more meaning to his master’s words than the mere question of his decision-making. He knows that if he bears punishment in Meletye’s stead, he may well reveal more to his master than he is willing to say in words. That terrifies him. But he also knows that he will never forgive himself if he lets Meletye take the pain. He forces aside his fear. He decides he will do what is right, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“I will bear punishment.” He says calmly, “I stand by my judgement. I do not think Meletye should be punished, so I will be punished instead.”

Surprise flickers across Morgoth’s face for a moment. Then, he nods and gestures for Mairon to follow him.

“Come with me, Mairon. Face the consequences of your actions.” He says darkly.

Mairon nods and follows after him, trying not to let his fear show. He knows this will be terrible, he knows he will be in pain for several days at least. But at least Meletye will not be harmed, he thinks, and I can bear the pain better than elf or man can. The knowledge that he is keeping Meletye safe by taking this punishment brings him immense comfort. He follows Morgoth to his own suffering, and he does it with his head held high.

Chapter Text

Several hours later, when his punishment is finally over, Mairon stumbles back to his quarters, shaking and breathing heavily, clutching his side as he goes. Night has fallen by the time Morgoth lets him go, so the halls are quiet and empty. He feels sharp pain in his broken ribs with every breath, he feels the dull ache of many bruises, and a stinging throb in the cuts Morgoth had inflicted on him. When he reaches his quarters, he finds the small healing kit he now keeps there, and with shaking hands he patches up his injuries. At least it isn’t as bad as last time, he thinks to himself. He stands before the tall mirror in his room when he is done, taking in the various injuries, and he feels he has done a good enough job tending to them himself. No need for help this time around, he thinks, though some of that salve would help with the pain. He considers for a moment asking for some from the healing wing, but he decides against it. He doesn’t particularly feel like telling anyone about this. He settles himself in his comfortable bed, and in spite of the pain he feels, he manages to drift into a fitful, uneasy sleep.

The following day, Meletye is back in the healing wing once more. It is business as usual in the healing wing again, as most of the injured captives in their care have now been taken away to the cells. Meletye feels a stab of worry whenever she thinks of them, especially when she thinks of Vórimo, but she tries to focus on other things. The same day Vórimo is taken to the cells, rumour comes to them of an incident between Mairon and a guard. People whisper that a guard was punished for questioning Mairon’s judgement, and Meletye feels a little uncomfortable when she hears of this. She thinks she knows why the guard questioned Mairon’s judgement. She decides that she should probably keep her head down and avoid attracting attention from the guards. She works hard and keeps quiet, fearing that if the guards disagree with Mairon’s judgement, they may be looking for any reason they can find to punish her. A couple of days after the rumours began, Meletye is in the healing wing as usual. She is sat at a desk with Idhron standing beside her, going through their inventory, when the door opens.

“Inspection!” a familiar voice calls.

Meletye feels her heart leap when she sees Mairon enter the room. She and her fellow healers stand at attention, ready for the inspection, and Mairon comes over to Idhron and Meletye. He glances at Meletye briefly before turning his attention to Idhron.

“Idhron, would you kindly accompany me as I inspect the wing? You can tell me how things are in the wake of the battle.” Mairon says smoothly.

“Of course, my lord.” Idhron replies, and the two of them begin slowly making their way around the wing.

“At ease, all of you. No need to disturb your work on my account.” Mairon says.

People go back to their work, though without the quiet buzz of conversation that usually fills the room. Meletye turns her attention back to the inventory, counting the freshly-made salves that sit on the table before her. She hears Idhron talking as he walks with Mairon, explaining how the aftermath of the battle affected them in the healing wing. She sets her work aside for a moment, rising and going to Idhron’s desk. She quickly finds what she is looking for- the patient logs and notes that Mairon is sure to need. She leaves them in a neat pile at the edge of the desk, and when she briefly looks back at Idhron she sees he has noticed, and he gives her a grateful smile. She nods back at him and then goes back to her inventory work. She cannot help but watch for a moment as Idhron and Mairon make their way around the healing wing, and she suddenly frowns slightly as she sits down. Something about Mairon’s body language seems off somehow. She keeps subtly glancing at him, trying to put her finger on what exactly is different, and in a brief moment when nobody else looks at him, she sees the tiniest grimace cross his face. Suddenly, it becomes crystal clear to her. Mairon’s body language is off because he is in pain. His movements are slightly stiff, he holds himself with caution, and Meletye feels her heart sink. She recognises it well now that she knows what she is looking for- it is exactly how his body language appeared the last time Morgoth punished him. Except this time, there will have been nobody to help him tend his injuries, she thinks sadly. She glances at the stack of salve pots in front of her- the very same salve she gave to him the last time he was injured. She glances down at her inventory list and realises she hasn’t updated the number of salves yet. I’ve made four new pots. They’re not on the list. Nobody would notice if a couple went missing. She glances around, making sure nobody is watching, and she slips two pots of salve into her pocket. Now she just needs to slip them to Mairon. She knows it will need to be done discreetly, for the fact of Mairon’s punishment feels rather secretive to her. If it was no secret, then rumour of it would have spread. She thinks hard as Mairon and Idhron start coming back towards her. She keeps to her work as they walk past her, and she hears Idhron talking Mairon through the logs and notes on his desk.

“And what about inventory?” Mairon asks, turning to look at Meletye.

“Well, it-” Idhron begins.

“Actually, I’d like to discuss some inventory issues with you, my lord.” Meletye says firmly.

Idhron looks very puzzled.

“There are a few things we need more of. Perhaps it would be easier to show you, in the storeroom?” Meletye suggests.

Mairon glances at Idhron for a moment, who murmurs a slightly confused-sounding assent, and then looks back at Meletye.

“Of course. After you, Meletye.” He replies.

Meletye picks up the inventory book and her papers and heads into the storeroom, ignoring the very bewildered look Idhron gives her. Mairon follows and closes the door behind them, giving Meletye a small smile.

“Right. What inventory do you need?” he asks politely.

Meletye just sighs, staring hard at him. Mairon raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“What happened to you?” she asks softly.

Mairon looks very taken aback. His mouth opens slightly, and it takes a moment before he speaks.

“I- I don’t know what you mean, Meletye. Nothing happened.” He says.

Meletye shakes her head slightly.

“Your body language is off. You’re holding yourself stiffly, your breath seems a little laboured, and I saw you grimace back there in the healing wing.” She says quietly, “I recognise those signs. He hurt you again, didn’t he?”

Mairon gives a light laugh, but the smile that comes to his face does not quite reach his eyes.

“I’m fine, Meletye. Do I look injured to you?” he chuckles.

Meletye glares at him, turning to put her things down on a shelf before facing him again.

“Do you think me a fool, Mairon?” Meletye snaps, “I know you can alter your appearance and hide your injuries. I’ve seen you do it, remember?”

Mairon looks a little sheepish.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Do not worry yourself, Meletye.” He says, though his tone is a little less convincing now.

Meletye scoffs softly.

“Come on, Mairon. It’s just us. You can tell me, and I can help you.” she urges, “Or do I have to poke you in the ribs to get you to admit it?”

A real smile flits across Mairon’s face at that. He sighs softly, leaning against one of the shelves. He looks downwards, and for a moment, he lets her see past the illusion. She sees the bruises and injuries, and she sighs sadly.

“Was it because of that guard?” she asks.

Mairon simply nods, and Meletye groans quietly.

“Oh, I knew someone would cause trouble after you spared me punishment.” She mutters.

It was well worth the pain to see you safe, Mairon wants to tell her. He holds his tongue and pushes aside the words he wishes to speak to her.

“That guard was being disrespectful. I couldn’t let it slide.” He says quietly, “Admittedly, I did go a little too far with him. I let him anger me too much. That’s why my master punished me.”

A strange combination of shock and confusion shows on Meletye’s face.

“You went too far?” she asks, and he nods. “But you- you’ve always been so measured. Plenty of people have been punished for speaking against you, but not like this. Why was it so different with this guard?”

Mairon gives a rueful smile. He knows exactly why that guard angered him so, he knows exactly what was different this time, but he cannot let anyone know the real reason.

“I’m not sure what happened, in all honesty.” He lies, “Perhaps with the stress of the battle, any criticism felt too much.”

“Hm. Maybe.” Meletye replies.

There is a rather sceptical tone in her voice, Mairon thinks. Meletye frowns slightly, and a look of concern comes across her face.

“If people are raising questions about your decision, then I imagine I can expect a punishment myself, in the next few days?” she asks quietly.

Mairon sighs softly.

“No, Meletye. You won’t be punished. The price has already been paid.” He murmurs.

He grimaces slightly as he speaks, resting a hand on his ribs. Meletye looks a little confused, and she is silent for a minute, thinking. Then, a sudden realisation hits her, and she turns to Mairon.

“Mairon- did you take punishment instead of me?” she asks.

Mairon doesn’t reply, and Meletye gives a frustrated groan.

“For goodness’ sake, just tell me!” she cries.

“I paid the price, Meletye.” Mairon sighs, “Someone had to be punished, and I stood by my decision to spare you any further pain. So, that meant it fell to me.”

Meletye stares in disbelief at Mairon, shaking her head slightly.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” she asks, “Why on earth would you take that burden? What kind of old, sentimental idiot are you?!”

Mairon scoffs softly.

“I like to think of it as standing by my choices, Meletye. Not sentimentality.” He replies, trying to keep his true feelings hidden, “If I had let you take the punishment, then I would be admitting to my master, and to any pitiful little guard who questioned me, that I had made the wrong decision. And I didn’t. I had to stand by that judgement.”

Meletye sighs heavily, and she shakes her head as if trying to clear it.

“So, you took a punishment just to- to what, save face?” she asks.

Mairon shrugs.

“Something like that.” he mutters.

He turns to look at Meletye, and his expression softens slightly.

“And I- I didn’t want to see you harmed.” He says quietly, “You’ve suffered enough lately. If someone was to be punished, it’s better to avoid placing blame on the one person who doesn’t deserve it.”

Meletye doesn’t quite know what to say to that. She looks back at Mairon, she sees the sadness in his eyes and the way he still rests a hand on his ribs, and she feels some of her frustration melt away.

“You must have been frightened.” She says softly.

Mairon gives a quiet, humourless chuckle.

“I’ll admit, it was a little terrifying. It always is, standing before my master and defending decisions that he does not like. Facing his wrath. But I knew I was doing the right thing. I couldn’t let fear stop me.” he replies.

Meletye makes a soft, choked sound, as though suddenly trying to hold back tears. Mairon’s brow furrows in concern, and he comes closer to her.

“Meletye, are you alright?” he asks her, “Did I upset you? I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, it’s nothing.” Meletye says, waving her hand, though utterly failing to keep a tremor from her voice. “It’s just- what you said, it brings back memories. Memories of- of Maedhros.”

She takes a breath, steadying herself, and she goes on to explain.

“The last time I saw him, he told me that I should never let fear stop me from doing what is right.” she says softly, “It’s why I came here in the first place. I was terrified, that day, but I kept repeating his words to myself. I still hold onto them, even now, centuries later.”

She feels Mairon rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she sighs softly. She impatiently brushes away the tears that slide down her face, and she suddenly remembers that she came in here to give Mairon something.

“Hold on- I have something for you.” Meletye says softly, reaching into her pockets, “I almost forgot.”

She withdraws the pots of salve, holding them out to Mairon.

“It’s the same salve I gave you the last time you were- you know.” She tells him, “I know it helped you greatly. I might have, uh… forgotten to add these two to the inventory list. Nobody will notice them missing.”

Mairon simple stares at the salves in Meletye’s hand for a moment, and he gives a soft chuckle.  

“Meletye, that’s very kind of you. Thank you. I- thank you.” he murmurs.

His eyes meet hers as he speaks, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. He reaches out slowly to take the salves from her, and his hand lingers for longer than needed. His fingers brush against hers, soft and gentle. He sees the slightest blush creep across Meletye’s face, sees something strange shining in her eyes, and he realises that the air between them suddenly feels very tense. Like lightning waiting to strike, he thinks. Neither of them say a word. Then, they hear something from outside- Idhron, giving an unusually loud cough on the other side of the door. It snaps them both out of the moment; Mairon puts the salves in his pocket and Meletye clears her throat and grabs the inventory list.

“Um, anyway this is- this is what we need.” She says, quickly pointing out the items to Mairon. “I’ve got a list drawn up somewhere.”

She riffles through the pages she holds and hurriedly hands the list to Mairon. She turns away from him and leaves the storeroom, Mairon following close behind. She forces herself to keep a calm expression, and she finds Idhron waiting just outside, waiting for them with arms folded.

“All went well in there, did it?” he asks.

“It did. I’ll make sure everything you need is acquired and brought to you soon.” Mairon says smoothly.

He folds Meletye’s list as he speaks, tucking it into his pocket, and his fingers touch the salve there. He has to fight back a smile when he feels it. Idhron nods, glancing between Mairon and Meletye, noticing the way neither of them quite seem able to meet his eye. Mairon glances around the healing wing with a smile.

“Everything seems in perfect order. Very well done, all of you. Have a nice day.” he says, and then he sweeps out of the healing wing.

Meletye watches him go, and she quietly hopes that the salve she gave him will help him feel better. She doesn’t even realise she is still staring at the door until Idhron clears his throat, and she starts slightly and turns to look at him. He leans against his desk, arms folded, gazing at Meletye with eyebrows raised.

“What’s that look for?” Meletye says with a chuckle.

“Oh, nothing.” Idhron says, a little too innocently. “That must’ve been a very thorough inventory check.”

Meletye smiles politely at Idhron.

“Well, we have used a lot of supplies since that battle. I wanted to be sure the list I gave him was definitely correct.” She replies calmly.

“Hm.” Idhron murmurs simply.

He glances around, seemingly checking that nobody is listening, and he gestures for Meletye to come closer. She does, frowning slightly, wondering what Idhron is about to say.

“Listen, Meletye. I need to tell you something.” He says quietly.

He still glances around, and he only continues when he is certain there is nobody eavesdropping.

“Alyaro mentioned something… interesting to me the other day.” he says, speaking so quietly that Meletye has to shuffle closer to him to hear. “It was about that guard Mairon punished.”

Meletye swallows hard.

“Go on.” She murmurs.

Idhron sighs softly.

“Alyaro heard that the guard said- well, he said something about you, Meletye.” He says quietly, “Apparently, he said some very unpleasant things. It was just after this that he criticised Mairon, and that was when he appeared around the corner and dragged the guard away to be punished.”

Meletye doesn’t know what to say to that.

“The guard was- was talking about me?” she asks after a moment’s silence.

“Apparently so.” Idhron sighs, “You need to be careful, Meletye. See, my thinking is- and Alyaro agrees with this- is that old Mairon used the criticism of him as a front. That in reality, he was defending you.”

Meletye scoffs.

“Idhron, that’s ridiculous.” She mutters, “He wouldn’t do that. Not for me, not for anyone.”

She wishes she could believe her own words. Idhron sighs softly and shakes his head.

“Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe he really was just making an example out of an insubordinate guard. But there could be more to this than we know.” He replies, “I’m telling you this out of respect for you. So that you can be aware. I understand that there is something of a friendship between you and Mairon-”

“Oh, don’t be-” Meletye protests, but Idhron silences her with a single sharp look.

“There is, Meletye, it’s clear as day. Look, if a little friendship with him gives you what you need to survive this hell, then I won’t judge you. Just- just don’t forget exactly who you are making friends with. Don’t forget which side he is on. And be careful with him, and with the guards. I don’t want to see you harmed.” Idhron says firmly.

Meletye sees the worry and intensity in his eyes, and she sighs.

“Alright. I’ll be careful, I promise.” She says quietly.

Idhron nods, looking relieved, and he pats her shoulder gently.

“Good. Now come, let’s get back to work. We have plenty to do, still.” He says.

The two of them get back to work, but Meletye now finds it a little difficult to focus properly. Her mind is reeling as she sits down and resumes her tasks. The guard Mairon punished had spoken ill of her. Mairon admitted to taking things too far with him. Did he do all this just to defend me, Meletye wonders. Is he really so fond of me that he would do that?  The more she thinks, the more she considers the way Mairon has been with her lately, the more certain she becomes that there is something more than friendship behind his motives. That should alarm her, she thinks, but she realises it doesn’t. She realises that it sends a warm feeling coursing through her heart, and it terrifies her. I cannot have feelings for him, she tells herself firmly, I simply cannot. And he cannot have feelings for me, either. She tries to push these thoughts from her mind, but she cannot, no matter how hard she tries, and she cannot help but wonder what could happen if she ever decides to stop for a moment and acknowledge just how she really feels.

Chapter Text

In the wake of their encounter in the healing wing, the relationship between Mairon and Meletye continues to grow. Weeks slip into months, and their friendship grows, slowly but surely like a shadow-choked tree reaching to the light. It grows in small smiles and stolen glances, and in brief, pleasant conversations. Almost a year has passed by when Mairon runs into Meletye one day, seeing her walking ahead of him in a quiet corridor. He calls her name when he sees her, and he quietly delights in the smile she gives him when she turns around. She stops walking, waiting for him to catch up, and when he draws level with her, they begin walking again slowly.

“How are you, Meletye?” Mairon asks as they walk together.

“I’m alright.” Meletye replies, “Things seem to be going relatively well for me, right now.”

“How is your work? I presume that is where you are going now?” Mairon asks.

“Oh, it’s about the same as it always is.” Meletye replies, “The usual wounded and sick captives and soldiers. And yes, I am headed to work now. I’m sure today will be no different to any other day.”

Meletye glances at Mairon with a soft smile.

“How about you, Mairon? Are you well? Are you up to anything interesting today?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” He replies with a smile, “And today I’m- well, I’m actually doing something quite enjoyable. I’ll be spending the day in my workshop. I’m not sure if I’ll be making anything new, or just tinkering with things, or coming up with new designs, but whatever I do, I’m sure to enjoy myself.”

Meletye’s smile widens at that.

“Oh, that sounds like a lovely day!” she exclaims.

“Maybe one day I’ll get to show you my workshop.” Mairon says suddenly, “You’d love it in there.”

The words come out before he even realises what he is saying, and Meletye looks at him in surprise. She knows how special his workshop is to him. She sees him blush slightly, and she has to hold back a chuckle.

“Maybe. I think I’d quite enjoy seeing it.” she replies softly, “But only if you were comfortable with that. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

For a moment, Mairon wants to tell her that it would be no intrusion, that real privacy with her might be just what he desires. But he bites his tongue, scolding himself silently. Keep it professional, Mairon, he tells himself firmly. They keep walking, and though silence now rests between them, it does not feel uncomfortable at all. Mairon remembers something after a minute, and he breaks the silence.

“How did you like that book I gave you?” he asks Meletye.

Meletye’s eyes light up at the question.

“Oh, it was wonderful!” she says happily, “I cannot thank you enough for giving me that book, Mairon. All those poems and songs, it was simply perfect. It took me back to happier days, and I almost forgot where I was! I’ve already read it three times.”

Mairon chuckles softly, and a warm feeling settles in his heart as he sees the joy in Meletye’s face. He is delighted to know that his gift brought her such joy; the book had been given to him by one of his loyal spies, intended to be added to his personal collection, but Mairon had decided to gift it to Meletye instead. It was well worth parting with it, he thinks to himself. Meletye continues to talk of the book as they walk, radiating excitement and happiness, and she only falls silent when they hear the bang of a door and rough laughter approaching them. She and Mairon glance at each other, and immediately they begin an unassuming conversation about Meletye’s work. Soon enough, they come across a pair of orc guards, laughing and joking with one another. They stop in their tracks when they spot Mairon, both bowing their heads in respect. One of them glances at Meletye with a smirk.

“You might be needed in the healing wing, elf.” He says, amusement colouring his voice.

Meletye’s gaze flits across the orc, and she notices blood on his knuckles. She sighs softly.

“Let me guess- you’ve just brought in a new patient?” she asks.

The orc chuckles darkly.

“We brought your favourite prisoner to visit. Y’know, that mouthy one.” he drawls.

Meletye groans inwardly, but she keeps her face calm and impassive.

“He don’t know what’s good for ‘im, does he!” the other guard laughs, smile fading when he sees that Mairon doesn’t look amused. “Er, but he will do, m’lord. He’ll swear fealty soon enough, I’m sure.”

“Hm. I’m sure he will. Especially with Angband’s best guards on his case.” Mairon replies.

The orcs look rather pleased with themselves, apparently missing the slight sarcasm in Mairon’s voice. The orcs bow their heads again and then walk away, and Meletye sighs quietly.

“For pity’s sake, Vórimo.” She mutters to herself.

Mairon raises his eyebrows questioningly at her.

“The prisoner is a friend of yours, then?” he asks.

Meletye frowns slightly.

“Ah, it’s Vórimo. Again.” she sighs.

“Vórimo- he was one of your brother’s soldiers, wasn’t he?” Mairon asks.

“Mm, he was. And he apparently likes to keep pushing his luck with the guards. He’s been back to the healing wing a few times since he was captured, each time with various injuries from beatings and torture.” she replies, “I think a few other soldiers he knew were captured at the same time. They struck a deal with our lovely master and were put to work, I think in the smithy. But Vórimo… he refuses to give in. Even though life would be easier for him outside of the cells.”

Meletye sighs softly again and shakes her head slightly.

“I’d best get to the healing wing. He can be a little abrasive with the healers, but he always seems more settled when I’m there. They might need my help.” She murmurs, and she gives Mairon a small smile. “I’ll see you soon, I hope?”

Mairon nods, smiling back at her.

“Of course, Meletye. I hope it all goes well.” he replies.

Meletye nods briefly, and she hurriedly sets off for the healing wing, leaving Mairon behind. When she gets there, she immediately sees Idhron. He comes over to her, and she knows what he will ask before he says a word.

“I’ll deal with Vórimo, don’t worry.” She says to him.

Idhron looks puzzled.

“I saw a couple of orc guards on the way here. They told me.” Meletye explains.

“Ah. I thought you’d been gifted foresight, for a moment there.” Idhron says, and she chuckles. “Thank you, Meletye. I appreciate it.”

 Meletye gathers what she will need and then makes her way over to where Vórimo lays on a cot. He is tied to it as he usually is, and Meletye sees Alyaro standing guard nearby. Vórimo doesn’t look at her until she sits down beside him with a sigh.

“Well, here we are again, Vórimo. What was it this time, hm? Did you insult the guards’ intelligence again?” Meletye asks.

Vórimo gives a slight chuckle, immediately followed by a hiss of pain and a grimace.

“Nah, that doesn’t work with the orc guards.” He says with a groan, “They’re too stupid to know you’re insulting them.”

Meletye bites back a chuckle, and she hears Alyaro give a soft cough that might be hiding laughter. She gives Vórimo a pain draught to drink, and she begins examining him carefully. She frowns slightly as she comes across bruises, cuts, and broken ribs.

“Vórimo, you really need to start being a little more cautious.” She says softly, “They’re going to take it too far one day.”

“But it’s just so fun to piss them off!” Vórimo says with a chuckle, “And it gets me out of the cell for a few days.”

“Oh, so you just want our company, is that it?” Meletye quips, and she gives a soft sigh. “I’m serious, Vórimo. If you don’t let up a bit, they might kill you.”

“Give it a rest, would you, Meletye?” Vórimo grumbles, “They haven’t killed me yet, and I’ve been here nearly a year, now.”

“They nearly killed you last time.” Meletye says quietly.

Vórimo swallows hard, and they both go silent, both remembering the last time he had been brought into the healing wing. He had been brutally whipped by the guards, lashed more than forty times, and it took several healers tending him for days on end to keep him alive. Meletye feels a shudder run through Vórimo, and she pauses her work for a moment to rest her hand on his.

“And yet, I still survived.” He says softly. “I appreciate your concern, but this, fighting them, is the only way I can think of to cope with my situation. It’s in my very bones to resist them to my last breath. You know that.”

Meletye nods.

“I know.” She sighs, “I do. Just- try not to goad them into another whipping anytime soon.”

She continues her work, cleaning Vórimo’s cuts and burns, binding his wounds, applying salve to his many bruises. She pauses for a moment when she realises her pot of salve is almost empty.

“I just need to fetch something. I’ll be back.” She murmurs.

She heads to the storeroom, quickly finding what she needs, and when she comes out, she stops just by the doorway with a frown. Alyaro is much closer to Vórimo now. She can see their lips moving slightly, clearly talking quietly, and then she sees Alyaro quickly slip a scrap of parchment into Vórimo’s hand. He quickly hides it in his clothes, and Alyaro moves away from him. Meletye sighs quietly, shaking her head slightly. What the hell are they up to? Curiosity and frustration burn at her in equal measure. She wants to confront them both, but she knows now is not the time or place. If she questions them now, if someone notices, then the entire healing wing will be endangered. She huffs softly and steels herself, deciding to ignore it for now. When she sits back down beside Vórimo, she notices the strange, almost nervous atmosphere between them, and the surreptitious glances they keep giving each other. She continues to make light conversation as she finishes tending to Vórimo’s injuries, and when she has finished and goes about her other tasks, she keeps a subtle eye on him and Alyaro. She keeps noticing them looking at each other, muttering to each other, and the more she notices, the more it irritates her. They could put us all in danger, she thinks, if they’re up to something, we’ll all get the blame. After several hours, she sees another guard come into the healing wing. He speaks with Alyaro and relieves him, and Meletye spots her chance. She has no work right this moment, and so she quickly exits the healing wing after Alyaro. She follows him until they are in a quiet corridor, and she calls out to him. He turns back to her, looking surprised, and she hurries up to him.

“Meletye! Is everything alright?” he asks her as she approaches.

Meletye stops in front of him, positioning herself so that he is near the wall. She folds her arms, glaring at him, and Alyaro raises his eyebrows.

“Are you and Vórimo up to something?” she asks him.

Something like fear flickers in Alyaro’s eyes. He steadies himself and chuckles softly.

“I don’t know what you mean, Meletye. What could we possibly be up to?” he replies.

Meletye sighs irritably at him.

“Don’t pretend, Alyaro. I saw the two of you, muttering and whispering to each other when you thought I wasn’t watching.” She snaps.

“You’re being ridiculous, Meletye.” Alyaro scoffs, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to the cells.”

He turns to walk away, and Meletye feels anger surge. She lunges forward, grabbing him and shoving him hard against the wall. The look of shock on Alyaro’s face would be comical if she wasn’t so furious.

“Don’t lie to me, Alyaro.” Meletye snarls, “I saw you pass a note to him. I saw you talking. You’re planning something, I know it, and you have the nerve to do it in the healing wing. Do you have any idea how much danger our patients would be in if anyone found out?!”

Alyaro swallows hard, clearly very nervous. He tries to push Meletye back from him, but she is surprisingly strong and she keeps him pinned to the wall.

“It’s nothing, Meletye.” He says, voice shaking slightly, “And even if there was something going on, it’s none of your business.”

Meletye shakes her head.

“When you make your plans in my healing wing, then it is my business, Alyaro.” She snaps.

Alyaro gives a small chuckle, but it dies in his throat when he sees the fire in Meletye’s eyes.

“Oh, it’s your healing wing now, is it?” he replies irritably, “You’re not head healer. Idhron is.”

“And Idhron is my closest friend in this place.” Meletye points out. “I can get you banned from the healing wing in a heartbeat. Is that what you want?”

Alyaro shakes his head, suddenly looking very worried.

“No. No, I don’t want that.” he stammers.

“Then you’ll tell me what’s going on.” Meletye says coolly.

Alyaro groans.

“Alright, fine.” He grumbles, “We are making plans.”

He glances up and down the corridor, making sure nobody else is around before meeting Meletye’s eyes.

“I’m helping Vórimo and a couple of his friends plan an escape attempt.” He murmurs.

Meletye’s eyes widen in shock. Her grip loosens on Alyaro and she steps back from him. He gives a soft sigh of relief, taking in the shock in Meletye’s expression.

“They- they’re planning an escape?” she asks in disbelief, “But they’ll end up dead for sure.”

“It’s a risk they’re willing to take.” Alyaro replies, “Freedom or death. In their eyes, they win either way.”

Alyaro frowns slightly as he looks at Meletye.

“I trust you’ll keep quiet about this?” he asks.

Meletye nods numbly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of betraying any of you.” she says softly. She looks back at Alyaro, shock still written across her face. “Where on earth would they run to?”

Alyaro gives a small smile at that.

“Where else, but to where their information would be most needed?” he replies. “They’ll make straight for the stronghold of your brothers. And, if you play your cards right, they might be convinced to take them a message on your behalf. Centuries of wondering and searching, and your brothers could finally learn exactly where you are.”

Chapter Text

Hours later, Meletye lays down in her bed to rest, but sleep does not come to her. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, mind reeling. She keeps going over her conversation with Alyaro, and she keeps wondering if Vórimo’s escape plan could work. She feels hope sparking in her heart as she imagines Vórimo and his friends making it out of Angband. Then, she remembers what would come next- her brothers would find out, once and for all, where she is. She knows that information would be painful for them to hear, but they deserve to know. It would bring her peace, too, to know that her brothers have some closure. If they know where I am, if they know there is little hope of seeing me again, then maybe they can grieve me properly and start to move on with their lives, she thinks sadly. She tries to put it all from her mind and she rolls over to sleep, and she dreams of her brothers, of the sound of their voices and their laughter.

Vórimo remains in the healing wing for a few days. One day, when Alyaro is guarding him again, Meletye takes the opportunity to speak with them both as she changes Vórimo’s dressings. She can tell by the way the two of them look at each other as she sits down that they are just waiting for the right moment to discuss their plans with her. When they are certain nobody is listening or watching, Vórimo breaks the silence.

“So, I understand you have learned about our plans?” he asks Meletye quietly.

Meletye nods.

“I have.” She says softly, “I won’t tell another soul about any of it. I promise.”

Vórimo looks satisfied.

“Good.” He says shortly.

He exchanges a meaningful glance with Alyaro, silent agreement coming between them.

“You know, it might be good to have a little help with this, Meletye.” Vórimo murmurs, ignoring the surprised look on Meletye’s face at his words. “For our plan to work, I have to be here, in the healing wing. There is no chance of escape otherwise. Even planning it would have been impossible if not for my frequent visits.”

Meletye leans back for a moment, staring at Vórimo in amazement. Suddenly, it all makes perfect sense.

“So, you’ve been bringing punishments on yourself just so that you could plan an escape?” she asks, and she gives a soft chuckle. “My goodness, Vórimo. I can’t decide if you’re very brave, or very stupid, or a combination of them both.”

Vórimo chuckles at that. Meletye is quiet for a moment, thinking.

“What help would you need from me?” she asks him.

“Nothing too difficult.” Vórimo says lightly, “Only what you have done before. We would need you to keep me here in the healing wing for longer than necessary.”

“Ah, that’s not quite all we need though, is it, Vórimo?” Alyaro says sternly.

Vórimo sighs softly.

“No, it isn’t.” he mutters, “We might need you to help on the night of the escape, too. We’re planning to do it on a night a particular guard is on duty- the same guard who was beaten by Mairon some time ago. Aldan, I think his name is. He takes draughts to ease the pain he has suffered since his beating, and often they cause him to fall sleep. You would need to not notice him sleeping. Then, you would need to be busy in the storeroom with something for a little while, giving us time to enact our plan.”

Meletye stares at Vórimo, and she shakes her head slightly.

“Where on earth do you find the audacity to ask that of me?” she snaps, “You do realise you’re asking me to put my life at risk?”

“It’s dangerous, I acknowledge that.” Vórimo replies, “But without help, this will be much more difficult. We might even be forced to incapacitate whichever healer was present. I’m sure you don’t want that.”

Meletye glares at him.

“I don’t take kindly to threats, Vórimo.” She hisses.

“And I don’t take kindly to being imprisoned against my will.” He snaps back at her. “You owe me this, Meletye. You explained yourself to me, but part of me still sees you as nothing but a traitor. Perhaps you should see this as a chance to redeem yourself. Be a rebel fighting Morgoth from within, rather than another wretched thrall under his dominion.”

Meletye’s jaw clenches, but she doesn’t say anything. She is silent, thinking, and Vórimo and Alyaro wait with bated breath. After a few minutes, she sighs quietly.

“I have one condition.” She says quietly, “I’ll help you- but only if you swear to take a message to my brothers. You tell them where I am. You tell them I love them. That I’m sorry.”

Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks, and Vórimo gives her a surprisingly tender smile.

“Of course, Meletye. You have my word.” He says gently. “You know, you could even come with us. It’s dangerous, chances are high that we’ll all die in the attempt, but if there’s even a glimmer of hope, we have to take it.”

Meletye frowns for a moment, thinking. She imagines being free, being with her family again, and her heart soars. Then, she thinks of all she would leave behind. Idhron. Eryssel. Her work. As much as she hates to admit it, she’d probably even miss Mairon’s companionship. Not to mention what would happen if we were caught and not killed, she thinks grimly. She shakes her head slightly.

“No. I tried to escape once before, and it did not end well. I cannot face that kind of torment again. I don’t think I’d survive.” she says softly, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave my patients or any other healers alone, or leave my work here unfinished.”

Vórimo looks rather proud at her words, and he nods in agreement. From that moment on, Meletye is heavily involved in the planning. Vórimo is taken back to the cells, but Meletye now knows that he will provoke another punishment in a few weeks’ time. She knows that his friends will meet him outside of the healing wing in the dead of night, that the three of them will make their way to one of the mountain passages and make their escape attempt. They will steal weapons from their workplace in the smithy, but they will avoid any unnecessary bloodshed. As the weeks pass by, Meletye feels the nerves building. She knows this could all go very badly wrong.

One day, just as planned, Vórimo is brought back to the healing wing by the guards, badly beaten once more. Meletye examines his injuries as usual, under the watchful eye of one of the guards.

“Well, how bad is it? How long will he have to stay here?” the guard asks her gruffly.

Meletye frowns for a moment, looking thoughtful.

“Well, he’s injured worse than he was last time.” She says quietly. “He must have really annoyed you all. He’ll be in here a week at least.”

The guard pulls a face.

“A week? Really? He’s been out in days before.” He grumbles.

“Yes, a week.” Meletye replies firmly. “He has been out of here in days before, you’re right. But it’s not been very long since he was last here. Maybe if you want your prisoners to be here for shorter periods, you should let them recover properly before beating them again.”

The guard sighs and doesn’t question her any further. Over the next couple of days, Meletye finds any excuse she can to tend to Vórimo, and they soon have their plan fully formed. They know when the guard Aldan will be on night duty, and to their fortune Meletye is already on duty the same night. She, Vórimo and Alyaro discuss the plan one last time when Alyaro takes his shift guarding Vorimo, and they ensure they are all ready. Meletye leaves the healing wing for the last time before her night duty, and she hopes and prays that it will all go to plan.

The night of the planned escape finally comes. Meletye heads to the healing wing, finding it quiet and settled as the healers wind down for the night. She takes handover from her fellow healers, and she is relieved to see that the wing is quiet enough for her to be the only healer present. Nobody else will get in trouble if this goes wrong, she thinks. She glances around as her fellow healers bid her goodnight and leave. Vórimo is resting quietly, as are the handful of other patients in the wing, and Meletye watches as the guard Aldan arrives to take over. The other guard leaves, and as Meletye quietly observes Aldan, she notices everything Alyaro and Vórimo had told her. She sees the way he holds himself, the shake of his hands, and the pain in his expression when he moves a certain way. She gets on with her work, checking the patients one last time before she tucks herself in a quiet corner, updating their logbooks by candlelight. She keeps an eye on Aldan, but she doesn’t see him drink any draught. She does notice, however, that the shaking of his hands gets worse. He shifts around a lot, seemingly unable to get comfortable, and she wonders what is going on. Suddenly, he stares at Vórimo for a minute before standing up and coming over to Meletye, stumbling slightly and grimacing. She sets aside her work to face him, frowning. Behind him, she spots Vórimo move slightly, and she knows he is wide awake and biding his time.

“Are you alright?” she asks the guard.

He groans softly and shakes his head.

“I’m- I’m in pain.” he grunts, “Lots of pain. I usually have medicine, but I forgot it.”

Meletye sighs softly. The guard gives her a pleading look, and she glances around the healing wing before going into the storeroom. She comes back out with a bottle in hand.

“It’s Aldan, right?” she asks, and he nods. “I heard what Mairon did to you. I know pain still plagues you all this time later, and that some of our healers give you a draught for it. This should help.”

She hands him the bottle. He murmurs thanks and heads back to sit beside Vórimo, gulping down the draught and tucking the empty bottle in his pocket as he goes. Meletye watches with her hands shaking. Now all they can do is wait. She tries to carry on with her work, but she finds it difficult to focus. After a while, she notices Aldan’s head drooping, she sees him go still, and she waits. She hears the soft sound of Vórimo coughing, hidden by his blankets, and she gives a shaky breath. She stands up, picking up the inventory list, and she heads into the storeroom. She feels her heart pounding and hands shaking as she goes through the inventory. This usually takes at least half an hour, she thinks, plenty of time for Vórimo to make his escape whilst Aldan sleeps. Every muscle in her body is tense, she listens intently as she works, and she thinks she hears quiet footsteps and the soft click of the door to the healing wing closing. She stays in the storeroom for a little longer, she finishes up her inventory list, taking her time, and she eventually goes back into the healing wing. The moment she steps out of the door, she knows something is wrong. She still hears the soft sound of sleeping patients. The candle she used for her work is still burning, flickering out a low light. But something makes a shiver run down her spine. She looks around the healing wing, wondering what it is, and suddenly she realises something; she can smell blood. A sick feeling rises in her heart, and she slowly makes her way to Vórimo’s cot. The first thing she sees is the empty mattress and rumpled sheets and cut bindings. Then, she gasps in horror as she sees the guard Aldan, slumped over, in a pool of crimson blood. His eyes are open, an expression of shock written across his face, one hand resting at the gash on his throat. His knife is missing from its sheath.

“No.” Meletye breathes, “No, no, no!”

She hastens to him, feeling for a pulse she knows will not be there. Her own heart is racing, the beat of it roaring in her ears, and her hands turn slick with Aldan’s blood. They said no unnecessary bloodshed, she thinks. Vórimo was meant to take the knife, free himself and leave. Not use it to kill the guard. She stands, gripping the back of Aldan’s chair to keep herself steady. She is shaking violently now, and her mind goes blank. She has no idea what to do. If she does not call for help immediately, then she will be suspected. But she does not want to leave her patients alone with a dead guard. She breathes heavily, looking around the room, thinking. The draught, she suddenly thinks, they cannot know you gave it to him. She reaches into his pocket, taking the bottle, slipping it into her own pocket. She hurries to the door of the healing wing, opening it and peering up and down the corridor. She thinks she can hear shouting somewhere in the distance. Suddenly, a guard appears around the corridor, looking worried, and Meletye sees her chance.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” she cries, stumbling out into the corridor.

The guard sees the blood staining her hands and clothes and he breaks into a run.

“What happened?” he asks.

Meletye is still shaking badly, eyes wide with fear.

“The guard, he- he’s dead.” She gasps, “I don’t- he- the prisoner- oh, please help!”

The guard hurries into the healing wing, Meletye close behind, and he goes straight to Aldan. He waves her over after a moment, and Meletye approaches slowly.

“Here, help me get him on the cot. It isn’t right to leave him on the floor like this.” the guard says, voice shaking slightly.

Meletye helps him heave Aldan’s body onto the empty cot. She takes a moment to reach out and gently close his eyes before she takes a sheet and drapes it over him.

“You stay here. I’m going to fetch help. The head guard needs to know. And the head healer. Yes. I’ll be back. You make sure your patients are alright.” The guard says.

He quickly leaves the healing wing. Meletye checks her patients are still sleeping and then stumbles over to her desk and sits down, still shaking. She is still sat there when hurried footsteps ring out in the hall. Idhron comes rushing into the room, followed by a couple of other healers. He comes straight to Meletye’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Meletye, what on earth happened?” he asks urgently.

“I- I don’t know.” Meletye whimpers. “I was in the storeroom. Everything was fine, the patients were asleep, and the guard was keeping watch. Then, when I came out, he was- he was dead, and Vórimo was gone.”

She starts shaking again, and tears spill down her cheeks.

“It wasn’t my fault, Idhron, I swear.” She breathes. “He’s dead… I didn’t- he wasn’t-”

“I know, Meletye. I know.” Idhron says gently.

The other healers go about checking on their patients whilst Idhron sits with Meletye. It isn’t long before a tall, imposing orc comes in. Meletye recognises him as the head guard.

“Tell me what happened, elf.” He snarls, storming up to Meletye.

Meletye tells the tale again, voice trembling, staring down at the floor. The guard gives a soft growl as she finishes telling him what happened.

“Someone’s gonna take the fall for this.” he mutters.

Idhron looks furious.

“Don’t even think about blaming Meletye.” he snaps, “She had nothing to do with it. She was doing her job, caring for her patients. The guard was responsible for watching over Vórimo. Not Meletye.”

Meletye sobs softly, lifting her hand to run it through her hair. She freezes when she sees her hand, still covered in Aldan’s blood. Idhron reaches to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Go and get washed up, Meletye. I can handle things here.” he says kindly.

Meletye nods, and she goes to wash away the blood on her hands. She is still trembling, still terrified. A deep sense of dread is rising in her heart, and she cannot shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen. She has just finished drying her hands when the door opens again. Meletye turns to see who it is, and she feels her heart sink to her feet. It’s Mairon, and he looks very grim. He approaches her slowly, and Meletye shakes her head slightly.

“Lord Melkor wishes to speak with you.” he says quietly.

“But I- it wasn’t my fault!” Meletye says softly.

“Listen, she did nothing wrong.” Idhron protests angrily, hurrying over to Mairon. “She was just doing her job, and-”

“Enough!” Mairon snaps, “Come with me, Meletye. Believe me, you really don’t want to keep Lord Melkor waiting. Especially not right now.”

He comes to Meletye and takes hold of her upper arm. She looks up at him, meeting his gaze, and she sees in his eyes no hint of anger or disappointment. Just sadness. She knows he does not want to do this. She sighs softly and nods.

“Alright.” She whispers.

She allows Mairon to guide her as he starts walking.  

“Stay here. Investigate what happened.” Mairon says to the head guard as they pass him.

Without another word and ignoring Idhron’s protests, he walks Meletye out of the healing wing.

Chapter Text

Meletye is still shaking as she leaves the healing wing with Mairon. He still has hold of her arm, but his touch is gentle, his grip loose. He doesn’t look at her or speak to her until they are in an empty corridor, nobody to be seen or heard. He stops walking abruptly, turning to face Meletye.

“Before we go any further, I need you to be honest with me, Meletye.” He says in a low voice, “Did you have anything to do with tonight’s events? Did you hurt that guard, or know that he would be harmed?”

Meletye struggles for a moment to know what to say.

“I- I had no idea it would happen, Mairon.” She says, voice trembling, “All was well when I went to check inventory, and when I came back, he was dead and Vórimo was g-gone.”

Mairon frowns slightly.

“You’re sure there was nothing amiss?” he asks urgently, “Vórimo was sleeping? Did the guard seem fully alert?”

Meletye hesitates.

“I- I think so.” she replies, “Maybe the guard looked a little tired, but I- I don’t know.”

Mairon sighs softly. He looks very worried. He seems to think for a moment, and then gives the tiniest nod, so slight it is almost unnoticeable.

“I need to search you, Meletye.” He says quietly.

Meletye nods silently, and she lets him search her. She only remembers the draught bottle when he reaches into her pocket, and she feels as though her heart has stopped. He pulls it out slowly and holds it up with a heavy sigh.

“Meletye, what is this?” he groans.

Meletye gives a soft gasp. Mairon sniffs at the bottle opening.

“Smells like some sort of draught to me. Why do you have this?” he asks sharply.

“I- I-” Meletye stammers, “I just- I was trying to help him. He was in pain, the guard, and I just- I gave him the draught.”

Mairon groans and turns away.

“For goodness’ sake, Meletye! Do you have any idea how incriminating this is?!” he exclaims, “The draught probably made him fall asleep, which gave Vórimo chance to make his escape. But you know that already, don’t you? That’s why you have the bottle with you. That’s why it isn’t with the guard. You feared it would get you in trouble.”

Meletye doesn’t say anything, and Mairon sighs again. He slips the bottle into his own pocket.

“You smashed it whilst completing the inventory.” He says suddenly.

Meletye frowns.

“I- I what?” she asks, bewildered.

“You knocked the bottle off a shelf when you were completing inventory in the storeroom, and it smashed. You tidied it up, but forgot to note it down, especially in all the chaos that happened when you left the storeroom. That’s what you say if they ask why a bottle of draught is missing. If that guard did anything that hindered his attention or made him drowsy, then that’s his fault. Not yours.” Mairon says firmly. “And you only mention the draught if they bring it up first. They may not even notice it is missing if you do not bring attention to it.”

He sees the confusion in Meletye’s expression, and he comes close and rests his hands on her shoulders.

“Meletye, tell me you understand. I need to know you understand what I am saying.” He says quietly.

Meletye nods after a moment.

“I understand.” She says softly, “I broke a bottle of draught. I didn’t give a draught to anyone.”

“Very good.” Mairon says, looking relieved. “Now, I will do what I can to make this all easier for you, but there will certainly be some sort of punishment. Hopefully it will be less severe if they do not know you gave the guard a draught.”

He takes hold of Meletye’s arm again, but she doesn’t move.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks softly, “You’re covering up something I did. You’re putting yourself in danger for my sake. I want to know why, Mairon.”

Mairon shakes his head slightly.

“Lord Melkor is waiting. Come on.” He says, ignoring her question completely.

Meletye tries to protest, but he simply sets off walking with her again. She has no choice but to follow him, and before long they are arriving at a large set of ornate doors. Meletye shivers slightly, knowing that they are about to step into Morgoth’s presence. Mairon squeezes her arm gently.

“Be strong, Meletye.” He says quietly, “And remember what you need to say.”

He opens the door and leads her inside, and Meletye sees Morgoth waiting. He stands tall and imposing, hands folded behind his back, gazing down at Meletye. Meletye hears the doors bang shut behind them, she takes in the cold fury in Morgoth’s eyes, and she knows there is no escaping the horror that surely awaits her. Meletye stands before Morgoth, fear coursing through her veins. Mairon quietly walks away from her, and she wishes she could reach for him and keep him close to her. She glances around the room, seeing a few guards, including the one she had called to for help. Morgoth glares down at her, and she forces herself to look at him.

“Three prisoners attempted to escape tonight.” Morgoth says quietly, “As you will already know, one of them left the healing wing. Right under your nose.”

Meletye swallows hard, trying and failing to stop her hands trembling.

Morgoth gestures to the side of the room. Meletye looks where he is pointing, and she gasps in horror. Two dead bodies lay there, side by side. She cannot see their faces.

“Two of the prisoners were killed, but one made it out.” Morgoth says, fury evident in every word he speaks. “Have no doubt, he will be hunted down and destroyed like the vermin he is.”

“One- one escaped?” Meletye murmurs.

Morgoth nods slowly.

“Interestingly, the only surviving prisoner is the one who escaped from the healing wing. The one you are known to be associated with.” He says coldly.

For a moment, Meletye feels relief flood her, and a tiny sigh escapes her. Vórimo made it out. Soon, my brothers will know where I am. She keeps her face expressionless, but when she glances at Mairon, she sees him gazing intently at her. She quickly looks away from him, afraid he will see the truth in her eyes. She misses the exasperated look on his face.

“You will tell us everything that happened tonight.” Morgoth says coldly, “From the moment you started your night duty in the healing wing. Spare no detail.”

Meletye nods, and she starts speaking, voice shaking slightly in fear. She tries to make her story believable, and she doesn’t dare look at any of the people in front of her.

“And when I came out of the storeroom, I found- I found that the guard Aldan was dead. Vórimo was gone.” She finishes.

Morgoth is still staring at her, eyes narrowed. Mairon paces slowly, and he looks very thoughtful.

“You didn’t notice anything amiss?” Morgoth asks her.

“No, my lord.” Meletye replies.

“You didn’t hear anything happening outside of the storeroom? No struggle? No cry of pain, no running footsteps?” Mairon asks.

“Nothing.” Meletye replies, but then she frowns. “I- I might have heard footsteps. Not running. Walking. I thought it was the guard. They sometimes walk around the healing wing to wake themselves up when they’re on guard duty at night.”

She hears the guards in the room mutter in agreement, and it brings her a glimmer of hope. Morgoth glances at the guards and points at one of them. Meletye recognises him as the guard she had called to for help.

“You. You were the first guard there. What happened from your point of view?” Morgoth asks.

The guard stands up straighter and clears his throat softly.

“I was coming to check on the healing wing. I’d heard some prisoners were making an escape, and so I wanted to make sure all was well there. When I arrived, this healer was leaving the healing wing. She called out to me for help and alerted me to the situation.” He says calmly.

“And how did she seem to you?” Mairon asks.

“She seemed shocked.” The guard replies, “Terrified. Desperate for someone to help her. I believe she was trying to get help when I arrived.”

“You say she was leaving when you arrived. How do you know she wasn’t simply fleeing the scene?” Morgoth asks sharply.

The guard frowns slightly.

“She wasn’t trying to run. She was looking around when I saw her, it was clear she was looking for someone to help her. If she wanted to flee, she would have run with the prisoners.” He replies.

Morgoth looks a little frustrated, as though the guard is not answering the way he wants him to. He seems to think for a moment, and then he waves his hand.

“Very well. Guards, you may leave. Take the dead vermin with you.” he says coldly, “In fact, take the bodies to the wolves. They’re hungry tonight.”

Meletye shudders. The guards leave the room, carrying the two dead prisoners between them, and the door bangs shut again. Silence rests, and Meletye hears her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“So, you claim you had nothing to do with the events of tonight.” Morgoth says coldly, “But I am struggling to believe that.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Meletye says softly, “I didn’t do anything. You heard what that guard said. I called him for help as soon as I realised Aldan was dead, and-”

Morgoth silences her with a single, terrifying glance. Meletye feels the fear building once more. He doesn’t care what the guards say, she realises, he just wants a reason to hurt me. Mairon glances between Meletye and Morgoth, and he moves closer to his master.

“My lord, I do not believe she is at fault.” He says quietly, “It sounds to me as though the guard Aldan fell asleep on duty, and the prisoner took his chance and made his escape. She did nothing.”

Morgoth scoffs softly.

“You think too highly of her, Mairon.” He replies.

His gaze turns to Meletye once more, and she feels dread when she sees the look in his eyes.

“Let’s go over the facts, shall we?” he sneers. “The escaped prisoner was a friend of yours. He and his friends had weapons, stolen from the smithy, so clearly it was a planned escape. And it just so happens that this escape occurred on the night you were on duty in the healing wing.”

Morgoth gives a dark chuckle.

“I’m sure you can see why I do not believe you innocent. You have seen him often enough in the healing wing, lately. It would have been all too easy to plan an escape. All too easy to hide in the storeroom whilst he killed a guard in cold blood and ran.” He says coldly.

He slowly advances on Meletye, and she finds she has to fight the urge to run.

“In a moment, I will bring the guards in. They will take you to the cells, and there you shall be beaten and then whipped a minimum of twenty times.” Morgoth says, voice frighteningly calm.

Meletye gives a soft gasp, trembling where she stands.

“Wh- my lord!” Mairon protests, but Morgoth ignores him.

“Be glad you escape this with your life, elf.” Morgoth sneers.

He makes his way to the door, and Mairon suddenly rushes up to him.

“My lord, this wasn’t her fault!” he says angrily.

“Someone has to be punished, Mairon. Aldan is dead, so she shall have to do.” Morgoth says coolly.

Mairon shakes his head, positioning himself between Morgoth and the doors.

“It isn’t right, and you know it. My lord. My lord!”

“SILENCE!” Morgoth bellows.

Meletye jumps and gasps, instinctively curling in on herself out of fear.

“Question me any further, and you will watch her die.” Morgoth growls.

Mairon sighs and bows his head, reluctantly stepping aside to let his master pass. Morgoth strides forwards and flings the door open, calling for guards, and two come into the room.

“Take the elf to the cells.” He says dismissively, “She is to be whipped. Beat her first, but not so much that she is unaware of the lashes.”

He turns to face Mairon, and a terrible look of satisfaction comes across his face.

“Mairon will witness the whipping. He will ensure it is done well.” He says smugly.

Meletye feels the guards grab hold of her roughly. She meets Mairon’s eye as they begin to drag her away, she sees her own shock and fear mirrored in his gaze. She struggles against the guards, but they are far too strong, and they drag her away to the cells to face her punishment.

Chapter Text

In a cold, dark cell deep in Angband, the smell of blood fills the air. Meletye lays curled on the floor, weeping softly. She can hear the guards laughing and talking as they stand over her. Blood trickles from her nose, bruises cover her body, and each breath sends a wave of sharp pain across her broken ribs. Out in the corridor, she hears a distant bang and the commotion of angry voices. She manages to glance up when the cell door opens, and she sees Mairon stumble into the room as though someone had shoved him. Morgoth comes in after him, as well as another guard. Meletye feels sick when she sees the whip in the guard’s hand. Morgoth nods briefly at the two guards, and Meletye cries out when they grab hold of her. They drag her to her feet, facing her against the wall, lifting her arms up and shackling her from the ceiling. She can just about hold herself up on her tiptoes, and she shivers at the feel of cold, hard metal pinching her wrists.

“I think she needs to be a little more exposed for what comes next.” Morgoth says, sounding amused.

The guards chuckle darkly, and Meletye feels them grab the back of her tunic and tear it open. A whimper escapes her as cold air hits her back. Her flesh tingles, as though anticipating the pain that will soon follow. She glances over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Mairon. She sees a look of disgust on his face, and unmistakeable anger as he looks at his master.

“Very good. The two of you may leave.” Morgoth says calmly.

The two guards leave the cell, and Meletye hears them laughing as they walk down the corridor. She breathes heavily, reaching her hands up to grasp the chains above her tightly. Now it is just her, Morgoth, Mairon and one guard left in the room. She hears the throngs of the whip ripple as the guard moves it around, and she bites back a sob, closing her eyes.

“Hasn’t she suffered enough already?” Mairon mutters, “She doesn’t deserve-”

“Oh, she deserves all of this, Mairon.” Morgoth growls, “Though I wouldn’t worry about her. I’m sure she can handle it. After all, she is a mighty daughter, aren’t you, elf?”

Meletye’s eyes shoot open. Anger flickers in her heart, and she looks back at Morgoth with a fire in her eyes. For the first time in a very long time, she hears her father’s words echo in her mind. You are my mighty daughter. You can face anything this world throws at you.

“I am.” Meletye hisses, “And I- I have more strength than you know. My father named me ‘mighty’ for a reason, and he-he-”

Meletye cuts herself off with a gasp as Morgoth’s foul fingers twist into her hair, pulling until her neck strains under the pressure.

“He told you that, did he?” he sneers, and Meletye manages a defiant nod. “Hm. Was that before or after he turned his back on you?”

He lets go of her hair roughly, and Meletye cannot hold back the sob that slips past her lips at Morgoth’s words.

“Guard- you know what to do. Twenty lashes, at a minimum. But don’t go too easy on her; remember that a guard is dead because of her carelessness. Mairon, you will ensure the punishment is carried out properly.” Morgoth says coldly.

At that, he walks out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him. Meletye hears Mairon sigh heavily, and behind her, the guard looks to him, waiting for the order to begin.

“Just- get it over with.” Mairon grumbles.

Meletye braces herself. She senses movement behind her, she hears a whistling sound, and then pain explodes across her back. She rocks in the shackles, barely holding back a cry of pain. She heaves in a breath, trying to steady herself, and then another lash lands. This time she cannot prevent a pained wail from escaping her as she feels the whip’s throngs drag across her back, already starting to snag at her skin. At the opposite side of the cell, Mairon clenches his fists. He watches and counts as the guard gives another lash, and another, and another. He watches as the damage on Meletye’s back goes from deep, red welts and tiny cuts to open lacerations, he hears her screams and her pleading, and he keeps counting lashes. Every cry she makes tears at his heart like a knife, every drop of blood shed makes rage course through him. She doesn’t deserve this, he thinks. After ten lashes, she cannot hold herself up anymore, hanging limp in the shackles. At fifteen, she can barely even move, and only quiet whimpers escape her. Nineteen. Twenty.

“That’s enough.” Mairon says firmly.

The guard hesitates, clutching the whip tightly. Meletye is silent, hanging still in the shackles.

“But Lord Melkor said not to go easy on her.” the guard argues.

“And I say you should stop.” Mairon snaps.

“Twenty ain’t enough. Not for what she did.” the guard says angrily.

He strikes hard once more with the whip, and Meletye doesn’t even make a sound. Mairon sees red, and he lunges forward and grabs the guard’s wrist before he can strike her again.

“I told you to stop.” He snarls, leaning close to the guard, getting right in his face. “Unless you wish to feel the whip yourself?”

His grip tightens on the guard’s wrist, and the man cries out in pain and drops the whip.  

“Alright.” He gets out, and Mairon lets go of him, “She’s out cold, anyway. Wouldn’t feel it if I lashed her anymore.”

The guard hastily exits the cell, and Mairon goes straight to Meletye. He rests his hand on her head gently, the only part of her he can think to touch that will not hurt her.

“Meletye?” he whispers, “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t respond. Mairon reaches for her throat, feeling carefully, and he sighs in relief when he feels her pulse bounding beneath his fingers. He decides not to try waking her just yet. It’s probably better if she stays unconscious, he thinks. He glances at her back, seeing the mangled, bloody mess the whip has made, and he shudders. It’s definitely better for her to stay unconscious. He hears movement outside the cell, and he whips around to see Alyaro tentatively peering round the cell door.

“Is it over?” he asks, voice shaking.

Mairon nods.

“Yes. Come, help me. She needs a healer.” He replies.

Alyaro comes closer, carefully reaching up to unlock the shackles as Mairon supports Meletye. He keeps stealing glances at her injuries as he works, and he looks terrified.

“Careful.” Mairon mutters, “Don’t let her drop too fast.”

Alyaro lets Meletye out of the shackles gently, and Mairon carefully takes her weight. She suddenly gives a soft whine, and Mairon gasps.

“Quickly, get her other side.” He orders.

Alyaro does as he says, and they carefully carry Meletye, one arm draped over each of their shoulders, careful not to put pressure on her back. They move quickly but carefully, and the closer they get to the healing wing, the more aware Meletye becomes. She whimpers softly when she first wakes, and Mairon turns his head slightly to speak to her.

“It’s alright, Meletye. We’ve got you. We’re taking you to Idhron.” He says gently.

By the time they reach the corridor of the healing wing, Meletye is crying in pain. Alyaro opens the door of the healing wing and they carefully bring her inside. Idhron is sat at his desk when they arrive, and he leaps up, looking horrified, when he sees them come in. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Meletye being carried by Mairon and Alyaro, back bloodied, breathing heavily, tears streaking down her face.

“Oh, by the Valar!” he breathes, “Quickly, lay her on her front.”

They gently lay her down on an empty cot, and she tosses her head back and forth and wails in pain, now fully conscious once more. Mairon crouches beside her, feeling helpless as Idhron and Alyaro hurry to fetch supplies. Meletye wails and shudders and gasps and reaches out towards Mairon, and her hands finds his. She clings tightly to him with both hands, squeezing so hard it almost hurts.

“M-Mairon.” she whimpers. “I- it- h-hurts.”

“I know.” Mairon says softly, “I know, they’re bringing you something to ease the pain. It’s alright. Just- just try to breathe. You’re not alone, Meletye.”

Meletye nods, and she tries to take deep breaths, though with pain still wracking her body she can do little more than cry. Idhron and Alyaro return, and Idhron gives Mairon an odd look. Mairon realises Meletye is still holding his hands. He quickly tries to pull away, but Meletye only holds on tighter. She gives him a pleading look, and no words are needed. He knows she is asking him to stay. Idhron sees the way Meletye clings to Mairon, and he looks even more confused. He shakes his head slightly and focuses on the task at hand. Another healer comes to help them, offering Meletye spoonfuls of draught, which she gladly swallows. Idhron rolls his sleeves up, assessing the damage, and he watches as Meletye becomes drowsy with the draught. In spite of the strong medicine, a low, pained moan still escapes her when he starts cleaning her wounds. He touches as lightly as he can, grimacing at every wince and shiver she gives. He is meticulous and cautious as he cleans the wounds, salvaging what skin he can, and he applies a special salve, gently placing a bandage over the wounds. Meletye still shivers and sobs in pain, and Idhron orders the healer to give her more draught.

“Are you sure?” the healer asks worriedly, “That draught is strong stuff.”

Idhron glances at Meletye, seeing the pained expression on her face and tears still sliding down.

“I’m sure. Give her a little more.” He replies.

The healer obeys and gives Meletye some more draught. It doesn’t take long after that for the draught to take its full effect. Meletye’s eyes flutter closed, her breathing steadies, and her pain fades away. Mairon feels her grip on his hands loosen, and he slides his away with a sigh. Idhron is still tending to her injuries, now cleaning and bandaging her wrists, where the shackles had broken her skin. He glances sharply at Mairon.

“Will she be left to recover in peace? Or will she be dragged away for more lashes tomorrow?” he asks, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

Mairon stares at Meletye, sorrow in his eyes.

“Lord Melkor ordered a beating and a minimum of twenty lashes.” He says quietly. “She was beaten first. Then given twenty-one lashes. The punishment is done.”

He sighs quietly and stands up.

“I’ll check back on her later.” He murmurs.

Without another word, he turns and leaves the healing wing. Idhron watches him go, curiosity burning in his mind. Then, he sets his full attention on Meletye, barely even noticing when Alyaro comes to sit beside her. Alyaro stares at the bandages covering her back with an expression of shock. When Idhron finally notices him there, a look of frustration crosses his face.

“I hope it was worth it.” he mutters.

Alyaro seems to start slightly, frowning at Idhron.

“What?” he asks.

Idhron gives him a hard look.

“I hope it was worth it. Whatever you and Vórimo cooked up.” He snaps, “I saw you. Muttering, conspiring, passing notes. When I saw Meletye with the two of you, I thought she was putting a stop to whatever it was. Did she help you willingly, or did you have to threaten her?”

Alyaro swallows hard, feeling guilt wrack him. He doesn’t say anything in response, but Idhron sees what he needs to know in the younger elf’s expression. He scoffs angrily and shakes his head.

“I hope that one day, you can forgive yourself for bringing her into this mess.” He says angrily, “But if I were in your shoes, I never would. You owe her now, Alyaro. You owe her more than you can repay.”

Alyaro bows his head in shame. Idhron pays him little attention as he finishes his work, only turning to him when Alyaro finally speaks.

“Will she be alright?” Alyaro asks, voice trembling.

“I think she will.” Idhron replies with a sigh, “She’s strong, and healthy. She’ll carry scars for the rest of her days, but she’ll live.”

Alyaro nods silently. Idhron tidies up around him, glancing back at Meletye to check she is still sleeping.

“I’ll tell you something, though. I think we were right about old Mairon.” he says quietly.

Alyaro gives a soft chuckle.

“I think we were. Who’d have thought, eh? Maybe he has a heart after all.” He replies.

With that, Idhron leaves Alyaro to sit vigil at Meletye’s bedside, watching over her as she rests.

Meletye sleeps on and off for the rest of that day. Whenever she wakes, there is always someone close by to comfort her, whether that is Idhron, or Alyaro, or one of the healers. They regularly give her pain draught to keep her comfortable, they draw wooden screens around her bed to give her privacy, and they talk to her and soothe her when she is distressed. Night has fallen and the healing wing is quiet, almost empty, when Mairon comes back to check on her. Meletye is half asleep when he comes into the healing wing, moving so quietly that even Idhron almost doesn’t see him. There is no-one sat by Meletye’s bed when he checks on her. She looks to be sleeping, and he sighs softly in relief to see her settled and comfortable. He is about to turn and leave when he hears her make a soft sound. Her hand, resting above her head, moves slightly, and she gives a quiet whimper. Mairon sits down beside her, and he sees her eyes slowly open, gazing at him blearily.

“Mairon.” she whispers.

A small smile flits across her face, and then she grimaces as a wave of pain ripples through her. Mairon reaches out without thinking, resting a hand on her head, stroking her hair gently.

“Hey, it’s alright.” He whispers, “You’re going to be just fine, Meletye. I promise.”

He keeps one hand on her head, and with the other he takes hold of her hand, squeezing gently. Meletye looks up at him, taking in the sadness in his expression.

“You s-stopped him. The guard.” She croaks, “Won’t Morgoth be-be-”

Mairon hushes her gently.

“Don’t worry about any of that, Meletye.” He says softly, “The punishment he ordered was carried out. It’s over.”

Meletye frowns slightly.

“But you- you argued with him.” she whispers.

Mairon gives a rueful smile.

“I did.” he murmurs, “Well, if I have a limp next time you see me, you’ll know why.”

Meletye gives a soft, breathy chuckle.

“You keep getting yourself in trouble because of me.” she says.

Mairon smiles at her.

“I do.” He whispers.

Meletye feels sleep pulling her back again, even as she speaks, and her eyes close. She begins to slip into a world of dreams, and she loses grasp on what is real and what isn’t. She swears she feels the gentle press of warm lips on her fingers, and hears the softest whisper of Mairon’s voice right at the edge of consciousness.

“But by the stars above, you are worth it.”

Chapter Text

Many miles away, in the fortress of Amon Ereb, Maedhros wakes from sleep with a jolt. He sits bolt upright as he wakes up, heart pounding, sweat trickling down his face. He shudders slightly as images from his dream flash before his eyes, and he shakes his head to try and clear it. He tries to breathe deep, tries to calm himself, but it is no use. He soon gets out of bed, puts on a robe, and leaves his room. He goes outside for some fresh air, and he stands on the walls of the fortress looking over the lands surrounding them. The night is quiet and calm, stars shine high above him, and he feels his nerves settle a little. He can hear the wind rustling leaves, guards talking quietly, and he rests his hand on the cool stone wall. He has been there for a short while when he hears a noise behind him.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asks.

Maedhros turns to see Maglor behind him. He looks a little worried. Maedhros forces a small smile to his lips and nods briefly.

“I’m fine. Go back to bed.” He says simply.

Maglor comes closer, standing beside him.

“No, you’re not. What’s the matter? Was it another dream?” Maglor asks.

Maedhros sighs softly. He avoids looking at his brother, and he nods shortly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maglor asks gently.

Maedhros doesn’t reply for a minute, thinking. Maglor stays there by his side, simply standing with him.

“It was just the usual stuff, to begin with.” Maedhros says finally, “Being in Angband. Losing my hand. Fingon’s death. But then it- it changed. I saw- I saw…”

His breath shudders, and Maglor rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I saw Mel.” Maedhros murmurs.

He hears Maglor’s sharp intake of breath, he feels his hand on his shoulder shiver slightly, and he doesn’t dare look at him.

“It wasn’t good.” Maedhros says with a sigh, “She was- screaming. Someone was hurting her. I couldn’t see what they were doing, I could just see her face. But it was horrible.”

Maglor looks horrified. Both brothers are silent for a moment.

“It was just a dream.” Maglor says softly, trying to reassure both Maedhros and himself. “We have no way of knowing where she is, and-”

“I know that.” Maedhros says sharply, cutting him off.

He sighs and shakes his head.

“How have we still not found her?” he murmurs, “It’s as though she vanished into thin air, that night, leaving nothing but memories behind. But even now, contrary to all logic, my heart tells me she is alive. I think we would know if she had died.”

Maglor murmurs in agreement. For quite a while, he and Maedhros simply stand on the ramparts, gazing out across the lands in silence, both of them thinking of Meletye and wondering where in the world she could be.

Over the next couple of weeks, Maedhros keeps on having dreams about Meletye. Some of them are unsettling, but some make him feel almost hopeful. He sees her laying on a cot, face creased with pain, a faceless someone sat stroking her hair, holding her hand, comforting her. He sees her sat at a workbench, eyes reflecting flickering candlelight, crafting something in a pestle and mortar. He sees her deft, agile fingers plucking herb-leaves, folding bandages, grinding herbs, and holding someone else’s hand, tracing patterns on their skin. It comforts Maedhros to think that wherever Meletye is, she is not alone. Maedhros is walking around the fortress with Maglor one day when everything changes. It is an ordinary day, the sun shines in the sky, and as the brothers walk, they discuss the strange dreams Maedhros has been having.

“I’m not quite sure what to make of them, to be honest.” Maedhros sighs, “It’s strange, I don’t know why I’m suddenly dreaming of…”

He trails off into silence as they hear a commotion. They can hear someone crying out, they hear the guards at the gate shouting, and when they look they can see an elf stumbling towards the gates. Even from a distance, they can tell he is badly injured. They glance at each other, and without another word they both hurry down to the gates. By the time they reach the courtyard, the guards have opened the gates, and the elf is laying face-down on the ground. Maglor rushes to him, resting a hand on his shoulder and gently rolling him over. They all gasp in shock when they recognise the elf.

“Vórimo!” Maglor cries, “Vórimo, can you hear me?”

Vórimo breathes heavily, and he gives a soft groan.

“Mm… she…she’s…alive.” he breathes.

With a soft sigh, his head lolls and he loses consciousness. Maedhros gasps softly, feeling as though a great fist has clamped itself around his heart. Who is ‘she’? He cannot mean Mel, he thinks to himself.

“Maglor-” he begins.

“I’m on it.” Maglor replies.

He carefully gathers Vórimo into his arms and picks him up, carrying him straight to the healing room. Maedhros follows close behind, and his mind is racing. They reach the healing room and Maglor gently lays Vórimo down on a bed. Maedhros watches as Maglor gets to work, examining Vórimo and beginning to tend to his injuries. The healers assist him, and together they stitch wounds, set broken bones, and apply salve to the many bruises Vórimo has.

“Do you think he’ll survive?” Maedhros asks quietly.

Maglor frowns as he looks over Vórimo.

“Maybe. If he doesn’t get any infections; these wounds are dirty.” He says grimly, “If he’s strong enough, he’ll make it. But there’s only so much we can do right now.”

Maedhros nods in understanding. He feels a shudder run through him as he looks at Vórimo. Apart from the terrible wounds he bears, he also looks underfed and malnourished. Maedhros can see what look to be scars from shackles on his wrists, and he feels certain that if he turned Vórimo to look at the back of his neck, he would see a hauntingly familiar symbol branded into his flesh. He stands out of the way, watching and waiting, and after what feels like forever, Maglor checks over Vórimo’s injuries and nods, satisfied. He leaves his healers to watch over Vórimo, and he goes to wash the blood from his hands. Maedhros comes closer to him, and Maglor glances sideways at him.

“I think we both know where Vórimo came from, don’t we?” Maglor says grimly.

“Yes.” Maedhros sighs. “I think we do.”

The two of them make to leave the healing room, and Maglor glances back at his healers.

“Keep close watch over him. Monitor his breathing and his pulse, and watch for fever. Tell me if anything changes.” He tells them, and they nod.

Maedhros and Maglor walk quickly through the halls.

“I thought Vórimo was dead.” Maglor says quietly, “We lost so many in the Nirnaeth, and plenty of our dead were- well, you know.”

They both shudder as they think back to the way Morgoth’s creatures seemed to take delight in despoiling the dead. For a moment, they are both silent, both lost in memories of that awful day.

“Maglor, he said- he said that she’s alive.” Maedhros says in a low voice, “Do you think- could he have been speaking of-of…”

Maglor shakes his head.

“No.” he says firmly, “I don’t believe it. Nor do I want to believe it. Because, if he has come from Angband, and he has news of Mel, then that means our worst nightmares are true.”

Maglor sighs heavily, frowning.

“No.” he says again, sounding now as though he is speaking to himself. “He can’t have meant Mel. It’s just a coincidence. We thought he was speaking of her because she is on our minds.”

“But those dreams I’ve been having-” Maedhros begins.

“I do not wish to speak of it, brother.” Maglor says sharply, cutting him off.

The two stop walking, turning to face each other. Maedhros can see the anguish in his younger brother’s face.

“Maglor-” Maedhros begins, but Maglor just shakes his head.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” he says brusquely, and he turns on his heel and leaves.

Maedhros watches him go, and he sighs. Maybe Maglor is right, he thinks to himself, maybe Vórimo isn’t speaking of Mel. Maybe we just think he is because we are thinking of her. He tries to go about his business, but he finds himself very distracted. He keeps thinking of Vórimo, of Meletye, and before long his mind is a swirling storm of thoughts, pondering everything from the final conversation he had with Meletye to the uncertainty and fear he and his scattered brothers now face. He wonders if he will need to gather them all if Meletye really has been found. He sits in his office for a very long time, lost in his thoughts, and he starts slightly when he hears a knocking on his door.

“Come in.” he calls.

The door opens to reveal Maglor. There is a very strange look on his face, Maedhros thinks. He thinks he knows why Maglor has sought him out.

“Vórimo is awake.” Maglor says, voice trembling slightly. “He wants to speak with us both.”

Maedhros nods silently, and he stands and leaves the room with Maglor. Neither of them speak as they head to the healing room, and the silence between them feels anxious and heavy. Maedhros knows, in his heart, that Vórimo will not have pleasant tidings for them. When they reach the healing room, they find Vórimo sat propped up on pillows. They come to sit beside his bed, noticing the way he breathes heavily, the way a sheen of sweat clings to him and his fists grip the bedsheets tightly. He manages a grim smile when the brothers sit beside him.

“Well, look who it is.” he says, teeth gritted. “It’s good to see you both. I thought I’d never see those ugly mugs again.”

Maedhros laughs softly. Maglor gives a short chuckle, too, but he gazes intently at Vórimo, looking worried.

“Vórimo, you’re in pain.” he says quietly, “Let’s get you something to ease it before we do anything else.”

Vórimo shakes his head.

“No. Need a cl-clear mind for this.” he mutters.

Maglor sighs softly.

“Pain won’t sharpen your mind, my friend. I’ll fetch you something.” He replies.

He quickly goes to fetch a pain draught, coming back with a small bottle.

“Here.” he says, handing it to Vórimo, “It’ll take the edge off, at least, but it won’t cloud your senses.”

Vórimo takes the bottle and downs the draught quickly, leaning back and breathing deeply as he lets it take effect. Maglor and Maedhros glance at each other, worried, and they are both thinking the same thing. Whatever he has to say to them, it must be very important for him to suffer pain to try and keep his mind clear. After a few minutes, Vórimo gives a sigh, and he looks back at the brothers.

“You wanted to speak to us, Vórimo.” Maedhros says, trying to keep his voice calm. “We are listening.”

Vórimo nods. He suddenly looks upset. He looks around the healing room, and his gaze lands on the open window. The light of the early morning sun streams through it, and a gentle whisper of a breeze enters the room. He swallows hard and seems to steel himself.

“I- I was in Angband.” He murmurs, “Since that battle. Quite a few of us were captured, though I’m sure you already know that.”

Maglor and Maedhros nod. Vórimo is silent for a minute, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“How did you get out?” Maglor asks him gently. “We know very well how impenetrable that place is.”

“I- I got out with the help of some friends.” Vórimo replies, “A guard, one of our people, passed messages between me and- Merion and Rilyo.”

Maedhros and Maglor murmur in surprise.

“Merion and Rilyo were there, too?” Maglor exclaims.

“And there was a guard who was one of our people?” Maedhros asks.

Vórimo nods.

“Merion and Rilyo were captured, too.” he says, voice trembling. “And the guard, he- he’s the son of one of our people. Alyaro. He became a guard in exchange for saving his love’s life.”

Maedhros sighs softly, reaching to run his hand through his hair.

“Oh, that poor boy.” He groans, “I remember Alyaro. He was a cheeky little ellon when he was young. I remember when he and Venye started courting. If he’s in there because he sacrificed himself for her… goodness, it’s no wonder she could never bear to tell us what happened to him.”

He doesn’t dare ask what happened to Merion and Rilyo, Vórimo’s friends. They’re not here with him. That says all I need to know, he thinks sadly. Vórimo nods, sorrow filling his face.

“He’s fighting Morgoth from within. I never would’ve escaped if not for him.” Vórimo says quietly. “And Merion and Rilyo- well, we all knew the risks when we made our plans. We knew we’d find freedom or die trying- and either way, we’d be free from Morgoth’s grasp. We’d win. If only that knowledge made me miss them any less.”

Vórimo’s voice cracks, tears slide down his face, and Maedhros rests his hand on his shoulder, murmuring gentle words of comfort as Maglor reaches to take hold of Vórimo’s hand. After a few minutes, Vórimo regains himself and clears his throat.

“There’s something else I need to tell you. There’s a promise I need to keep. But it’s- oh, by the Valar, this is difficult.” He sighs.

Maedhros feels fear rising once more, but he forces it down.

“When you first got here, you said two words. She’s alive.” He says quietly, “Who were you speaking of?”

Vórimo sighs, casting his eyes downwards.

“I think you know who.” He whispers.

Maglor closes his eyes and bows his head. Beside him, he hears Maglor make a soft, choked sound.

“Meletye is alive. She’s in Angband.” Vórimo says quietly. “She asked me to tell you where she is. She asked me to tell you that she- she loves you, and that she’s sorry.”

Maedhros passes his hand over his face, feeling tears hot and wet trickling down his face. It takes a minute before he realises Maglor is clutching his right shoulder like a vice. It hurts him, spreading that familiar ache through his shoulder, but Maedhros welcomes it. It helps him keep grounded, helps him remind himself that this is real.

“Wh- why is she sorry?” Maglor asks, voice thick with tears. “If she was taken by Morgoth, then why is she sorry?”

Vórimo looks very uncomfortable, and both brothers see the answer in his expression.

“Oh, no.” Maglor groans, “Please, no. Please say she didn’t.”

“She swore fealty to him.” Vórimo says, staring down at his bedsheets. “Morgoth didn’t torture her or hurt her bodily to make her do it. He knew he’d need to try something different, knew it wouldn’t work. So, he- he left her alone, for years, for he sensed that was what she feared most in all the world. Loneliness. She still wouldn’t submit, and eventually, he changed tacks, and he starved her into submission. The pain and the loneliness nearly drove her out of her mind. She gave in because it was a choice of swear fealty, or go insane.”

A small smile suddenly comes across Vórimo’s face.

“She’s a healer now, you know.” He says softly. “A very good one, at that. One of the best in Angband. She works with an elf called Idhron, and together they have turned the healing wing into a sanctuary. Guards know not to cause trouble there. She and Idhron always keep prisoners there for longer than necessary, and they aren’t afraid to remind the guards who the healers are if they question them. She’s found purpose and meaning, she’s made friends, and she’s living her life. Even if she’s living it in the worst place in all Arda.”

Silence rests for a few minutes as Maglor and Maedhros try to digest this news. She’s a healer, Maedhros thinks to himself, she has made a life and found companionship in there. All of a sudden, his dreams make a lot more sense to him. He tries not to think of the dream he had where she was screaming in agony.

“How long has she been there?” Maedhros asks quietly.

“She- she’s been there…” Vórimo trails off, looking uncertain, and he gives Maedhros a worried look. “She didn’t seem fully certain on the exact number of years.”

Maedhros gives a humourless laugh.

“Come on, Vórimo. I’ve spent enough time around kings and leaders to know when someone is avoiding a question. Answer truthfully.” He says irritably.

Vórimo sighs heavily.

“I think- I think she ended up there at around the same time you escaped. Maybe shortly after.” He mutters.

“That long?!” Maglor cries, “But that’s- that’s centuries. How have we not known until now?”

Maedhros doesn’t say anything. He can sense exactly what Vórimo is trying not to say: that Meletye ended up in Angband just as he escaped for a very particular reason. The thought makes him feel physically sick, and he tries to force it aside.

“I must confess, I’ve often wondered myself why Morgoth never demanded a ransom for Meletye.” Vórimo says, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps he values her too much. Or perhaps he knows that he would not gain anything.”

“Nothing but the knowledge of our anguish.” Maedhros says bitterly, “He delights in such pain and sorrow. Maybe he thought that the wondering, the searching, the questioning, would hurt more than knowledge.”

Maedhros looks keenly at Vórimo, taking in the expression on his face, the way he seems reluctant to make eye contact with him or Maglor, and he sighs quietly.

“There’s something more, isn’t there?” Maedhros asks, “Something you haven’t told us.”

Vórimo nods silently.

“Alyaro wasn’t the only one who helped me escape.” He says quietly. “Meletye helped, too. In fact, she was instrumental in our plan.”

Maedhros feels a sense of foreboding creep over his heart at Vórimo’s words. Maglor, however, gives a soft chuckle.

“She helped you escape? Well, I can’t say that surprises me.” he says with a smile. “Why did she not escape with you?”

Vórimo frowns slightly.

“We needed someone on the inside for the plan to work, and in all honesty, I preferred not making her take the enormous risks that I and my friends did.” he replies, “And there’s the fact that she tried to escape before, when Luthien took the Silmaril. I think the punishment she received then rather put her off the idea of any more escape attempts- she knew that the cost of failure would be enormous”

Maedhros looks very grim. He frowns slightly, thinking.

“You didn’t want to endanger her. And yet, you still involved her in your plans.” He mutters. “Tell me what happened, tell me how the plan worked.”

Vórimo looks a little worried, now.

“Well, it was planned meticulously over weeks, even months.” He tells them, “First of all, I goaded the guards to punish me severely, and I was taken to the healing wing. Meletye told them that I would need to be there a week, at least. There was a particular guard we knew of who suffered constant pain following a punishment he received, who liked to drink strong pain draughts that very often made him sleep on duty. He was scheduled to watch over me one night, Alyaro told us when as he had access to their duty records. We were fortunate that Meletye was on duty that same night. The plan was for her to go into the storeroom to take inventory, just as she always does- except she would do it only when the guard inevitably fell asleep. Then, I would make my escape and meet my friends.”

Maedhros nods silently. So far, it sounds like a reasonable plan to him, but something still nags at him.

“Why exactly did she agree to help you?” Maedhros asks, “Surely, she would have known the danger she was placing herself in. Why did she take on that risk?”

There is no doubting it now; Vórimo looks very uncomfortable.

“Well, I suppose she knew it was the right thing to do. And I think she was hoping to protect the other healers, too. I told her that- that we might have to incapacitate the healer on duty in order to escape.” He says quietly.

Maedhros scoffs, anger rising in his heart.

“So, you threatened her.” he snaps.

“No, I-”

“You threatened her.” Maedhros says coldly, cutting Vórimo off. “That’s why she helped. Tell me, what happened the night of the escape? Did everything go according to plan?”

Maglor gives a soft sigh.

“Maedhros, do you really need to interrogate him so?” he asks quietly.

Maedhros just glares at him, and Maglor shakes his head and falls silent. Maedhros looks back at Vórimo, waiting for him to speak.

“It went well- apart from losing Merion and Rilyo.” He says quietly. “The healing wing was practically empty, that night. The guard asked Meletye for something to ease his pain, and she gave it. He fell asleep not long after. Meletye went into the storeroom to take inventory, and I managed to steal the guard’s knife and cut my bonds. Then, I slit the bastard’s throat, for good measure. Meletye was still in the storeroom when I left. I met my friends, we snuck out through the mountain passage, and that was when we were found. We had to fight ferociously. They almost killed me. But I somehow managed to get out of there, and I didn’t stop running until I was far from Angband and the sun was high in the sky.”

Maedhros stands and slowly paces the room. The look of concern on his face grows.

“You killed the guard?” he asks faintly. “Oh, Vórimo, you fool. You should have left him alive.”

Vórimo scoffs angrily.

“Leave him alive? A ridiculous notion, my friend. You have no idea how terrible that man was. He once threatened to punish Meletye by- by putting her mouth to better use. I’m sure I don’t need to go into details for you to know what he would’ve gladly done to her.”

Maedhros closes his eyes for a moment, sickened by the thought. Then, he shakes his head.

“You still should not have killed him.” he says, voice trembling. “With that guard dead, who exactly do you think blame would fall to, hm? I’ll tell you: the only healer present in the wing.”

Vórimo’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything. Maedhros feels his hand shaking slightly as he paces, his movements becoming more and more agitated.

“When exactly did this happen, Vórimo?” Maglor asks quietly.

“Couple weeks ago, I think.” Vórimo replies, “It’s been hard to keep track of time.”

Maedhros gives a soft, shuddering sigh. He clenches his fist tightly as he still paces, and Maglor stands slowly, sensing that his brother is now very distressed.

“Maedhros-” he says softly.

“The dream.” Maedhros mutters, “That first dream I had, that was around two weeks ago. She was screaming in pain. Someone was punishing her.”

Vórimo looks horrified. Maedhros finds he cannot bear to even look at him.

“You brought it on her.” he says, voice laced with anger. “You goaded them to hurt her. All because you couldn’t contain yourself. All because you just had to kill a sleeping guard. If he had lived, then he would’ve been punished. Not her.”

“But it- it wasn’t her fault.” Vórimo says faintly, “I was the one who killed him, not her. And he was the one who fell asleep.”

“You and I know very well how ruthless Morgoth is.” Maedhros snaps, “Do you really think that would matter to him? Who knows what he did to her. She could be dead by now, or worse. And it’s all your fault.”

 Maedhros takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and he moves away from Vórimo. Maglor comes to him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Maedhros shrugs him off.

“I need some air.” he says quietly. “Maglor, when Vórimo is healthy, I want him out of here. He can serve one of our brothers. But I don’t want him under my command anymore.”

Maglor looks very surprised. He glances at Vórimo, but he doesn’t seem to have heard.

“Maedhros, be reasonable. He only-”

“Only put our sister in mortal danger.” Maedhros snaps. “Just- let me be alone for a while. I need time to process this.”

Maglor sighs softly, but he nods.

“Of course, brother. Take all the time you need.” He says quietly.

Maedhros nods shortly, and he leaves the healing rooms without another word, not even glancing at Vórimo. He goes outside to stand on the ramparts alone, he feels wind in his hair and sun on his skin, and he sighs. It almost feels like a mockery, feeling such pleasant things when he now knows Meletye hasn’t seen even a glimpse of sunlight for centuries. He screws his face up and closes his eyes as tears begin to fall. Tears for the torment and fear his beloved sister is bound to be enduring. Tears for the grief he feels, and for the grief his brothers will feel when he tells them the news. How am I supposed to tell them, he thinks sadly, how are we supposed to move past this? He leans against the wall, shaking, and he feels it all begin to overwhelm him. He breathes heavily and grips the wall tightly, trying to ground himself, but it is no use. He feels Meletye’s hand holding his, he feels cold metal pinching his wrist, pain shooting through his arm. He feels the heat of dragon-fire on his face, hears the death-screams of his soldiers, and he feels Fingon’s blood, hot and slick beneath his fingers, sees his eyes staring without sight. Then, he sees the images from his dreams again, images of Meletye screaming in agony, of her grimacing in pain as she lays on a cot, and a strangled cry escapes him as he finally comes back to reality. He gasps and stumbles backwards, leaning against the wall of the fortress, and he slowly slides down it. He breathes heavily, grabbing his stump with his left hand, trying to ignore the sensation of pain in a hand that is no longer there. He leans his head back against the wall, breathing heavily, tears streaming down his face, and in his anguish, he longs to reach out across the many miles for his sister. He closes his eyes, he thinks of her, focuses on her with all his might. He imagines holding her in his arms, feeling her warmth and life, her steady breathing, and he feels his own breathing calm and the pain ease a little. I’m with you in spirit, Mel, he thinks, I haven’t forgotten you. You are not alone. You never will be.

Chapter Text

Back in Angband, Meletye begins to recover from her punishment. In the days following her punishment, she stays resting in bed, laying on her front. She shivers and cries when Idhron changes the bandages on her back, but he comforts her and reassures her that she is healing well. For the first week, she depends on pain draught to keep her comfortable, but soon things begin to improve, and she requires less of it. She begins to feel more alert and aware as the cloudy haze of medicine leaves her, and she begins to feel more able to have a proper conversation. Around a week after her punishment, Meletye talks to Idhron as he once more changes her bandages. 

“It hurts less, now.” Meletye says softly, laying with her chin resting on her hands. “I’ve noticed that it hurts less and less each time you change the bandages.”

Idhron nods, satisfied.

“That’s good.” He says as he cleans her wounds. “And it aligns with what I am seeing. Your wounds are healing well. There’s no sign of infection at all, which is very good- and a little surprising, if I’m honest. I doubt the guards keep their whips very clean. The salve I am applying is clearly doing its job.”

Meletye winces as Idhron touches an especially sore spot, and she breathes through the pain.

“I was wondering, Idhron. Do you- do you happen to know if Mairon is alright?” she asks quietly. “I haven’t seen him for several days. I’m a little worried, to be honest with you. He was clearly very angry with Morgoth, and he argued strongly against the- the whipping. I worry Morgoth might have hurt him.”

Idhron sighs softly.

“I think he’s alright.” He says softly, “I saw him the other day, he came by to check on you whilst you were sleeping. He seemed to be in pain, so I gave him some supplies and some salve. I offered to help him if needed, but he said he could manage it alone. I think he’s keeping his head down, to avoid any further punishment.”

Meletye frowns slightly. She wishes she could go to him and help him, but she knows she is in no condition for that right now.

“He came to see you the night after you were punished.” Idhron says suddenly. “Do you remember much of that?”

Meletye makes a soft, thoughtful noise as she tries to remember.

“I don’t think I can remember much of it.” she replies, “I know we didn’t talk much, as I was very sleepy with that draught. I think I might have said something to him about him being punished, about him getting into trouble because of me, and he told me not to worry. I’m sure there was something else he said, but it’s difficult to remember. It’s all very hazy.”

She frowns slightly, trying to bring to mind the words that were spoken, but she cannot. Idhron is applying fresh bandages to her back now. When he is done, he rests a gentle hand on her head.

“There. All done.” He says, smiling kindly at her. “Try not to worry too much about it all. Mairon is strong, he can look after himself. He’ll be fine, and so will you. Just get some rest. Set your mind at ease.”

Meletye nods, giving Idhron a small smile in response. He leaves her be, and Meletye is left alone with her thoughts once more.

It takes another week before Meletye is well enough to sit up and move around properly. Idhron allows her to sit up in bed rather than lying on her front all the time, with the agreement that she will change positions regularly to avoid too much pressure on her back. She quite enjoys being sat up once more, and she passes her time by watching the activity in the healing wing, or reading books brought to her by her friends. She is resting one day when something strange happens. As she is drifting in that strange state between waking and sleeping, she suddenly feels the presence of someone with her- someone very familiar. She swears she can feel his arms around her, and she hears Maedhros’ voice as clearly as if he was whispering in her ear. I’m with you in spirit, Mel. I haven’t forgotten you. You are not alone. You never will be. Meletye gasps sharply, sitting up in bed.

“Maedhros!” she says softly, looking around.

She frowns slightly and sighs as she remembers where she is, and she settles back down on her pillows. She still glances around the healing wing, feeling slightly confused. That felt so real, she thinks to herself. Idhron notices the expression on her face, and the way she still looks around the room, and he comes over to her.

“Is everything alright, Meletye?” he asks, worried.

Meletye nods slowly.

“I- I think so.” she replies quietly, “I just- I felt something strange, just now.”

Idhron sits down beside her.

“Strange how?” he asks, “Was it pain? A sensation in your wounds?”

Meletye shakes her head.

“No. No, it was more like- like a dream. But more real than a dream.” She murmurs, “I was resting, I was sort of half-awake, half-asleep. But I felt someone with me- I felt my brother Maedhros with me. I swear I felt his arms around me, heard his voice speaking to me. He told me that he is with me in spirit. He told me that I am not alone.”

Her voice trembles slightly on the last words, and Idhron reaches out to take her hand, squeezing gently.

“It was just a dream. It must have been.” Meletye says softly, more to herself than to Idhron. “It just… it felt very real. But it couldn’t have been.”

Idhron gives her a small smile.

“Stranger things have happened, Meletye.” He says kindly, “I believe that, in the right circumstances, especially when there is a bond between two souls, ósanwë can be very powerful indeed. Perhaps it can even travel miles and miles and breach rock and stone. And, the mind is more relaxed and open when resting. That would make ósanwë easier.”

Meletye frowns slightly. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Ósanwë.” She says softly. “Maybe. We did sometimes use it, before we were torn apart. But- but if he was using ósanwë then that means that…”

Meletye trails off, almost feeling afraid to voice her hope. Idhron chuckles softly.

“Indeed.” He says with a smile, “It means that Vórimo made it. It means that your brothers know, at last, that you are alive.”

Meletye seems lost for words. She feels a rush of emotions, all at once: sadness; relief; sorrow. She feels rather overwhelmed, and Idhron seems to notice this. He shifts closer, moving to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, it’s alright.” he says gently, “This is a good thing. Your brothers needed to know. They will most likely be devastated to know you are here, that is true. But they will be glad to know you are alive.”

Meletye sniffles softly and nods, brushing away the tears that escape her. She cannot quite put into words how much it means to know that Maedhros cares enough to reach out to her across the many miles of Beleriand, not even knowing whether she would feel him. She feels a horrible wrench of grief as she thinks of her brothers, and she sobs softly.

“I miss them.” she whispers, “I miss them all so much, Idhron. A whisper, a thought, simply isn’t enough. I need them. Not just the thought of them.”

Idhron gives a soft, sad sigh, and he leans in to rest his head against Meletye’s.

“I know.” He murmurs, “I know.”

For a little while, they simply sit together, and Meletye lets Idhron comfort her. When she pulls away, she lets him brush away her tears, lets him lean in to press a gentle kiss to her head.

“It will all be alright, Meletye. I promise.” He says softly.

Meletye nods, giving him a small smile. He squeezes her hand gently, and he leaves her alone with her thoughts once more. For the rest of that day, Meletye simply thinks of her brothers. She focuses all her mind on them, and she thinks of the things she wishes she could tell them.

A few more weeks pass by, and soon Meletye is well enough to leave the healing wing and go about her business once more. Idhron is very strict with her to begin with, restricting her to light duties. For the most part, she sits at her workbench crafting salves and draughts, sorting through herbs, updating the logbooks and writing notes. She is glad to be working again, though she misses caring for patients. Her wounds are mostly healed by this point, fading to bright pink scars across her back, though she still suffers twinges of pain every now and again. When she discusses this with Idhron, he wonders if there may be some deeper damage done by the whipping that they could not see.

“After all, whipping wounds can go rather deep. They can damage muscles, nerves, even bone. Please tell me if you need something for the pain, Meletye. I’m sure I can craft a salve that will help.” Idhron tells her.

Meletye smiles gratefully.

“Thank you, Idhron. That’s very kind. I’ll let you know if I need anything of the sort.” She replies.

Idhron nods briefly, and he goes back to his work. Meletye continues her own work, gently plucking leaves from a bunch of herbs, ready to grind them into a salve. She smiles to herself as she works, finding that it soothes her heart greatly. She is just adding the leaves to a mortar-bowl with other ingredients when she hears the door to the healing wing open. She turns and sees Mairon coming into the room, and her heart leaps. She cannot stop a smile coming to her face when she sees him, and he glances towards her. He gives a small smile, too. He approaches her slowly, only pausing to speak with Idhron briefly. Meletye doesn’t hear what he says, but before she has chance to wonder, Mairon is standing by her workbench.

“Meletye. I am glad to see you well and working again.” he says softly.

Meletye nods.

“I’m glad to be back working, my lord.” She replies.

For a moment, silence hangs between them. Then, Mairon clears his throat softly.

“Would you come with me for a moment? It isn’t anything bad, don’t worry. There’s just something I need to discuss with you.” he says.

Meletye nods. She sets aside her things and follows Mairon out of the healing wing. They stop a little way outside in the corridor, where there is no-one else around. Mairon glances around to ensure there is definitely nobody listening, and he turns back to Meletye.

“We had a letter arrive, this morning.” He says quietly, “A letter from your brothers.”

Meletye gasps softly.

“From my- my brothers!” she murmurs, “What did they say?”

“They informed us that they have been told of your whereabouts.” He replies, “They demanded to know why, in all these years, no ransom letter was sent. And they- well, quite simply, they laid out their refusal to back down. They said that they will not rest until you are free, that they will never give up on you in all the days they live. They seem to know that any ransom Lord Melkor demands would be, ah- unreasonable, to say the least. They know that from past experience. But, in spite of this, they will not give up on you. Not unless they, or you, perish.”

Meletye gives a soft, emotional chuckle. She finds tears welling in her eyes, and she tries to blink them away.

“Thank you for telling me, Mairon.” she says softly.

“That isn’t all, Meletye.” Mairon says, and he glances around again before leaning closer to her. “They also sent a letter intended for you. They probably never expected it to reach you, but I happened to receive this before Lord Melkor saw it. I was able to take their letter for you and hide it from him. No doubt, he would have destroyed it if he had seen it. But I felt it was important for you to have it.”

He reaches into his pocket as he speaks, withdrawing the letter and handing it to Meletye. It is neatly folded, and she recognises the wax seal keeping it closed. She stares at it, speechless, mouth slightly open. Mairon waits patiently for her to say something.

“Mairon, I- I- thank you.” she whispers, “This is- I- oh, I cannot express how much this means to me.” 

Her voice trembles, and she gives a soft, shuddering gasp as tears escape her. She tucks the letter into her pocket as she speaks, and she gazes up at Mairon, something deeply intense burning in her eyes. She reaches out to take his hand, just for a moment, and her fingers trace a pattern on his skin. Then, without warning, she suddenly throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly. For a split second, Mairon is overwhelmed by shock, and he doesn’t quite know how to respond. Then, his arms come to hold her, too, and his head dips down, face nestling amongst her beautiful hair. He feels her trembling slightly, and he rubs his hand across her back, soothing her. By the stars, I wish I could hold her forever, he thinks. Too soon, they are pulling apart. Mairon rests his hands on her shoulders, still meeting her intense gaze.

“After all you have suffered, Meletye, this is the least I could do for you.” He says softly.

He reaches up and gently brushes away her tears, and his hand lingers a little longer than needed, fingers curled against her cheek. She is still staring at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, eyes burning with life and light and something else unnameable. She looks so beautiful, Mairon thinks. His gaze rests briefly on her lips, and for a moment all he can think of is how they would feel pressed against his own. He swallows hard and shakes his head slightly, and he smiles kindly at Meletye.

“I need to go. I have a- a meeting to get to.” he says softly, “I just wanted to give you the letter first. I hope it brings you comfort.”

He turns and walks away, ignoring the part of him that screams at him to go back, to spend time with Meletye instead of going to some stuffy, boring meeting.

“Mairon!” Meletye calls.

Mairon stops and turns to look back at her. She gives a soft sigh.

“I just- I wanted to thank you again. Those words feel so insignificant, compared to what you have given me.” she says softly.

Mairon bows his head to her.

“Meletye, you are very welcome.” He says, “In fact, it was my honour. Now, I really must be going. Be well, my dear friend.”

Meletye gives him a soft smile, and she stands there and watches as he leaves. Her hand drifts to rest over her pocket, and she can feel the letter resting there. She cannot express how grateful she is for this. As she watches, Mairon disappears around the corner, and she sighs sadly. I wish he could stay, she thinks, I wish we could spend time together. I wish I could thank him properly. She thinks of how nice it felt to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, his breathing, his heartbeat. She thinks of the look in his eyes, the way they unmistakeably flickered to look at her lips, and she finds her breath catching in her throat. She wants nothing more than to go after him, to tell him every desire that swirls through her mind right now, but she knows she cannot. She takes deep breaths, trying to steady herself, trying to stop her heart from pounding and her hands from trembling. She does not go back into the healing wing until she feels ready to face other people. She keeps her face and her body language calm, she goes back to her workbench and sits down and carries on with her work as though nothing has happened. After a few minutes, Idhron comes over to her, and he taps the workbench gently to get her attention. Meletye looks up at him with a polite smile.

“Well, what did Mairon want?” he asks.

“Oh, he wanted to tell me that my brothers have been in touch.” She replies.

Idhron’s eyes light up.

“Really?!” he exclaims, looking delighted.

He hurriedly grabs a chair and sits beside Meletye.

“What did they say?” he asks.

Meletye’s smile widens.

“Well, let’s just say it doesn’t sound as though they’ll give up on me anytime soon.” She replies, and Idhron chuckles. “I very much doubt Morgoth will ask for a ransom- at least, not one my brothers would be willing, or able, to meet. They know his tricks well by now. But they will not stop fighting. They will not give up on me in all the days they live.”

Idhron beams at her, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder, and for a moment they simply share a rare happiness. The kind of happiness not even Morgoth can steal, Meletye thinks. For a moment, she wonders if she should tell Idhron about the letter Mairon gave her, but she decides against it. It would only raise too many questions. Soon, Idhron leaves her to her work, and Meletye whiles away the hours until she is able to go back to her lodgings. She is glad to find them empty when she gets there, and she takes the letter out of her pocket. Her hands are shaking slightly as she carefully opens the seal on the letter and unfolds it.

Our dearest Meletye, the letter reads. Maedhros’ neat handwriting spells out the words.

A few days ago, some shocking news came to us. Vórimo arrived at the gates of our fortress, alone, injured, almost dead. Maglor and his healers brought him back to health, and when Vórimo awoke, he told us that you are alive. That you are in Angband. To say that this breaks our hearts is an understatement- and yet, at the same time, our hearts are filled with joy, for you are alive. All these years, we wondered, we searched, we hoped and we prayed, and now we finally know. You are alive. And where there is life, there is hope, dear sister. Though we are scattered, though we are heartbroken and weary, we will still fight. We will fight with all we have, we will fight with love and fury and fire. We will never, ever give up. Not while our lungs draw breath. Not while you live. One day, we will overcome Morgoth. We will march right into Angband itself, and we will free you. We will be a family once more, just as we should be. That, our beloved sister, is a promise. And you know we do not make promises lightly.

We do not know if you will even read these words- most likely, Morgoth will stop this letter from reaching you, but we still needed to write this. If Morgoth is reading this, then we have a message for him: count your days, for they are finite. You will fall, and we will see it and rejoice. You think you are victorious, but you are not. There are some things in this world that you can never take away, some things that you will never understand. There is light and high beauty beyond your reach, we see it every day, and we know it will forever live in our sister.

Meletye- we love you more than words can say. Know that we are thinking of you, always, and do not be cruel to yourself. You are living your life and helping people in the worst place imaginable, and we could not be more proud of you.

All our love,

Maedhros, Maglor, Curufin, Celegorm, Caranthir, Amrod, Amras.

Meletye reads the letter, over and over again, until the words before her become blurred by her tears. She dries her eyes and reads it again, taking in every single detail. At the end of the letter, each of her brothers have signed their name, and she gently touches each signature, drinking in the sight of their handwriting. For a moment, she wonders how on earth they all managed to sign it, as she knows they are scattered across Beleriand. She smiles to herself as she imagines a messenger bird carrying the letter from one brother to the next for them to sign it. This letter means more to her than she can say. Mairon will never understand just how precious this is, she thinks, he will never understand just how grateful I am to him. She sighs softly, reading once more the final words her brothers wrote. We could not be more proud of you. But would they be proud, if they could see the thoughts she has about Mairon? She tries to push the thought from her mind, instead focusing on the hope and determination that seeps from every word of the letter. She tucks it away under her pillow when she hears movement in the corridor, making sure her fellow captives do not see it. But when she goes to sleep that night, when the room is dark and nobody can see her, she takes the letter out again, and she holds it tight, close to her heart, knowing that this is the closest she will get to her beloved brothers for a very long time.

Chapter Text

In the days and weeks that follow, Meletye reads her brothers’ letter every single day. It lifts her spirits and soothes her soul on the difficult days, and she wonders if she will ever be able to express how grateful she is to Mairon for this gift. She finds herself thinking of him very often, her thoughts lingering on how wonderful it felt to be held by him, his gentle touch when he dried her tears, and the intense look in his eyes when she met his gaze. He called me his ‘dear friend’, she thinks, but the look in his eyes felt like something more than friendship. He is on her mind every day, and she finds herself wishing and hoping for a chance to see him, for some reason to talk to him and spend time with him, but she sees him little in the two weeks after his little gift. As she goes to work each day and gradually slips back from patient to healer, she listens to any rumours she hears. From the whispers and muttered conversations of guards, she gleans that the commanders of Angband are being kept rather busy. Probably planning out Morgoth’s wretched war, she thinks bitterly, that must be why I haven’t seen Mairon. She sees him briefly, every now and then, but these encounters are far too short, leaving time only for a smile or a brief greeting. Meletye begins to notice that Mairon does not seem to want to stop and talk to her when she sees him, that he sticks to polite small talk and sometimes even avoids her gaze. She cannot help but worry when she realises this, wondering if maybe she has offended him somehow, or perhaps misread him in some way. She is pondering this one day as she sits crafting salves once more, so lost in her thoughts that she almost doesn’t notice the door to the healing wing open. She shakes herself out of her thoughts when she realises that Mairon is in the room, and she cannot stop the smile that comes to her lips. Idhron approaches her, tapping the table gently to get her attention.

“Meletye, would you mind showing Lord Mairon our latest logs?” he asks quietly, “I would, but I have a patient to attend to.”

Meletye smiles politely.

“Of course, Idhron.” She replies.

She feels strangely nervous when she stands and approaches Mairon, who waits for her patiently.

“Good day, Meletye. I hope you are well?” Mairon asks politely when she approaches him.

“I’m well, thank you.” Meletye nods, “And you?”

A slight frown crosses Mairon’s face for a moment before he smooths it into an unreadable expression.

“A little busy, but alright.” He replies.

He pauses for a moment, glancing briefly at Meletye before looking towards the logbook on Idhron’s desk.

“So, how have things been here lately?” he asks.

“Things have been going well.” Meletye says, “We’ve had a few sick and injured captives and soldiers, but no deaths for a couple of weeks.”

She shows Mairon the logbook as she speaks, turning the pages, and he reaches out absent-mindedly to trail his fingers along the pages. For a moment, his hand brushes gently against Meletye’s as she points out something. They both freeze, and Meletye feels her heart racing and colour rising in her cheeks. Mairon moves his hand away quickly, as though her touch had burned him, and he clears his throat softly.

“Good. Things seem to be in order here.” he says softly, “Clearly, you are all working very hard. Keep up your good work.”

He doesn’t look at Meletye as he speaks, and she frowns as he starts to turn away from her.

“Mairon, wait a moment.” She says quietly.

He stops and turns back to her. He almost looks weary, she thinks. He waits silently for her to speak, and she sighs softly.

“Mairon, is everything alright?” she asks quietly, stepping closer to him so no-one hears. “You don’t seem quite yourself. I’ve barely seen you since- since the letters came. Did something happen, did Morgoth-”

“Everything is fine, Meletye.” Mairon says calmly, “Nothing bad has happened. There’s just a lot going on at the moment, that’s all.”

Meletye nods.

“Well- good.” She replies, “I’m glad nothing is wrong.”

She’s silent for a moment, and she glances around before speaking again, lowering her voice even more.

“It might be good if we can talk, properly, somewhere we won’t be disturbed. There’s been so much on my mind lately, and so few people I can talk to about it.” She says softly.

Mairon gives a quiet sigh.

“I’m very busy right now, Meletye.” He murmurs, “I wish we could, but I don’t wish to anger my master, or cause anyone to ask untoward questions.”

“But-”

“I can’t, Meletye.” Mairon sighs, “I’m sorry.”

He gives her a small smile.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well. I’ll see you again soon, I am sure.” He says quietly.

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving Meletye feeling worried and a little deflated. She sighs softly and goes back to her work, but she cannot stop thinking of Mairon’s words. He mentioned not wanting to anger Morgoth or cause questions to be asked. Maybe he’s just worried for my safety, Meletye thinks, but whatever the cause for this sudden distance, it still stings a little.

When Mairon walks away from Meletye, he doesn’t dare look back. He knows that he will see disappointment, confusion, maybe even hurt in her expression, and knows he wouldn’t have the courage to keep walking if he saw it. He doesn’t stop until he is a little way from the healing wing, and he gives himself a moment to pause. He leans against the cold stone wall, and he sighs heavily. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the thoughts flickering through his mind, trying not to think about Meletye’s beauty, her smile, her warmth and kindness, the softness of her skin when she held his hand. Stop it, Mairon, he scolds himself, stop thinking of her like that. It does you both no good. He shakes his head slightly, trying to force the thoughts from his mind, but he cannot. I have thought of little else since that day, he thinks to himself, I haven’t felt like this since those first days with Melkor, and yet this is different even to then. It’s better. Warmer. Kinder. He shivers slightly as he thinks of this. It pains him to admit it, but these feelings scare him a little, and the thought of confessing his feelings is nothing short of terrifying. And then there’s Melkor… who knows how he might react to all of this. I cannot risk Meletye being harmed because of my feelings for her. He knows Morgoth has been watching him closely ever since Meletye was whipped, waiting to see how things play out between him and Meletye. He sighs softly to himself, deciding that keeping his distance, at least for the time being, is the best way to keep her safe. But as he keeps going about his day, he still cannot stop wondering if he is making the right decision. Am I really acting in her best interests, he thinks, or am I just being a coward?

In the days that follow, Mairon and Meletye go about their business, but each of them has the other on their mind. They both find themselves distracted quite often, quietly hoping for and yet worrying about the moment they see each other again. Meletye glances at the door of the healing wing every time it opens, wondering if it might be Mairon. She wishes she could have just a few minutes to talk to him. Mairon finds himself thinking of excuses to go to the healing wing to see Meletye, but every time he thinks of one, he reminds himself that he just wants her to be safe. Nevertheless, he finds it harder and harder to stay away, he catches himself thinking of her, longing for a chance to talk to her, and he soon realises that he misses the little moments they shared. He throws himself into his work, both to distract himself and to try and dispel the suspicions he is sure his master has. A little over a week has passed by when they finally see one another again. Meletye rises on her day off, wondering what she should do with her free time. She decides to take the book of poetry Mairon had gifted her and find a quiet spot to read it. If I can focus long enough to read, she thinks irritably, I’ve been thinking of him far too often this past week. She tries not to think about Mairon’s apparent avoidance of her as she gets ready and sets out into the halls of Angband to find somewhere quiet. In the end, she settles in her favourite quiet corridor, where she used to spend time with Eryssel long ago. She makes herself comfortable on a bench set into an alcove, she opens her book, and to her surprise it distracts her quite well. She soon becomes absorbed in the words she reads, so much so that she almost doesn’t notice the sound of one of the corridor doors opening. She looks up when she hears footsteps, and she gasps softly when she sees Mairon. He doesn’t notice her, at first. He walks down the corridor, eyes cast downwards, and he looks rather sad, Meletye thinks. She clears her throat softly as he comes close, not wishing to startle him, and he looks up in surprise. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees her, and a slight smile flickers across his face.

“Meletye!” he says, sounding surprised, “I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you were working.”

Meletye shakes her head slightly, smiling gently up at Mairon.

“Not today. Idhron told me to take the day off.” she replies.

Mairon nods briefly. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, and Meletye realises he still looks a little sad. As he looks upon Meletye, he feels his heart breaking a little. He wants nothing more than to stop and sit with her and be with her, but he knows he shouldn’t. Seeing her gentle smile, her kind eyes, makes it all so much more difficult for him. He gives a soft sigh and bows his head to Meletye, turning to leave. She quickly closes her book and stands.

“Mairon, wait!” she says quickly, “Please don’t go.”

 He stops and turns to her. The slight sadness in her voice, and the worry in her eyes, sends guilt surging through his heart. How can I possibly walk away from her, he thinks. She still holds her book in her hands, soft fingers splayed across the cover, and Mairon suddenly recognises it as the book of poems he gifted her long ago. Seeing it lifts his spirits for a moment.

“Mairon, what is going on?” Meletye asks softly.

Mairon smiles sadly.

“Nothing, Meletye. All is well.” he replies.

Meletye just sighs at him.

“Stop it. Stop lying to me.” she snaps, “Something is wrong, I know it. You’re avoiding me. You barely even look at me.”

Mairon shakes his head slightly.

“I’m not avoiding you, Meletye. I’ve just been busy.” He says quietly.

Meletye scoffs irritably.

“Please, just be honest for once, Mairon!” she exclaims. She meets his eyes for a moment, and her gaze softens. “I know there’s something on your mind, it’s as clear as day. You don’t have to suffer in silence. You can tell me.”

Mairon frowns slightly. All he wants is to tell her exactly what- or rather who- is on his mind. Instead, all he can do is stand there, silent. Meletye stares hard at him, and the fire in her eyes is so intense it’s almost hard for him to look at.

“I don’t- it’s…” Mairon sighs, “It’s- difficult to explain. But it- well- it doesn’t matter.”

Meletye looks even more frustrated. Mairon turns away from her briefly, and she quickly sets down her book and hurries to him. She grabs hold of his hand, clinging tightly, and Mairon cannot stop the soft gasp he gives.

“Don’t even think about turning away from me, Mairon!” Meletye cries, “You’re going to be honest with me. You’re going to tell me exactly what is going on, why you’ve been avoiding me, why you sound so damn refined and formal every time you talk to me.”

Mairon turns to face her properly, and for a moment, she takes his breath away. There is frustration in her eyes, and yet the softness of worry, too, along with something deep and intense, burning like fire. He stares into her face for a moment, drinking in every detail, from the tiny freckles marking her skin to the shine of her eyes. It takes every bit of self-control he has to not simply kiss her without a moment’s warning. He swallows hard, steeling himself. Meletye gives a soft sigh, and she gently rubs her fingers across Mairon’s hand. The gentle motion soothes Mairon’s heart and gives him courage.

“You want to know why I’ve been so refined when I speak with you, hm?” he asks, voice deepening slightly. “Why I avoid your gaze, even avoid speaking with you?”

Meletye could swear he grows taller as he speaks, and without even realising it, their positions shift until Meletye is against the wall, Mairon towering over her. She shivers slightly as she sees something deep and intense flicker in Mairon’s eyes.

“I want to know.” She whispers.

A slight smirk crosses his lips, and he reaches to tuck stray hair behind her ear. It’s impossible for him to miss the hitch in Meletye’s breath when he touches her. Part of him wrestles with fear still, but he decides he cannot let that fear win. Time to take the risk, he thinks, time to lay it all before her.

“I make small talk, I act refined and professional, I avoid you, for fear that you will find out just how I really feel.” He murmurs, “For fear that you will find out that in every waking moment, every dream, every second I exist, I am imagining you. But I cannot deny it any longer; you consume me, Meletye.”

Meletye gasps softly. She feels her heart racing, she stares at Mairon with eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She has her back to the wall now, she knows Mairon could pin her so very easily, he could do anything, and yet she has never felt so safe. Shock and ecstatic joy course through her, but somewhere beneath that, a hint of fear still flickers, too. Fear of what might happen if she decides to take the leap and confess how she feels.

“Th- that’s why you’ve been so distant?” she whispers, “And that’s why you’ve been- been putting yourself in danger for my sake?”

Mairon chuckles softly.

“Yes, Meletye.” He replies, “Love can make one do foolish things.”

Meletye gives a soft laugh, too. She feels Mairon squeeze her hand gently, she glances at his other hand resting on the wall beside her, then looks back to meet his eyes. There is such tenderness in his gaze that it makes her want to weep.

“I think you know what I want to ask you now, Meletye.” Mairon says softly, “Why have you been looking at me with such fire in your eyes lately? Why look to me for comfort when you were hurting? Why not run from this wretched place when you had the chance?”

Meletye swallows hard. He noticed more than I thought, she thinks. The hint of fear she felt before rises to the surface, and for a moment all she can think of is how much her family would hate this, and how angry Morgoth would be if he found out about it. She gathers her courage and she pushes down her fear. If Mairon can take the leap, then so can I, she thinks.  

“Because I…” she begins, and she sighs. “I can’t stop thinking of you, either. How this happened, I do not know. I never expected it. I expected to hate you, wholly and unequivocally, for you were my enemy. I didn’t expect to see kindness in your heart; I didn’t expect to build friendship and respect with you. And I certainly didn’t expect to fall for you.”

Mairon comes even closer to Meletye, she gives a soft gasp as she feels the warmth of his body, and he rests his head gently against hers. Their fingers intertwine, and he moves his other hand to rest on her shoulder.

“Oh, Meletye.” He breathes. “I had no idea what was coming that first day I met you. The day our paths crossed for the first time. All these years, I have sought perfection, and here she stands before me.”

Meletye cannot prevent the tiniest whimper escaping her at his words. Mairon moves back slightly, he smiles at her, and he brings his hand to caress her cheek.

“I want to kiss you now, Meletye.” He whispers, “Can I?”

She smiles back at him, and she nods wordlessly. That’s all it takes before Mairon dips his head and his lips meet hers in a dizzying, heart-stopping kiss. Meletye feels energy crackling through them, she lifts her hands to rest on his back, she feels his fingers entwining themselves in her hair. His lips are warm and soft, full of life, and she delights in the way they move against her own. They break apart for a brief moment, gazing at one another, and they each give a soft, delighted laugh before moving in for another kiss. Mairon wishes he could stay like this forever, Meletye’s arms around him, her lips against his, with nothing but love and joy between them. He feels as though his heart is soaring. How is it possible to feel this happy, he wonders. When they finally break apart, he gives a soft sigh. He holds her in his arms, they stay in a gentle embrace, simply gazing at each other. Then, the distant door at the end of the corridor bangs. They gasp and move apart.

“I have to go.” Mairon says softly, “I will see you soon, I promise.”

Meletye nods, and she feels fear suddenly grip her heart.

“Mairon, what if he-he-”

Mairon smiles softly at her.

“Don’t worry, Meletye. Any disapproval, any punishment, will not matter. You are well worth the trouble.” He murmurs.

He takes her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her fingers. Then, he lets go and he walks away quickly. Meletye stays where she is for a moment, still in shock, and then she forces herself to sit down in the alcove again, quickly opening her book, trying to look as though her whole life hasn’t just changed. She avoids looking at the guards who walk past her. They barely even cast her a glance, and she silently curses them for arriving when they did. They have no idea of the moment they just ruined, she thinks. When they are gone, she closes her book with a snap. She leans her head back against the wall behind her, and she takes deep breaths to steady herself. She can still feel the warmth of Mairon’s lips against hers. She can still feel his hands in her hair. Her mind is reeling as she thinks about what just happened, and it takes all her self-control to not get up and run after Mairon. She realises that the moment he kissed her was the most alive she has felt for years. She thinks of the words he spoke to her, and she chuckles softly. He called me perfect, she thinks, he told me that I am worth the trouble. Memory swirls through her mind as she thinks of this, she frowns, focusing, trying to figure out why those particular words feel so familiar. All at once, it comes to her: words drifting through a haze of pain and medicine, lips pressed against her fingers. By the stars above, you are worth it. She gasps softly as the memory breaks through, and she wonders how on earth she ever forgot such a moment. Well, I certainly won’t forget our kiss anytime soon, she thinks. She stays sat in the alcove for quite some time, thinking of Mairon, of their kiss and their confessions, and she wonders what comes next for them. When she finally goes about her business once more, she smiles to herself, letting the warmth of her and Mairon’s secret fill her heart. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that wherever Mairon is, whatever he is doing, he is thinking of her, too.