Posted: June 2004
Author: Larien Elengasse

*****

Part 2

Winter, 505, First Age, Menegroth, Doriath

Oropher awoke in his fallen king's bed. He was firmly tucked under the soft, heavy blankets and a fire blazed in the hearth, warming the room and casting a pale red glow. He slowly sat up and found he was feeling stronger; his side still ached as did his back, but both pains were beginning to subside. He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table and drank it down. He then noticed that there was a figure sitting in a high-backed chair in front of the fire. Booted feet were propped upon a low stool, ankles crossed.

Oropher slowly rose from the bed and walked toward the chair, not making a sound in his bare feet, the long sleeping robe he wore brushed against the floor as he walked. He looked at the sleeping figure of Maedhros. The Noldo's head was tilted sideways, resting against the side of the deep chair, his gray eyes were clouded with reverie, his hair appeared even more red in the firelight, and his lips were parted as he breathed softly through his mouth. A quiet mumble escaped him and his head twitched slightly.

**Nightmares** Oropher thought. **I know the feeling well, Noldo.**

He watched Maedhros in his fitful sleep, and it occurred to him that he had never seen so tortured an elf. Maedhros had long been counted as the wisest, most fair-minded and compassionate of Fëanor's sons, and Oropher imagined that his dreams were haunted by deeds he already regretted.

"War breaks us all," he whispered quietly to the sleeping Noldo. "None of us escape unscathed."

His eyes drifted down to the Noldo's arms. Maedhros' right arm was tucked in by his side, his left hand rested on the arm of the chair.

"What torment you must have suffered hanging from the cliffs of Thangorodrim. It is astounding that you survived at all," he whispered. He knelt beside the chair and slowly, gently lifted Maedhros' cloak, exposing the stump where his right hand had once been attached. It was swathed in velvet and leather, hidden from unkind eyes, a constant reminder of the payment he would always make in exchange for his swearing of the Oath.

Oropher's anger had subsided, though his grief for his wife had not. He knew she was an unfortunate casualty of war, one in a long list of such sad accidents, and he knew he was not the only one grieving the loss of a loved one. An Oath, a short sighted and ill advised one at that, had brought all this to pass, and Oropher had a sinking feeling that the tragedy of that Oath had not yet been fully wrought.

"Have you looked your fill, Lord Oropher?" Maedhros voice startled Oropher from his reverie.

He looked up to see the Noldo's gray eyes boring into him. "Forgive me," Oropher stammered. "I meant no disrespect."

Maedhros sat up in the chair and answered, "None taken. I suppose it is only right and fair that you should look upon it, as I have looked upon your own wounds." He began to slowly unwrap it. "Do you wish to see it in all its ugliness?" he asked quietly.

Oropher steeled himself and answered, "If you wish me to see it. I do not look upon you as a curiosity, my lord."

"Why should you not? You would not be the first or the last," Maedhros answered.

Oropher laid his hands upon Maedhros' arm and quietly answered, "You need not do this. We have both been hurt. We are both warriors, we both bear pain and loss."

"Indeed," Maedhros answered, "you have lost a wife, I have lost my father and three of my brothers. War is a horrible thing."

Oropher nodded. "I am sorry for your loss, Lord Maedhros. But you would not have suffered it if not for the Oath."

"It is madness, I know this," Maedhros answered quietly. "I will pay for all I have done, and I imagine I will go on paying after I am gone from this world. The Oath drives me to my own destruction."

Oropher found himself confused by the sudden rush of compassion he felt for this tortured and noble elf that sat before him. Never had he seen one so strong, so noble, and one so alluring in his torment. What could he have been had things been different? How different would things be between them now? Oropher knew, being a warrior, that one could not easily cast aside an oath like the one Maedhros swore. The sons of Fëanor were all doomed; there was no going back, no return to happier days for them.

Oropher furrowed his brow as his hand drifted to his side and he began to struggle to his feet.

"It is still too soon for you to be out of bed, Lord Oropher," Maedhros answered. He rose from his chair and offered Oropher his arm. "Let me assist you."

Oropher took the proffered arm and grumbled, "I hate being so weak."

"Aye," Maedhros answered. "I know the feeling well. I was near death when Fingon freed me from Thangorodrim, I depended upon him for many months."

Maedhros helped Oropher back to the bed and pulled the covers to his chest. Oropher looked up at him and wondered how one so fierce and dread could be so kind and gentle. He carefully laid his hand upon the stump of Maedhros' right arm and said, "I am sorry for your losses, Maedhros. I am sorry that these things have come to this pass. Were things different, you and I would be great friends I think, for we are much alike."

Maedhros looked down at the elegant archer's hand that wrested upon his arm. A slow smile curved his lips and he nodded. "Aye, much alike, yet different enough to make things interesting."

Oropher chuckled to himself quietly and nodded.

"Sleep now, Oropher," Maedhros answered quietly. "I would see you hale before we leave this place."

"Rest yourself, Maedhros," Oropher answered softly. "I see the weariness in your eyes." He patted the bed beside him. "If you feel you must look after me, then at least stretch out here beside me so you can get a proper rest."

Maedhros looked at the Sinda and contemplated refusing the offer, but the bed was comfortable and more than large enough for the both of them.

Oropher saw the internal debate that went on in Maedhros eyes and he offered again. "Please, I do not want to be the cause of your weariness. Indulge me, Maedhros. I will not bite."

This time it was Maedhros who chuckled and he nodded. "Very well, then." He walked to the other side of the bed and stretched out on top of the thick blankets, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he sunk into the soft bed.

"Is my son safe?" Oropher asked quietly.

"Yes," Maedhros answered. "Amras looks after him. He will see that he gets all that he needs and comes to no harm."

"Why are you and your brothers taking care of us, Maedhros?" Oropher asked quietly. "We are but common warriors in Doriath."

"Nay," Maedhros answered with a yawn. "You and your son are the highest in stature here now, Oropher. You are now the leader of what is left of your people."

Maedhros' words sunk in as Oropher listened to him fall asleep.

* * * *

Thranduil heard the door latch shut as it was locked from the outside. "A prisoner in my own home," he whispered. He walked to the far side of the room, climbing onto a table so that he could peek out the small window that was close to the ceiling. Ithil rose high in the evening sky; stars twinkled against the canvas of black velvet night. A tear fell from his eye as he thought of his mother and her refusal to leave when his father ordered her to. Had she left, she would still be alive. But she refused, she refused to go because Thranduil refused to run from a fight she knew they could not win.

"Melin chen, naneth," he whispered to the night sky.

Amras had taken him to see his mother after they returned from their walk in the forest. He had stood quietly by as Thranduil wept over his mother's dead body. As Thranduil turned to leave, he had embraced him gently, whispering ‘I am sorry' in his ear before leaving the chamber with him. Amras had been with him everywhere he went, shadowing him as he walked through the halls of his home. The Sons of Fëanor and their men showed great respect to those who had fallen, both Sindar and Noldor alike. Amrod, Amras' twin, oversaw the burial of those who had died, respectfully burying the Noldor outside the main compound of Menegroth. As Thranduil walked through the underground palace, he saw few of his own kind left. The majority of the females and elflings had fled the city when it was discovered that the Sons of Fëanor were on their way to attack. When he asked Amras why he stayed with him, Amras revealed that Oropher was now the highest of rank of the remaining Sindar, and that it was their duty to care for both of them. ‘You are a prince now, Thranduil,' Amras had said, ‘the fate of your kindred lies in the hands of you and your father.'

Prince. Thranduil was not sure how he felt about that. He had always imagined that he would grow up to be a soldier like his father, one of the palace guards in service to King Thingol. He was distantly related to the royal line by blood, but it had never occurred to him that he would one day be prince. He climbed down off the table and kicked off his boots. He opened the large armoire that stood in one corner of his room and retrieved a sleeping robe, changing into it next to the fire. He then padded across the floor in his bare feet and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up around his chin.

He lay in his bed thinking of all that had come to pass, jumbled visions of the battle with the Sons of Fëanor, his father falling as two arrows pierced his back, his mother falling dead at his feet. He thought of Amras and their walk through the forest, of the gentle touch of his hand, of his soft words so sweetly whispered, ‘Just a kiss…' But was it just a kiss? Certainly, it had come close to being much more. Never had kissing made Thranduil feel the way he did there under the trees of his home. That kiss had been both ground shaking and comforting all at once.

He closed his eyes as he let reverie take him, the taste of Amras' lips still fresh upon his own.

* * * *

Oropher woke in the middle of the night to hear Maedhros mumbling in his sleep. He rolled to his side and looked at the Noldo. He was dismayed to realize he found Maedhros beautiful, particularly in sleep. The sudden urge to reach out and touch him was alarming, yet his hand would not be stayed. He brushed a lock of flame red hair from the Noldo's face, tucking it behind one elegantly pointed ear. Before he had met his wife he had shared pleasure with a male or two, but his heart had been lost upon seeing her, and he turned his back on that part of his life. Now that she was gone, that part of him that found males desirable had awoken, and to his confusion, he found Maedhros to be most beautiful and desirable.

A tear fell from Maedhros eye as he mumbled something unintelligible and Oropher found himself sliding closer to him, soothing him as he once soothed Thranduil from his nightmares.

"Ssshh, mellonen," he whispered. "It is but a dream."

Maedhros stirred and blinked as he returned from reverie. "A dream," he whispered. "Yes, it must be, I am still dreaming."

Oropher stared at him and answered quietly, "If it is a dream, then we share it."

To Oropher's surprise, Maedhros slid closer, curling against him, resting his hand upon his chest and his head upon his shoulder.

"I only ask for this one night," Maedhros whispered. "Though I know I have no right to ask for anything. I am tired, Oropher, weary of this world and this life. If I could have just one night of kindness, just one night of tender embrace, perhaps the road ahead would not seem so bleak."

"Rest, Maedhros," Oropher whispered. "Rest in my arms, I will protect you."

"Hannon le, mellonen," Maedhros whispered, and he blinked as he slipped back into reverie.

**
Melin chen = I love you
Naneth = mother
Mellonen = my friend
Hannon le = thank thee

---

Part 3

Winter, 505, First Age, Menegroth, Doriath

Thranduil awoke to a gentle prodding of his shoulder. He blinked sleepily and looked up to see Amras leaning over him.

"Good morning, pen-vain," Amras whispered. "Sleep well?"

Thranduil sat up and rubbed his face, then nodded. "Yes, thank you. It is much easier to sleep when one is not tied to a table leg."

Amras chuckled and nodded in agreement. "I suppose that would be true. Come, ernilen. I have brought your breakfast."

Thranduil pulled back the covers and rose from the bed, following Amras across the room to the table near the window. The smell of warm, baked breads greeted his nose and his stomach began to grumble immediately. He picked up a silver goblet and drank down the fresh juice inside before popping a slice of apple into his mouth.

Amras sat in a large chair by the fire; his feet propped upon a footstool as he sipped his tea, watching the young prince consume his morning meal. The longer he was around this young Sinda, the more enamored he became of him. His eyes followed the long, lean lines of Thranduil's back through the thin sleeping robe, and they lingered upon the swell of his perfect, round buttocks. **Stop it, Amras,** he mentally chastised himself, **you can ill afford to become smitten with one you will leave behind in but a few days time.**

Thranduil turned and looked at the elf lord lounging comfortably in the chair, and his mind returned to the kiss they had shared the day before. "May I see my father today?" he asked quietly as he retrieved a slice of pear.

"Of course," Amras answered. "He should be nearly recovered by now, I would think." Thranduil smiled and Amras swallowed. It was an utterly disarming smile, one that he felt the effects of deep within his core. He watched, as the prince seemed to glide across the floor and stood beside him.

"Hannon chen, Amras," Thranduil said softly. He placed the slice of pear between his lips, bent down, and offered it to the Noldo.

Amras blinked in surprise. It was a brazen move, openly flirting with him this way. He sat forward, accepting the proffered pear slice and a soft moan escaped him as their lips met. Before he realized what he was doing, his hands were in Thranduil's hair, and the prince was in his lap. He groaned as Thranduil eagerly lapped the pear juice from his lips as he swallowed. He plundered the treasure of a mouth that so openly yielded to him and instantly felt his desire stir within his leggings. Thranduil shifted upon him so that he straddled his lap and slowly rocked back and forth against him, his long fingers opening the clasps on his tunic.

He moaned plaintively as Thranduil's fingers quested inside his tunic, sliding over his heated, long ignored flesh, teasing and exploring with no hesitation. He released the Sinda's face and grasped his wrists, struggling to pull his hands away. "Wait…" he breathed.

"Why?" Thranduil murmured against his lips. "We are alone, there is no one here to interrupt us or see us. I am offering myself to you, Amras. You are the conqueror; I am the vanquished. I am giving you what you easily could have taken otherwise."

"That is not my way, Thranduil," Amras breathed. "I would never take from you what you would not willingly give."

"But I am willingly giving it to you, Amras," Thranduil whispered against his mouth. "I am giving you what no other has ever had. I am unspoiled, unused, untouched. Do you not want me?"

"I do…" Amras whispered, "Oh, by the Gods I do want you, ernilen. But you are prince, you are of noble blood, I cannot…"

"Stop," Thranduil breathed against him, "I want you, Amras. You are a prince in your own right, your father was the first born son of your king. We are of equal blood, you more noble than I."

"I am not worthy of receiving such an offering," Amras answered quietly. "My hands have been stained by the blood of my kin."

"You are worthy, Amras. I am giving myself to you, take me. Please, take me. Do not make me beg you further." He reached for Amras again with his mouth, pushing the Noldo back into the chair as he slid his tongue inside his mouth.

Amras was lost. He released his grip on Thranduil's wrists and his hands slid down the prince's long back to clasp his buttocks. Thranduil moaned into the kiss as his hands slid back inside Amras' tunic, his fingers hungrily exploring the Noldo's chest. The two of them moved against one another, Thranduil slowly rocking against Amras, inflaming him, Amras exploring Thranduil's body with his hands, clutching, holding, kneading his flesh. Words of want and desire spilled from Thranduil's lips like a seductive song and he moved his soft lips to Amras' ear.

"Sweet Elbereth," Amras whispered. He was impossibly hard, his aching, pulsating arousal straining against his leggings, and he could feel the prince's own sliding against his stomach, a hypnotizing dance of flesh and silk that was driving him mad. "Up…" he breathed against Thranduil's shoulder, and the prince complied, rising off his lap, allowing him to stand.

Amras shed his tunic and kicked off his boots as he followed Thranduil to the bed. The Sinda knelt upon it, his robe falling from one delicious shoulder, his tongue circling his lips in anticipation. He untied his leggings, sliding them off his hips and kicking them aside in one fluid motion. He mounted the bed wearing only his loincloth, and he slid his hands inside Thranduil's robes to find he wore nothing underneath.

The soft cry that escaped Thranduil's lips when he touched the prince's arousal nearly caused him to spend himself. He felt it swell in his hand as he began to stroke it, and he groaned as Thranduil clutched at his buttocks.

"Aniron chen…" Thranduil whispered.

Amras smiled and whispered, "Not nearly as much as I want you, melendonya."

Thranduil smiled and whispered in reply, "I love to hear your language, melethron. It sounds so beautiful as it spills from your lips."

Amras lowered Thranduil to the bed and covered his body with his own. "You will not regret this, poicaquen," he whispered, "this I promise you."

Thranduil smiled and whispered, "Poicaquen? What is poicaquen?"

"Pure one," Amras purred into his ear, "poicaquen means pure one in my tongue."

"Poicaquen…" Thranduil repeated, "I will not be for long."

Amras drew a trail from Thranduil's neck to his chest with his tongue and he whispered, "You will be to me, always."

Amras licked and suckled his Sinda's chest until Thranduil begged him to stop. He could feel the insistent throbbing of Thranduil's arousal against his stomach, and his own pulsed inside his loincloth.

"Please…" Thranduil whispered breathlessly, "do not make me wait."

Amras smiled and lowered himself to Thranduil's aching flesh, teasing his length with his tongue before exploring further. He rolled the soft pouch of skin against his tongue, then took it fully into his mouth, causing Thranduil to cry out again as he arched against the bed. Amras held Thranduil's length in a tight grip, preventing his release for as long as he could. He wanted to thoroughly enjoy his prince, even if it took all morning.

Thranduil's heart hammered a frantic rhythm in his chest, his flesh was on fire, and he no longer had control of the words spilling from his lips. The youngest of the sons of Fëanor was undoubtedly a skilled lover; Thranduil could have picked no better tutor to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh. "Please," Thranduil whispered breathlessly, "I need…"

"Yes, ernil vain, I know you do," Amras answered softly.

He returned his mouth to Thranduil's aching and neglected flesh, slowly taking him into his mouth, working him into the back of his throat. He pinned Thranduil's hips to the bed as his lips slid up and down his prince's swollen length, his tongue teasing the tip, circling the purpled head and lapping at the essence that wept from it. The Prince was sweet, like clover honey, and Amras savored his taste upon the back of his tongue. Finally he allowed Thranduil freedom, and began taking him fully into his mouth, his lips sliding nearly from the base to the head of his engorged length.

Soft, mewling cries issued from his beautiful Sinda, and Thranduil arched and undulated against the bed. A long cry of overwhelming passion signaled Thranduil's release, and Amras swallowed as he spilled down his throat. He drank him in fully, only allowing his length to slip from his lips when it stilled. Amras licked him clean, leaving no evidence of the prince's spent passion, before returning to Thranduil's sinfully beautiful mouth and claiming it hungrily.

Thranduil moaned into the kiss. He was undone, spent and wasted with his first climax. His breathing slowly returned to normal as Amras stroked his face, chest, and hair, whispering words of such sweet meaning that it caused Thranduil's heart to swell in his breast. He smiled lazily at his new lover, blinking at him with hooded eyes. Amras smiled as he stretched out beside his prince, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing in his loins.

"It is my turn to show you pleasure," Thranduil whispered huskily, "but I fear I will disappoint you. I know not how to please you."

Amras smiled and answered, "Then I will teach you, ernilen."

He adjusted himself so that he was slightly higher than Thranduil, but still lying next to him. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at his beautiful lover. "Remove my loincloth, pen-vain."

Thranduil rolled to face Amras and untied the strings that held the thin strip of cloth in place. He slid the garment from between his lover's legs and gazed upon the proud length that stood hard against Amras' stomach. He looked up at his tutor and whispered, "Now what shall I do?"

Amras smiled and answered, "Touch me, Thranduil. Explore me, do all that you desire."

Thranduil smiled sultrily and reached out, gently taking Amras length in his hand. He marveled at how soft it was, how warm and smooth. His fingers danced over the pulsating length, exploring the long vein on its underside, then the groove beneath the head. He glanced up at Amras and saw his eyes flutter shut and watched his lips part as a long sigh escaped him. He then turned his gaze to Amras' chest and took a pebbled nipple into his mouth and began suckling it greedily.

Amras groaned at the first touch of his lover's soft lips upon his sensitive chest and he reflexively arched into him, offering himself up to his new pupil. Thranduil slipped one arm around his waist, pressing on his back as he lathed his hardened nipple with his tongue.

"Valar…" Amras whispered hoarsely. It was difficult to believe in that moment that Thranduil was as inexperienced as he had said he was. The prince continued to torment his chest deliciously, focusing on one nipple before moving to its mate and back again, all the while stroking his heated length with slow even strokes. Amras began to meet his strokes, rolling his hips forward into the prince's grip, eager to increase the pace. Thranduil worked his way down his stomach until his mouth was near his arousal.

"Slowly, poicaquen," he whispered, "go carefully."

Thranduil looked up at his beautiful Noldorian lover and nodded, opting to first experiment with his tongue. Amras was spicy and slightly musky, his rich, heady scent and taste were nearly addicting. Thranduil first drew his tongue along the vein that pulsed on the underside of his arousal and was rewarded by a deep growl. He laughed softly, his breath fluttering along the length of heated flesh, causing Amras to moan anew. He continued his leisurely exploration, moving lower as he encouraged his lover to part his legs, lapping at the soft pouch of skin before his eyes gazed upon Amras' most intimate place.

Overcome with curiosity, he touched it with the pad of his finger, causing a quiet gasp to come from his lover. He then smiled and reached for it with his tongue, slowly circling the small entrance before gently pushing his tongue inside. Again, he was rewarded with a deep, needful moan and he began slowly pushing his tongue in and withdrawing it, mimicking the action of his lover's hips as they rolled forward into his grasp.

Amras was close to spending himself; Thranduil's gentle, unhurried exploration was both overwhelming and deliciously wicked at the same time. He was unaccustomed to coupling in such a leisurely manner, and he was unaccustomed to having a lover with such a gentle touch.

"Come here, poicaquen," Amras whispered hoarsely.

Thranduil left his exploration, sliding up Amras' body to gaze into his eyes.

"I want to kiss you when I find my release," Amras whispered, "I want to look into your eyes…"

Thranduil nodded and offered the Noldo his mouth, continuing to stroke his arousal in quickening strokes. Quenya spilled from Amras' lips as he murmured against Thranduil's mouth, and he reached up and fisted his hair as he claimed his prince's mouth, groaning into their bruising kiss as his seed spilled over Thranduil's hand.

He wrapped his arms around his prince, sighing as they drifted into reverie together.

**

Pen-vain = beautiful one
Ernilen = my prince
Hannon chen = thank you
Aniron chen = I want you
Melendonya = my lover (Quenya)
Melethron = my lover (male)
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Ernil vain = beautiful prince

---

Part 4

Winter, 505, First Age, Menegroth, Doriath

Maedhros awoke in the pre-dawn hour. He looked at the Sinda lord sleeping quietly beside him. Oropher's azure gaze was clouded in reverie. Oropher was an intriguing elf, on the surface he could almost be a courtier: painfully lovely to look at with bright golden hair, large, bright eyes, and pink lips reminiscent of roses growing in the gardens of Tirion. However, beneath this serene exterior lay the soul of a warrior and the heart of a lion. Oropher was fierce in battle, unyielding even when he was at a disadvantage. Maedhros knew this was a warrior that would never run, never retreat, even if it meant fighting to his own death.

Oropher had been clearly surrounded when he fell, dodging arrows and warriors mounted on horseback. Long after his comrades had given ground and fled to save their lives, Oropher fought on, although defeat was eminent. Maedhros thought this would make Oropher both a strong and dangerous leader. The stubborn streak that ran hot in his blood would be the cause of woe under the right circumstances, but that same tenacity would also ensure the survival of his kindred.

Oropher lay so close to him that he could feel the heat radiate from the Sinda's body and he could feel his soft breath upon his face. He had been surprised at his own weakness just hours earlier, surprised at how readily he sought comfort in Oropher's arms; yea, he had nearly begged for it. And Oropher complied, accepting his enemy into his arms, even vowing to protect him from evil dreams.

How had the two of them come to be there? Two weary warriors, burdened with loss, driven by duty, and fighting for survival. He reached up and tucked a strand of golden hair behind Oropher's ear, finding a slight tremor in his fingers as he did so. He was surprised at the sudden urge to kiss Oropher, to caress those pink lips with his own, to thread that golden hair between his fingers.

A deep breath issued from the sleeping warrior and his eyelids fluttered as he returned from reverie. Maedhros quickly withdrew his hand, sliding it under the pillow.

Oropher blinked and turned his gaze to Maedhros. The Noldo looked more rested than he did the day before, but there was still a weariness about him that Oropher supposed would always be present.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked quietly.

Maedhros nodded in response. "Aye, my thanks to you for your… kind gesture." He felt his heart hammer out a guilty rhythm in his chest and he swallowed as his mind groped for the right words to express the thoughts and feelings that formed a tempest inside him. A knock upon the door broke the awkward moment, and he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he answered.

It was Maglor's voice he heard from the other side of the door, and he crossed the room, exiting and closing the door behind him.

"Is there any word of the young ones?" Maedhros asked.

"Nay, brother," Maglor answered. "We have searched for them long, but no trace can be found. Celegorm's guard took us to where they were left, but there is no further trace of them." He leaned in close and continued quietly, "There is word that among those that escaped was the king's daughter, and that the Silmaril was in her possession."

Maedhros closed his eyes, a look of doomed resignation crossing his face. "So she lives and our prize is in the keeping of an elfling. I believed her dead. I had half hoped that the jewel had somehow been destroyed," he said softly. "Are we to murder little ones now to take back the accursed thing?"

Maglor's eyes widened. It was not the first time he had seen his elder brother express regret for the Oath, but it was the first time he had seen Maedhros express loathing for it. "We need not kill one so young to take back what is ours. But, she would not be the first to have fallen because of it, brother. Do we forsake the Oath we have taken? Do we count the blood spilled on all sides as naught? Did our father and brothers die for nothing?"

Maedhros sighed and shook his head. "No brother," he answered softly. "It is far too late for us to do other than meet our doom as we may. Our fate is sealed and has been since we left our home. I fear Mandos' judgement when my time is done; I would not go to him a murderer of elflings and females. Do we know whence they fled?"

Maglor answered quietly, "Nay. Scouts have been searching for them, but they were crafty and covered their tracks in the melee. We have no trace of them."

Maedhros nodded. "Very well. We have no further need to be here. When can we be ready to depart?"

Maglor answered, "Three days hence. Our wounded will have recovered enough to travel safely by then."

"Very well," Maedhros answered. "Make preparations for our departure."

They embraced briefly and Maglor made his way down the hall to find his brothers.

* * * *

Oropher sat up. Maedhros' sudden exit shook him from his dazed and complacent state. What had he been thinking? Sharing a bed with an elf that had made war against his kin? He knew he should not be doing this, and he feared he defamed his wife's memory by showing this Noldo even a modicum of kindness. The Sons of Fëanor had sacked his beleaguered home, had driven the elves living there into the woods, and had killed his wife, all for some damned quest for a cursed jewel.

He pulled back the blankets, slowly and stiffly rising to his feet as he straightened his robe. He was well on the way to recovery; all that remained of his injuries now were sore, stiff muscles and fading scars. He smoothed his hair and schooled his expression into one of appropriate sternness. It was with cold eyes that he greeted Maedhros when the door opened again.

"I want to see my wife and my son," he said flatly.

Maedhros paused, fighting not to turn away from that cold, burning gaze and emotionless voice. It was hard to believe that this was the same elf that held him just hours ago, the same elf that stroked his hair and promised to protect him from the ghosts of those that he had killed. How could he blame him? How could he expect anything else from him? He had already asked far too much.

"Of course," he answered, fighting to control his voice. "Shall I see you to your quarters so you may bathe and dress?"

"I know the way to my own quarters. I need no assistance from you," Oropher answered sternly. He passed Maedhros and exited the bedchamber without another glance.

Maedhros closed his eyes as Oropher passed, lamenting the dream of what could have been between them.

* * * *

Amras sat on the edge of the large table that had once been used to entertain guests in Menegroth. Thranduil paced in front of him, twirling the end of his belt around his finger, occasionally glancing up at him and smiling nervously. Amras ached to take him in his arms and assure him everything would be all right, but he knew that was a lie. The world was already a dangerous and unforgiving place, and there would be far more pain and death before things changed. He knew Thranduil was nervous about Oropher finding out about the two of them and he supposed he could not blame him. Oropher was a formidable elf, nearly as intimidating as his own father once was.

"No one need know about what has passed between us, ernilen," he said quietly.

Thranduil stopped in his pacing and turned to face him. "Are you ashamed of me?" he asked quietly.

"No! By the Valar, no," Amras answered. "But things could be difficult for you if your kindred were to learn of this. As you once said, I am your enemy."

"You said you wanted to be my friend," Thranduil answered quietly.

"I do, I am," Amras countered. "But things are… complicated."

Thranduil's voice lowered an octave as he answered, "Please, Amras. Do not treat me like an elfling. I may be young, but I am not a fool. I know as well as you how complicated things are, but I will not be a coward and a liar to appease those around me. I will not have others dictate to me who I will and will not care about."

Suddenly Amras felt like the elfling. He had to wonder whom he was more worried for, himself or Thranduil. Maedhros would not be happy when he found out what he had done, nor would Amrod or Maglor for that matter. That kiss had created a complicated mess that needed to be handled carefully to avoid further hostilities between the Sindar that remained and his own kindred.

"Thranduil…"

Thranduil turned to see his father enter the dining hall and he rushed to greet him. "Adar!"

Oropher took his son in his arms and held him tight, breathing deeply of his hair as he held him tightly to his chest.

"Have they treated you well, Iôn?" he asked softly.

"Aye, they have. I have only wanted for your company," Thranduil answered.

Father and son embraced for long moments before Amras rose and addressed them. "I am to take you to see your wife, my lord."

Oropher nodded and clasped Thranduil by the hand, leaving the dining hall and following Amras to see his wife's body.

* * * *

Oropher knelt beside his wife, holding her hand in his own as tears fell from his eyes upon her cold, pale flesh. She was prepared for burial, dressed in a gown of pale green, a circlet of winter flowers crowned her head and her hair was draped over her shoulders. He said a silent prayer to Mandos, to ease her transition from this life to the next, then he laid her hand down and slowly rose to his feet as Thranduil took his arm.

"Who killed her," he asked, his voice low and menacing.

"My lord?"

Oropher turned his angry gaze to Amras and ground out, "Who killed my mate? I want to know who it was that shot arrows into her body."

"Adar…" Thranduil began, but was silenced when Oropher held up his hand.

"It was my brother, Celegorm, my lord," Amras answered, his head bowed.

"Where is he?" Oropher growled. "I demand the opportunity to exact my revenge upon your scurrilous dog of a brother! Only a coward shoots a defenseless female!"

Amras swallowed, he had not felt wrath such as this since his father lived. He could not blame Oropher; he could only imagine the rage he would feel himself if it were his loved one that lay dead. "He is already dead, my lord. You killed him yourself before you fell."

Oropher closed his eyes and shook his head. "Leave us! Leave my son and me in peace!"

Amras bowed and backed out of the room. "As you wish, my lord."

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his father and they wept together next to his mother's body.

* * * *

Oropher's wife was buried at dusk; the remaining Sindar sang a lament to her throughout the night. Thranduil stayed with him, lying next to his father in his wide bed. Maedhros did not sleep; he lay upon his back on the cold ground, staring up through the tree boughs, listening to the lament sung by the Sindar. Amras stared out the window, his heart grieved for his young prince, and for the woe that was yet to befall him and his own brothers.

**

Ernilen = my prince

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