Please refer to the author notes (marked in parentheses) as you read. Hopefully they will answer any questions or confusion you have.

The day Fingon brought Maedhros home from Thangorodrim was a blessed day. It had been many long years since his return, and we had missed him in our hearts beyond what words can tell. My brothers rejoiced all through the night and well into the early morning…all except for me.
I sat in the shadows of their feast, plucking the strings of my harp and humming simple tunes, whichever seemed to fit their mood. Usually I play songs of great renown, or perhaps tunes that fly from my head and flow into the strings, always attune to my mind and heart. But had I been playing what I felt that night, there would be no music to describe my spirit.
My withdrawal from the feast did not bother the rest of my brothers. They did not notice. The façade I wore for all their feasts was in place; the minstrel: calm, faded into the wall, and quiet except to hum the notes of whichever song I happened upon. The only one present at the feast that night who suspected there would be any tear in my mask would have been Ambarussa. He had not been the same since Umbarto died; he was distant and rarely spoke. ( -1- ) He glanced my way several times during the night, his eyes searching mine for some hidden secret that lay there. I only smiled and went back to my playing, and he to his wine.
Eventually the wine ran dry, and one by one they drifted off into the night. Caranthir and Curufin staggered off singing some drunken draft of a song telling the tale of Fingon’s valor and Maedhros’s rescue. Undoubtedly, the headache they would obtain in the morning would block out any remembrance of the tune. Celegorm, a Fëanorian who could hold his wine, strode calmly out into the night to find his hounds. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding them tonight; I saw him slip an extra piece of meat from the table. Ambarussa had slipped away unnoticed into the darkness long ago as he usually would, to ride through the woods unaccompanied and alone to grieve. I let him be.
Leaving the hall, I stopped by a window overlooking the woods, and the glorious sky above. The stars shined bright, but for once their light could not penetrate my gloom. My brother had returned, and oh how I had missed him! I longed to see him again, but would he accept me? The thoughts of my decision, my horror, and mostly, my guilt kept pressing in at my elation at having him home. After all, it was I who had decided that he would not be rescued. And then there was my Oath…all of us had sworn it; there was no going back. As for the deeds I had performed under the oath, I wish with all my being I could rescind them. I have no pride in taking part in what we did.
I left the window and slowly made my way though the house and to my personal quarters. The door at the end of the hallway caught my eye. At first glance I assumed it only to be Ambarussa, returning early from the woods. Not until I took a second glance did I realize just whose door it was. Maedhros’s quarters had not been occupied ever since his capture; we had left it almost as a place of respect to the idea that he was never coming back. The door was ajar, and candlelight flickered through the opening, forming sly dances on the opposite wall, as if taunting me into the room. Oh what torment! I longed to see the one that had once occupied those walls! But what could he think of me, now that he was here? Would he reject me as I had done so long ago when I had decided that he would not be brought back? Despite my fears, loyalty and curiosity won over and carried me towards the door.
The sight I saw beyond the door was enough to make step backwards and grasp the door handle in sudden surprise. There on the bed was Maedhros, the brother I had so longed to see after all these long years. Fingon sat beside him (-2- ), asleep in a chair. Of course, I had acknowledged that our cousin rescued Maedhros from his chained torment, but this was when I fully realized that he no longer was as a spirit of this house. Our Maitimo ( -3- ) was physically here, in this room! The moment I never thought would exist had come. Tears were in my eyes, and a smile on my lips. At that moment, I could not have wished for more. But in the same moment my bliss was turned to astonishment and fear. As I looked further, his body showed the severe effects of malnutrition. Scars wrapped around his abdomen, chest and shoulders. Cuts and bruises were scattered on his neck, face, and arms. My gaze traveled up and down his once-strong body, and down the maimed right arm that lay outside the coverlet. Fingon had cleaned and bandaged as much as he could, but the blood seemed to wrap itself up his arm like red, twining vines. His copper hair seemed dulled by time, lacking its illustrious glow and color. He slept; his only movement the rhythm of his chest rising and falling as drew breath. So much guilt! If not for me, Maitimo would never have had to endure such pain.
I felt small, reduced to the child I had once been. The child who followed his older brother everywhere, revered him as if he were one of the Valar, and loved him with all his heart. For the most part, that child still existed. Daring myself to move, I made my way to the side of Maedhros’s bed, opposite where Fingon sat, walking the paths of sleep. A nearby window let in several rays of moonlight, which fell across the room and onto my brother’s bed. The light gave him a deathly pale look, and I wondered how much of the moonlight illustrated the truth.
Gently, with the lightest of touches, I reached out and ran my fingertips across his one good arm. Maedhros had always had the best reflexes, and even in deep slumber, his arm tensed suddenly, then relaxed. Still wary, I sat on the side of my brother’s bed, making sure not to disturb his rest. My eyes traveled the length of his body, taking in all the scars that now marred his once-young body. So much torment…so many consequences. I took his hand from the bed and clasped it in my own, my fingers twining around his thumb. One look at his weather-beaten face, and my mind unleashed the torrent of memories…

“Come on, Makalaurë! ( -4- ) We are going to be late. Atar will not be pleased.”
My small legs struggled to keep up with Maitimo’s long ones. Dressed in finery fit for the Noldorin princes, we raced down the hallway to the great hall where Atar awaited us. We were to be presented to his father, our grandfather, Finwë the High King of the Elves. Our father loved our grandfather dearly; I often wondered if he loved us as much as he loved his Atar. Perhaps Ammë would know.
Since Maitimo was the oldest, he was always presented first. I was next, Makalaurë, the second oldest, and lastly, Tyelkormo, who was not yet old enough to walk by himself, so Ammë would carry him. At that time there were no more than three of us, but soon to be four judging by the size of Ammë’s swollen belly.
“And my second son, Makalaurë…” Atar called from his place beside his father. I gave a small bow in front of my grandfather, careful to watch my father’s face as I did so. He had become moody and quick-tempered of late, and should he be displeased with my actions…I refused to think of what he might do. Quite honestly, my father frightened me. After my presentation, I walked over to stand by Maitimo, who smiled at me and held my hand in comfort.

“Atar was not displeased, Cano. ( -5- ) Look at his face…he seems so pleased to be here. I don’t think anything could mar his happiness today.”
I smiled up at my brother. I truly loved him; he seemed to know my mind when no one else understood.
Looking from Maitimo and back to Atar, I saw that my brother spoke the truth. Atar kneeled in front of Finwë as a large sculpture was presented to him. Father had made it, he had spent weeks in the forge perfecting it. Atar saw the amazement on Finwë’s face, and his face reflected great joy. His love for his father would never cease to grow, it would never fade. As clear as the fiery spirit he possessed, the love between them would never stop burning.
Finally, the presentations were over, and the feast began. I sat next to Ammë, while Maitimo occupied the seat next to me. Father sat at the head of the table, the direct right of Finwë.
“Ammë,” I asked, “Does Father love us like he loves his Atar?”
She smiled softly and hugged me around the shoulders. “The love of father to son is different from that of son to father, but it is no less strong. Fëanaro loves you as Finwë loves his sons. Do you love your father as he loves you, Makalaurë?”
Perhaps Ammë had only meant that as a simple question, but I answered it with all seriousness.
“Sometimes…sometimes, Ammë, I am frightened of him. His spirit is so hot, I feel as if he will burn me. Perhaps I do not understand him as you do, and I cannot love him as grandfather loves him. But I will try to be brave Ammë, and try to understand how to love him more.”

———————————–

“…Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!'”

As we spoke the words, I looked around the circle that consisted of my six brothers and my father. My father’s eyes seemed to have turned to black pools of fire and hatred. The words we uttered were treacherous and terrible; we vowed pursuit with never ending vengeance and eternal hate. No one dared speak against my Father. He had become the Flame; everlasting fire, burning and smoldering with each step. His anger and his hatred were shown without restraint now; one would only have to look in his eyes to see that it was slowly eating him away.
My brothers all seemed to be imitations of my father. His anger was their anger, his hatred, his vengeance were all mirrored in their faces. I looked at Maitimo, the one brother I thought would see the lack of reason in this. But as I watched him, I saw rage, fury, and how it burned! At that moment he had become my father. His very being glinted like the hot metal in Atar’s forge. They all did. Such was my father’s love for Finwë and his lust for the Silmarils that when they both had been robbed from him, his Fire consumed him, and us. The Oath would curse us with every step; it would consume us to the end of our days.

———————————–

It was over; the battlefield deathly quiet. Only the wind called to the empty souls yearning for rest. Atar was dead. The Fire had been extinguished. Until now, I had been the second son of a king’s son of a people thought immortal. I had been content with composing music and poetry, and yet here I was, clad in armor and carrying a sword, filthy with blood. In short succession, the events of the past had just led from one tragedy to another. The death of my grandfather, the Flight of the Noldor, and devastation of the House of Feänor. All in spite of vengeance and lust! Still, the Oath held us. Would it never let go?
It was Ambarussa who had ridden through the carnage that day, bringing the ill news. His horse was exhausted, the beast’s mouth lined with froth, its coat slick with sweat.
“Makalaurë! Maitimo has…been taken, his company…slain,” he managed to say, panting between breaths, “Morgoth has taken him alive, to Angband.”
“No!…”
His words could not have driven the pain further into my heart. Had Morgoth intentionally done this to me? Why did he ever continue to seek what was not his, what rightfully belonged to us? Always, our most beloved possessions were where he struck first! Why did he ever seek to humiliate us?

———————————–

In Maitimo’s absence, I was suddenly High King of the Noldor. A minstrel in the place of a King! It was the worst possible position I could be in at that point. Perhaps the situation would be better compared to that of a servant in the place of a lord. My humiliation was immense. Not only had Morgoth humiliated the House of Fëanor even further by his latest exploitation of my family, he had struck at the weak point of the arch. By removing Maitimo, ultimately he struck at our hearts, and at our power. I was no King.
I regret to say it was my decision that Maitimo would not be rescued. With all my heart, I would rescind it. I had done it in a weak attempt to preserve what was left of our honor. No doubt Morgoth held my eldest brother as bait in the trap; he would expect us to attempt at releasing Maitimo from his malevolent chains. To be tricked and imprisoned ourselves would add to Morgoth’s contentment and our ruin. I see now that my judgment was blurred; the more pain I caused, the more I inflicted upon myself.
I sat on the edge of Maitimo’s bed, tears flowing freely down my face, my hands still wrapped around his one.
“A avatyaranye, toronya, a avatyaranye.” {“Forgive me, my brother, forgive me.”}

Author’s Notes:

(1) As you may have noticed, I use both Quenyan names and Sindarin names in the text. As far as the name ‘Ambarussa’ goes, it means “top russet” which refers to the twin’s hair. According to Tolkien’s later writings, Amras’s mother-name was ‘Umbarto’, which means ‘Fated.’ His father, upset, changed it to ‘Ambarto.’ However, by doing so, he already sealed his son’s fate. Amrod had not come ashore after the landing in Middle Earth, and planned to return secretly to Aman. Fëanor was not aware of son’s plans, and when he burned the ships his youngest son was burned with them.

(2) I don’t prefer to write with idea that Fingon and Maedhros were, let’s say, “involved” and “more than friends.” Personal preference.

(3) Here we go again! As mentioned beforehand, I’m using both Quenyan and Sindarin. I use Quenyan because they once lived on Aman, and I like to think that the Sons of Fëanor would call each other and think of each other by their real names. Switching from Quenyan to Sindarin after being exiled from Aman probably wasn’t their idea of a fun time. Anyway, ‘Maitimo’ is Maedhros’s mother name. It means “Well-shaped one”, for he was noted for his comeliness. I could have called him ‘Nelyafinwë’, which means “Finwë the third”, but let’s face it; this name business is getting confusing.

(4) More name stuff.. “Makalaurë” is Maglor’s Quenyan mother name, and means “Gold-cleaver”, perhaps referring to the power of his voice.
(5) I needed a cute nickname type of name, so I used his father name, Canafinwë and shortened it up to Cano.

For more information on the origin of names, please visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sons_of_Feanor.