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“I see you did not wait long before scavenging for your spoils.”
Something stood in the doorway of the council chambers, something that wore a too familiar face but that was where any resemblance ended. The air grew cold, as if the very warmth of the sun had been snatched from the world. The creature stood there, swaying, looking as if it were some puppet on strings, carelessly put away by its handler. Its arms and legs seemed out of place, out of their joints, even the curve of its spine was wrong, head turned to the side but watching them from the corner of its–
his eyes, Eru help them his eyes –
“Findaráto.”
It grinned, too wide and too sharp, finally turning to face them. Maedhros, at his side, was the only one who did not shrink away; back straight, fingers steepled under his chin with careful regard.
He would know, he would know – the horrors of the enemy – he would know
“Findaráto,” Maedhros echoed his cousin with none of his same fear, “how is it that you have returned to us.”
“You think me a spectre,” the voice was wrong, the sound of shovels digging deep into the dirt, breaking through root and rock, the sound of a grave. “Something terrible sent to torment you perhaps?”
Maedhros said nothing, but there was a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“I suppose we all thought the same of you upon your own return, dear cousin. Tis only fair this turnaround, and I had not the assistance that you did.”
“We thought you dead,” Findekano said, “We were told–”
Findaráto tilted his head, the smile slipping from his features. It was almost a relief. “So quick to believe ill news, but I suppose the stakes were high enough.”
Findekano recoiled, admonished and angry, a flush spreading over his face.
“But I will answer your questions when I have rested a while, I have traveled a long way to see my family and they have all but slammed the door in my face.”
Findaráto approached them then, lurching into the room with jerky steps, like a child learning to walk. “I found better hospitality at the hands of Gorthaur.”
Maedhros stood then, and Findekano expected him to draw his sword, to order his brothers to action, to attack this shade that wore their kin’s face. He did not.
“It is good to see you again, cousin.” Maedhros said, and there was a strain in his voice, as close to relief and emotion as the elf could come ever since –
Findekano shuddered, fists balled tight on the stone table in front of him.
Too much, too much has been taken from them, all of them
“You are the only one I would hold to be sincere with that.” Findaráto said softly, looking to where Curfinwe and Tyelkormo sat, wide-eyed and stricken. “Yes, I believe it is good to be home.”
——
“What do you make of our dear cousin’s return?”
Makalaure picked idly at his food, moving bits of meat and bread around the plate. Maedhros had ordered the afternoon meal in his guest chambers, despite the concerned protest from their cousin, their king.
“We do not yet know what has brought him back to us or why. It is best that we try to stay together, take meals and walks together, until we can know.”
“You are afraid of him.”
“Yes.”
“Were you also afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
Silence, as loud as a heartbeat and a smile that had sent a shiver up Findekano’s spine. “Good.”
“I must confess I try not to think about it, Nelyo.” Makalaure pushed the plate away, his appetite gone. “Did you see him?”
“Quite clearly, yes.”
“The scars on his neck, there is no way any of us could have survived it.”
“And yet–”
Makalaure banged his fist on the table, rattling the plates and nearly upsetting their wine glasses. “How can you sit there so calmly in the face of this? What do you know that you are withholding from the rest of us?”
“I merely think we should not continue to underestimate our cousin in the face of evidence.”
“You are lying,” He hissed, “You know something, or you suspect something, but you will not say. Why? Why hide this from me of all people? If we are now cursed with this–”
“–we are not cursed with–”
“–this thing, then at least tell me whether or not I should start drinking now before the end comes.”
Maedhros’ lips twitched, and after a moment he chuckled, low and dark. “You are ever the brat, brother. You’re right, I do know something, but whatever I would tell you would not affect your love of wine either way.”
“I hate it when you’re cryptic.”
Maedhros only offered him a smile as he reached for his brother’s abandoned plate.
——
“It’s the Doom.”
“It is not the Doom.”
“It is the Doom and we are fated to the Void no matter what we do now, everything has been in vain.”
“Honestly Tyelkormo, I expected better of you than this.”
Tyelkormo rounded on his brother, eyes wide and face flushed. “How can you sit there and say that! You yourself have been shaking ever since we saw his shadow cross the doorway, before he even spoke, before we saw his face!” He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, as if trying to force away the memory of it. Curufinwe folded his hands over his knees, fingers gripping the skin and bone tight as if trying to prove his brother wrong. His hands still shook violently.
“It was your idea to take Nargothrond.” Curufinwe said evenly, looking everywhere but at his brother. “You planned the coup, you made the move against Artaresto, spread the falsehoods that put us in power.”
“You – how dare you,” Tyelkormo seized his brother by the front of his tunic, hauling him to his feet. “You would put this on me, when you went along with it. It was your words that I spread, and your silence was your consent. You wanted it just as badly as I did. Do you think he will bother to ask who did what, or weigh these actions to see which were worse?”
“He?”
Tyelkormo released his brother, and Curufinwe stumbled, breathing hard. “Findarato,” he whispered, as if saying his name would make him appear. “Curvo, what do we do now?”
“Finno is our cousin, but he is not a kinslayer. I do not think–” He could not finish the thought.“We must leave.”
“And go where?” Curufinwe snapped. “Nargothrond is no longer ours. If he is truly returned to torment us then what part of the world will be safe from whatever evil this is? And if this is the hand of the Enemy at play then what new horror will he send? We are our father’s sons, we do not run.”
Tyelkormo fell heavily into a chair, staring at the fire – it had been somehow colder at Hithlum ever since Findarato had arrived. “So we wait?”
“We wait.”