"Maedhros! Maedhros!"

The tall elf prince rose from his resting place, searching for the source of the familiar voice. 

"Mirgaerel!" His eyes fell upon the maiden, petite and fair, bounding toward him. Her eyes were full of joy, and sparked with the light of the Great Sea, next to which she dwelt. Meadhros went quickly to meet her, taking her gently in his arms, and kissing her forehead. "My love, for what reason have you come in search of me, honoring me with thy fair presence?" 

Mirgaerel smiled, laying her head against the taller elf.

"I have not seen you for years, Maedhros." Her sea-green eyes sparkled, but we're tinged with clouds of sadness. "My heart ached for the mere sight of you."

Gently, Maedhros stroked her hair, pulling her head against his chest. Since the exile of his father--and the subsequent departure of all his father's household from Tirion, the two young elves had not been blessed with the sight of each other, and it grieved Maedhros deeply.

"It is joy itself to see you, my lady. I pray all is well with you and you kin, and that the spirit of discord sown in the ranks of the Noldor has not yet reached fair Alqualonde."

Mirgaerel nodded, returning his embrace wholeheartedly. "Our people yet dwell in peace. My father has no quarrel with anyone, and we are happy living beneath the rule of the Valar."

Maedhros sighed. "Aye. May it always be so, and may the darkening of heart against heart never fall upon your folk. If only all could dwell in such happiness as your kin. But not all were meant to. It would seem fate sets itself against some." sadness covered his face, as his mind wandered to the happier times, when Feanor's hatred for his brothers had not yet come to fruition.

"Fate is like the wind, my love." Mirgaerel smiled. "When it is set against you, you must change your sails to it's will. Fate does not rule us, if we are wise enough to work along side it." 

"Maedhros?"

Maedhros opened his eyes, loathe to leave the fairness of his dream. 

He could not recall where he was, nor how he had come to be there. Vague memories flashed through his mind, but nothing quite came into focus. Pain surged through every inch of his body, bringing him fully back to consciousness. 

Now, the memories fell into place: Feanor's death, the ambush, Thangorodrim, Moroth, Fingon, and Thoronder. The elf-prince shuddered. 

"Ai! He lives!" From the bed side, it was the voice of Fingon, crying out in joy at the preservation of his beloved cousin. 

"Indeed, it would seem that the fire of life has yet to depart my soul." Maedhros smiled weakly at his friend, despite the pain in his body. "Though it is thanks to you, Fingon." Fingon returned the smile, and Maedhros could see that he, too, hid pain behind it. "But how did you come to be here? Your people...." He did not know how to go on. "They did not cross the sea with us. How is it that you came to Arda?"

Fingon dropped his gaze, and the smile faded. "Let us not speak of that, Maedhros." He glanced upward. "You will have enough of a discussion over that with my Father, I am sure." 

Maedhros winced, sensing that his friend had gone through great hardship, as had his people. Fingolfin was not cruel, but he would surely harbor anger for all those who had taken part in the burning of Losgar. 

"I am sorry, Fingon. Indeed, no words can I find in the tongues of all creatures to tell you how my heart yearns to undo that which our people did in their mistrust and hatred." Pain seared through his heart at the sight of his friend's misery, far surpassing that of his wounds. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Now, the bonds between our people may never be reforged."

"Perhaps all is not lost." Fingon placed his hand on Maedhros's shoulder. "We are not beyond hope."

Maedhros smiled weakly. "I hope you are right, my friend."

"Fingon!" The flap of the tent was brushed aside, and Fingolfin swept in, along with one of his close advisers. 

"Atar! Maedhros is awake." 

Fingolfin nodded. "I would speak to him. Privately." Fingon rose, glancing from his father to his friend. "

"Fare well, Maedhros." He slipped outside, disappearing around the corner. Maedhros had a suspicion that he was merely listening through the side of the tent. Fingolfin was of the same mind, for he rebuked his son, who was then heard hastening away.

Fingolfin then turned to Maedhros, looking him over carefully. 

"Greetings, my lord." Maedhros bowed his head, fear tingling inside him. Fingolfin was wise and cool tempered, unlike Maedhros's father, but when angered, Fingolfin was still as dangerous as his brother, though in his own right. If father was not afraid to cause this rift, I know not what Fingolfin may do because of it.

Fingolfin did not return a greeting of any sort, but rather immediately began questioning his nephew. 

"Where is your father, Maedhros? He has not answered our messages to come hither, nor has he shown himself in any manner." Fingolfin's eyes were hard. "I would speak to him of his crimes against my people."

Shaking his head sadly, Maedhros replied, "You will have to wait a long while, lord. My father is no more in this world. His spirit has gone to the halls of Mandos."

Fingolfin seemed confused. "And how did he fall, so mighty a warrior as he? No doubt his passion and pride was his downfall in the end. Or did his treachery return to fall upon his own head?" There was hardly a hint of remorse in the Elf lord's voice, but Maedhros knew his uncle well enough to see that the news did touch his heart, though only slightly.

"He died of a mortal wound, some years past. Before your people entered this land, and the sun came forth from the east."

Fingolfin sighed. "I will not say the news brings me great sorrow, for his heart was long turned against me, and his betrayal has cost us dearly in the lives of our kinfolk--nay, indeed they were his own kinfolk at one time." 

Guilt weighed heavily on Maedhros's soul pressing him deep into depression. He remained silent.

Fingolfin looked at Maedhros keenly. "Truly, you understand my predicament to some extent. Perhaps our troubles are not that different. Tell me, Feanorion, what will you do now that your brothers have forsaken you, and left you in the hands of your enimies?"

Shocked, Maedhros could only stare for a moment. "They have done no such thing, and 'tis truly below you to accuse them of such things. Have we not enough real sins, or do you find the need to manufacture them against my brothers?"

"They left you in the hands of Morgoth himself! What more proof do you need of their carelessness?" Fingolfin gave a fell chuckle, utterly devoid of mirth. "And, in truth, how do you know that my suffering and that of my people has not caused great bitterness and hatred--to the point where, you may have been better hanging from the wall with the shaft of an arrow in your heart?"

"I know that is not your way, Fingolfin. Your heart is indeed hard toward me and my people, but to behave as the Dark Enemy is below you. My suffering of late was designed in the pit of hell. What worse thing can you do?" 

Fingolfin's eyes softened. "I would not try to do worse, Maedhros. Great suffering has come to my people, but we will not harm you. If for naught but my son's friendship with you, forged in the fair days of Valinor." He laid his hand on Maedhros's shoulder. "And I would not have you hate your brothers. No doubt they thought you dead, and did not believe my messengers. I merely wished to test your spirit, to see if you were of the same hateful heart as your father. But it seems you are not, and when your brothers have come here, we will discuss the matter of our kingdom. For if we are to dwell here, in the very shadow of our enemy, something must be done to mend the bond between us."