Panic

Canon-compliant AU.  Maedhros has a heart, even if no one but Maglor remembers.  Quenya names used (Maedhros = Nelyafinwë or Nelyo or Maitimo, Maglor = Makalaurë (it was shortened to Laurë in this scene)).  When Maglor adopts the twins, it always seems like Maedhros is just off to the side somewhere, not really part of this whole deal, but I don't think that's he's completely removed.  After all, if you recall from "Broken" what his greatest desire is, you might imagine it would be a little hard for him to resist attachment.  Connects up with "Repeat" and "Reap" as well.  Anyway, takes place somewhere in Beleriand during the War of Wrath.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the Silmarillion

Pairings: none

Characters: Maedhros, Maglor (mentions Elrond, Elros, Gil-Galad, Eluréd and Elurín (sort of), Celegorm (sort of) and the Valar)

Warning: canon compliant AU, anxiety attack, nightmares, possible PTSD, unhealthy mental conditions, abusive behavior, minor violence, mentions war and murder, obvious mutilation reference

Song: Apologize

Words: 1,294
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panic (noun): a sudden overpowering fright; acute extreme anxiety; a sudden unreasoning terror often accompanied by mass flight
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/panic?show=0&t=1367688328

"Please... please protect them, Nelyo..."

The voice was almost too soft to hear, and then the ringing in his ears overshadowed even the screams of the dying and the fleeing.  The grayness encroaching upon the corners of his vision dulled the image of fading eyes and a slack face from view.  The hand upon his arm fell, and it did not move again.

He needed to get out.

"Nelyafinwë, what is going o--?"

"My Lord, we were following ord--"

"Where are they?"

"The forest.  But my Lord, Turkafinwë--"

Fire licking at the sky, and its heat scorched Maitimo's flesh, slinking over his armor and skin in glowing wisps, tugging at the ends of his hair, mocking in the darkness.  All he could see was the flame and the smoke drawing a thick curtain over his vision, the roaring of this uncontrollable beast consuming the twisted branches in every direction covering his cries.

But not the screams.

Loud and long and full of agony, screams that brought to mind a blurry image of red and gold across writhing water and the dancing figure cloaked in russet and living fire falling, falling, falling and screaming, screaming, screaming and...

And helplessly, he could do naught but stumble forward until his toes hit something hard upon the ground, spilling him forward.  Both arms flew upwards to brace his body for the blow, but the right turned to smoke at the brush of the earth, and Maitimo toppled into decayed leaves and dirt, the taste filling his mouth as his face was crushed beneath his momentum.

Still, around him there was nothing but enclosing darkness.  His hand reached forward and touched charred bone, a leg, moved upwards to crisply blackened meat, to a body small enough to be a ch--

Empty eyes and faces filled with terror and pain.  But the hair haloing their young, burned faces was not silver as the Man of the Stars, Thingol.  It was dark as night, dark as the sire of their royal bloodline, spilled over the ground like blood.

"Oh Valar... Oh Valar forgive me..."  His stomach revolted sharply, retching naught but bile forth, the burn lingering, caught in the back of his throat as his heart beat and beat and beat its way out of his chest, something terrifying rising and rising and rising until he could not hold it inside his earthly body any longer, could not halt the horrified cry.

"Elros--

"Elrond!" He shot upwards from bed, and nothing greeted him but the empty darkness.  Before he thought, before he realized this was awake and not dreams, his feet were upon the cold, hardwood floors and pounding almost as fast and as loud as his heart twisting and banging upon the bars of his ribs to escape.

He needed to see them.  He needed to see them alive.  He needed to see them breathing.

Because Valar, what if it wasn't a dream?

What if they weren't safe?

What if they were dea--?

His hand wrenched open the door at the end of the hall, nearly taking it off its hinges, and the heavy wood slammed to stone with a loud crack that could have woken the dead from their sleep.  At first, his elven eyes beheld nothing, and then focused sharply upon made beds with white, crisp sheets, cold from disuse, perfectly made and devoid of any sign of life.

Empty.

Empty, empty, empty-- Where are they?  Where did they go?

The next door was opened, and the next and the next and the next.

Empty, empty, empty--

"Nelyafinwë, what in the name of Arda are you doing?"

"Where are they?" His fingers grasped a thin wrist, squeezed until the palm opened wide to the sky, fingers shaking from the strain of his grip. "Where are they?"

"They aren't here!  Nelyafinwë, do you not remember?" The body he dragged beside him struggled, another hand catching at his arm and clawing desperately. "Nelyafinwë-- Maitimo, please, calm down!  Remember yourself!"

"Where are they?"

And he shook the soul he gripped.  Were it not for the hand that tangled in his hair, that slammed his temple against stone and held, he feared he might have ripped the limb clean off.  As it was, his dizzy vision could see it hanging limp, the shoulder at a strange depressed angle.  But he couldn't remember why it was important.  They were important, and they weren't here and he couldn't breathe and--

"Calm down..." They were on the hard ground, and his face was scratched up by rough stone, but it cleared away some of the haze. "I will be okay, Maitimo.  Just calm down.  Breathe for me.  Nice and slow--breathe for me, brother."

One breath.  And then another and another.  His heart still throbbed at the back of his throat as though it might jump out if his lips dared part, but his entire body felt suddenly weak--watery and jittery, trembling on the edge of falling apart completely.  The fingers of his left hand, honed by centuries of hard work and endless hours of training, released their iron grip from about the wrist, and he could see that dark bruises were blooming already around the angular bulge of a slightly misshapen wrist, swelling and limp from abuse.

"Laurë?"

"That's right..." The hand was in his hair, stroking. "No need to panic... everything is all right... I promise, everything is all right, Maitimo..."

Panic?  But he was only... He was only...

"Where...?  Where are...?"

"At the Isle of Balar with their cousin Ereinion, remember?  We sent them away to stay safe.  Far away from here, away from this war, remember, brother?" The voice was low, melodic, sweet, soothing, melting around him into a warm blanket thicker than wool and softer than silk. "They are well and safe.  Safe and alive."

It came back slowly, the memory of parting with them, of kissing their foreheads and pretending that he was not weeping when they disappeared from sight, because he was Maedhros Fëanorion and he was not supposed to be able to shed tears.

What a bucket of horse shit.  Even now, he was sobbing in thick, hiccupping waves as he pressed his forehead to his brother's shoulder, nuzzling into the safety of that pale throat like a child cuddling up to his mother.  The scent of newly fallen rain and roses wafted about him, and it was a welcome perfume, speaking of his brother's gentle nature and disposition, of the musician and artist hiding beneath a feigned mask of politician, prince and warrior.

And that gentle spirit was still stroking him, fingers gliding through his knotted mane and down his shaking back, tracing the bumps of his spine where they hunched outwards. "It will be all right..."

But it wouldn't.  Even as he closed his eyes and rested fully upon his younger sibling, Maitimo knew nothing would ever be okay.  He wasn't supposed to be attached.  He wasn't supposed to feed the fuel of hope to dreams left in shambles.  He wasn't supposed to care or feel guilty or long or worry.

Heartless, pitiless, murderous kinslayer that he was, he was not supposed to possess a heart.  He was not supposed to fear for the lives of his victims.

But he did.  And their empty beds filled him with hopelessness.

They were never his children to begin with.  Yet the thought of them dying hundreds of leagues away beneath the cruel sword of his enemy left him cold and shivering in horror, his heart still racing with the aftershocks of nightmares and sharp, acidic anxiety.

They were his.  His.

And they were gone.
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And there you have it.  Maedhros character development.  Forgive me, but I love parent!Maedhros.  All too often, Maglor gets painted into the picture as the sole caretaker who raises the twins after the Third Kinslaying, so I did something a little different.  Let's just say that Maedhros has a long list of issues.  This connects up with "Repeat" really well--with the parent!Maedhros theme--and a little tiny bit with "Reap" if you really grasp at strings, because I haven't written part two of that one yet.  You could figure it out if you think about it.

Listening to Apologize by Timbaland feat. One Republic.  I'm putting it under a One Republic link because I can't make a tag for Timbaland--just can't.  I don't even know why I like this song, but I do.  Happens a lot that there's just one song by an artist I love and the rest make me want to gag and cover my ears.  Oh well.  And for the idiots out there who whine about the fact that there's like three sentences in the whole video--wake up and smell the flipping coffee; instrumentalists don't have any lyrics in our "artwork" thank you very much.

Had to rant, so sorry.  Had to do it, it was bugging me so much.  There's more to songs--even vocal songs--than lyrics.  I wish people could see beyond the superficiality of words sometimes in this case.  I love instrumental music and vocal music.  But it's about the feeling behind the sound, not just the message (believe me, I work as an accompaniest and some people sing like robots and they could spew the greatest poetry in existence but even if they're perfect pitch they'll still sound like shit).

Enough ranting.  I have to go and do the assignment that was supposed to be done yesterday at midnight.  Oops. >.>