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“They can’t,” said Caranthir, who had tried to drape his sweatshirt over Amrod’s shoulders, raising hopeless eyes to Maglor and Maedhros. “They weren’t even gonna let mom and dad back there until dad threatened to sue them blind. They’ve got it under control, Ambarussa, it’s going to be okay.” His voice lacked conviction, and Amrod shook all the harder.

“He was calling for me, I heard him.”

“They can’t have too many people in there while they’re working to help him.” Maedhros sank down in the chair on Amrod’s other side and pulled Caranthir sweatshirt more snugly around Amrod’s shoulders, trying to still his brother’s ceaseless trembling. Maglor sat on the other side of Maedhros, on the edge of his seat, hands wedged between his knees. “We wouldn’t want to get in the way, not when they’re doing all they can for him. He’s going to be alright,” Maedhros said, touching Amrod’s hair. “First Drengist is the best hospital in the state.”

“I told him not to go back there,” said Amrod in a voice of dread calm, remarkably even despite his fingernails digging bloody half-moons into his palms. “I told him. He didn’t listen to me. I should have stopped him, I should have told mom, I should have gone with him – ”

“It’s not your fault! It was an accident.” Maglor leaned forward, trying to see Amrod around Maedhros’ shoulder. “He knew he shouldn’t go back, and he did anyway, and it was a mistake, that’s all…”

“Went back where?” said Maedhros, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Where did this happen, and what happened? Will someone please fill me in?”

Amrod tried, once again, to get to his feet, and his brothers hauled him back down.

“Dad’s workshop,” said Maglor, who had reached across Maedhros to seize Amrod, his hand tight on Amrod’s arm. “The accident happened in dad’s workshop.” Amrod stopped fighting them eventually, and Maglor sat back. He ran a hand through his hair, which was hanging lank and loose rather than in its usual ponytail or held back by a bandana. He pulled a strand of tinsel out of his hair almost absently, looked at it without recognition, and laid it on Maedhros’ arm. “We were decorating the house when mom called,” he said, by way of explanation, when Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “Curvo blew a fuse. Literally, I mean. But the tree is all set up. And there’s a message in the lights,” he added, pointlessly.

“A message?”

“The family motto. Tenn’ Ambar – ”

Maedhros let out a weak, choking laugh. There was a long silence, as Maedhros tried several times to start a question, but each time failed to finish it. At last he sank his head into his hands. “My phone rang three times before I answered it,” he said to his knees. “I can’t believe I sent it to voicemail.”

“You’re here now.”

“Where’s Tyelko?”

Curufin, who had been curled silently in a chair across the room, saying nothing and keeping his eyes fixed a potted plant by the door, stirred. “No one called him?”

Maglor and Caranthir exchanged glances.

“I forgot.”

“I started to, but then I hung up because you guys had just pulled up out front.”

Curufin tightened his lips. “He was going to Oromë’s for the next couple nights; it’ll take him a while to get across town. Someone hand me a phone.”

“You don’t have yours?”

“It’s dead,” said Curufin. “Give me a phone, we need to call him.”

He was halfway through dialing when Nerdanel came through a door into the waiting room, and their heads swiveled as one towards her.

“They’ve transferred him to a room for now,” she said without preamble. “He’s still conscious, for now.”

They all rose to their feet, but Nerdanel shook her head. “Not all of you, not yet,” she said. “But he’s asking for Telvo. Come here, chick.”

Amrod walked to her side on shaky legs, Caranthir’s sweatshirt slipping from his shoulders, and she wound an arm around him as she led him back through the door. Caranthir grabbed the sweatshirt from the floor, stuffed it under his chair, and then let out a breath and slumped back in his seat, running distracted fingers through his hair. “God, I have the worst headache,” he said, and then looked embarrassed, like a headache shouldn’t be cause for complaint when their youngest brother was –

“I have some Advil,” Maglor said, and fumbled in his pocket.

Caranthir took the proffered pills and swallowed them dry, then slumped down, massaging his temples.

Curufin was still clutching a phone in one hand, but seemed to have forgotten about it, instead shifting restlessly in his chair. “I hate hospitals,” he said, his voice brittle.

“Gosh, how unusual,” Caranthir said, his fingers still at his temples. “Me, I love hospitals.”

Curufin shot him a look but didn’t reply. “I feel worse just walking into one of these places,” he muttered. “Are we even sure they’re places of healing? If you aren’t sick when you go in, you’re bound to be when you come out. It smells like death.”

“Shut up,” Caranthir snapped at him. “Don’t fucking talk about death when our little brother is – is – Just shut up, stop being such a selfish little pig.”

“I forgot that a cheery demeanor was a prerequisite for waiting to hear if our youngest brother is going to come out of this okay,” Curufin shot back. “Would you rather I sing and dance?”

“I’d rather you shove – ”

“Shut up,” said Maedhros, “both of you.”

They both closed their mouths and turned bitter looks on him. Maedhros met their glares implacably, and then his tone softened. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “I hate waiting too, and not knowing what’s going on is terrible, and I’ve never liked being in hospitals either. Can someone finish the story of what happened, please? I feel like I missed some details.”

“We don’t know that much either.” Caranthir’s jaw was working, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

“Pityo went into dad’s workshop,” said Curufin, fixing his eyes once again on the potted plant. “Where we have been told, a thousand times, not to go.”

“And?”

“And…” Curufin looked uncertain. “I don’t know. Something fell. Mother wasn’t very clear on the details.”

“He got burned,” said Caranthir dully. “By some chemicals, some really strong ones, ones we didn’t even know dad had back there, that he didn’t tell anyone he had been working on…”

“Don’t blame dad,” said Curufin, getting angry again. “Don’t talk like this is his fault.”

“Should I talk like it’s Pityo’s fault?”

“Well, he did – ”

“It was an accident,” interrupted Maglor. “It was an accident, obviously, and it’s pointless to talk like we can blame anyone for it. That doesn’t get us anywhere.” He spoke with such finality that both Curufin and Caranthir fell quiet again. Maedhros had gone pale, his face very grave.

“So did any of you see how bad he – ” he began, and just then, Nerdanel came back in, beckoning to the rest of them. Her shoulders were squared in the way she held them when she was keeping herself together with iron control, and her hair was twisted up behind her head.

“Can we go back there now?” said Caranthir immediately, getting to his feet.

“Yes, you can come. But the pain meds haven’t kicked in yet,” she said. “So prepare yourselves, he looks…rough.”

4.

They had prepared themselves, but even so, as they walked into the room Maglor grabbed Maedhros’ arm with both hands, not quite conscious of the gesture, and Curufin fell back a little, his face going grey. But Caranthir crossed the room at once, his hand seeking Amrod’s back.

Amras was lying on the hospital bed, his bright hair livid against the white sheets. He looked far younger than sixteen, small and vulnerable while the IV at his side dripped in placid silence next to his anguish. Amrod was at his left side, clinging to Amras’ hand, his own face as white and bloodless as his twin’s, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as if he was experiencing the same pain. Amras was sweating and moaning, turning weakly against the pillows, his right arm and side of his chest and neck heavily bandaged. There were bandages on part of his face as well, and it seemed to be these that Amrod was trying to keep him from disturbing.

“Ambarussa,” he was begging, “please, please, stay still, they said your dressings need to stay in place…”

“I’m burning,” whispered Amras, his voice so cracked and raspy it was almost unrecognizable. “I’m burning, it hurts, I’m – ”

“You’re not burning, I promise, I promise. It’s over, and, and you’re safe, and the meds are going to kick in soon, so it’s going to feel better.” Amrod cast a desperate glance at their mother as if to verify the truth of this. She nodded, a lock of hair escaping her bun. “You’re not burning any more,” said Amrod, his voice breaking. “You’re safe now.”

But Amras kept gasping, the only noise in the grey room his choking breaths and barely articulate pleas, his eyes flickering wildly like a trapped animal looking for escape. Eventually Nerdanel joined Amrod in trying to keep him still, murmuring soft words of comfort while her son shook and Fëanor stood waiting by the side of the bed as still as a statue, his severe profile drawn sharply in the harsh light.

“We have to do something for him,” said Caranthir loudly, his palm flat between Amrod’s shoulder blades. “Something isn’t working, where are the fucking doctors?”

“They’ll be back to check on him,” said Nerdanel, not taking her eyes from Amras’ face, “but they’ve given him the painkillers and we just have to wait…”

“Wait?” Caranthir’s voice was strident, and Maglor flinched, digging his fingers into Maedhros’ arm. “Look at him, he’s suffering, don’t make him fucking wait.” He looked like he was ready to start knocking things over, and he subsided only when Fëanor laid his hands on his shoulders and drew Caranthir to his side.

“I know, Moryo,” murmured Fëanor. “I feel the same way.”

“It’s not happening quickly enough,” snapped Caranthir, twisting in his father’s grasp. “Look at the kid, this isn’t right.”

Fëanor tightened his hands on Caranthir’s shoulders. “If nothing happens in the next little while, I will go get someone, I promise.”

It couldn’t have been long, in truth, perhaps a matter of 15 minutes or so, but it felt like excruciating hours before the drugs at last took effect and Amras stilled, stopped fighting, and slept. There was a soft sound in the room like the seven of them had let out a collective breath. Nerdanel reached across the bed to stroke Amrod’s cheek, while Fëanor squeezed Caranthir’s shoulder a last time and then straightened up.

“I’m going to check in with the attending doctor. Will you be all right keeping an eye on him?” When they murmured their assent, he nodded brusquely. “Call me if anything happens.” He strode out of the room, and Nerdanel got to her feet and stalked after him without a word.

Maglor sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands, unconsciously mimicking Maedhros’ earlier gesture. Then he looked up, his eyes wandering around the room, taking count. “Hang on. Did anyone end up calling Tyelko?”

“Shit,” said Maedhros, but Curufin already had his phone plugged in in the corner, his back to the rest of them.

“I’m on it.”

3.

Celegorm got out of the car and hit the parking lot already at a run, sprinting to the hospital entrance and yanking the door open. The waiting room was half full, with soft, clinical hospital sounds filling the air, and Celegorm’s frantic pace clashed with the dull inertia of the room. He was turning in place, panicked, when a dark haired man who had been sitting quietly in a chair across the way got to his feet. Celegorm’s eyes flickered over him, away and then back with a surge of recognition, and he stopped craning his neck, letting out a sharp breath.

“Dad.”

“Turkafinwë,” said Fëanor. His voice was hoarse and there were dark shadows on his eyes, and he held himself stiffly, like he’d been sitting for too long. “I am glad you’re here. I wanted to make sure someone was down here to meet you, because we’ve been moved a couple times now…”

“What happened?” croaked Celegorm, crossing to him. “Is he – Is he – ”

“He was badly burned, but he’s going to be all right, in time,” said Fëanor, who looked like he had aged years in the time since Celegorm had last seen him. “He’s hurt. But he’s going to make a full recovery, they believe. They hope.” He cleared his throat. “Though he may have some scarring, some permanently damaged tissue. There were certain chemicals in my workshop…”

Celegorm made an involuntary movement and Fëanor pulled back slightly, looking wary. For a moment the past year stretched between them, echoing with the words they’d thrown at each other and brutal with the subsequent silence. It had been over ten months since they had spoken, ten months since Celegorm had moved towards Fëanor in fury, fists raised.

But now, even as Fëanor’s lips thinned uncertainly, Celegorm was not moving in anger. Instead, Celegorm stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank god,” he whispered. “Thank god he’s going to be okay, I was so scared when Curvo called…” He buried his face in his father’s jacket, having to bend down slightly to reach Fëanor’s shoulder.

Fëanor froze for an instant, holding himself awkwardly. But as Celegorm clung to him, he brought his arms up to hold Celegorm fiercely, his fingers digging into his son’s broad back. He tried to speak, and failed, just hanging onto Celegorm for another long minute, gripping the back of Celegorm’s over-sized coat as Celegorm tried to pull himself together.

“So seriously, what’s the deal?” Celegorm pulled back at last and wiped at his eyes. “What’s going on? Where is he, can I see him? Where is everyone else?”

“Pityafinwë is back in surgery,” said Fëanor, who was also blinking rapidly. “The rest of the family are waiting in his room. No, Tyelko, hold on, we have to get you signed in as a visitor.” Fëanor dealt with the front desk, his tone returning to his usual brisk officiousness, but Celegorm kept close to his side, studying the gauntness of his face. Once Celegorm had his badge, they made their way to the elevator bank, and Celegorm looked at his father again.

“So…the accident…”

“It was in my workshop,” said Fëanor baldly. “He was looking for something, I am not sure what, I haven’t gotten all the details yet – Pityo was in no condition to elaborate and Telvo was hardly any more coherent – but it seems some chemicals were disturbed from where they were being stored and fell against him. They were potent, and he has suffered burns where they came in contact with his skin.” He was holding himself rigidly again, as if he expected Celegorm to turn on him in accusation, but instead Celegorm laid an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Celegorm started to say something that began with “I know how – ” and then he stopped, and shook his head, just tightening his arm around his father’s shoulders.

They didn’t speak again until they got to the room, and when they came in, Curufin’s pale, pinched face brightened as he looked up at them. Fëanor sat down beside him as Celegorm brushed his hand briefly over Curufin’s hair, bending down to murmur something that no one else could make out. Curufin jerked his head in response, and Celegorm stroked his hair again, then went to Maedhros’ side, and leaned against his older brother.