Yet Were Its Making Good, For This by LadySternchen  

Lost

Mablung laughed, rejoicing, as beside him Beleg’s bow sang. It was wonderful to get out of the camp for a while, away from all the brooding and restlessness that made people snap and snarl at each other for no reason at all. They were all worn with the long journey, and even if they knew that it was now almost over, patience was still worn thin. All the merrier his and Beleg’s little escape felt now, and the prospect of sharing their freshly hunted meal over a little fire away from all the others.
Something caught his shoulder, and he turned, but there was nothing there. 
Frowning, he reached up, only to realise that someone was shaking him.

“Mablung, wake up!”

The worry in Elmo’s voice roused him far more effectively than the shaking of his shoulder, wiping every trace of his dream away. He had obviously re-lived the hunt again in his sleep, and oh, it had seemed so very real.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up, all drowsiness gone in the instant he looked into Elmo’s eyes and saw the fear there.

“Has Elwë told you where he went?”

Mablung rubbed the back of his head, trying to make his brain work. He had not seen Elwë in days, nor talked to him.

“What d’you mean? He has gone to visit Finwë, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. But he should long since have returned. He promised Olwë to hurry, that he would only briefly take counsel with Finwë and return as swiftly as possible. We expected him back three days ago, and he is not one to break his word, especially not to Olwë when he is frantic already anyway. He would never…”

“I know.” Mablung agreed.

A horrible feeling of fear gripped him. Elwë would never leave his brothers alone and worried when he had promised to be quick to return. As Elmo had just said, Olwë had had an even harder time than Elwë of keeping his host together and moving, and now that they had at last caught up, he was as exhausted as any of his people. It was not like Elwë to stay away longer than he had promised and so add to Olwë’s plight.  Something must have happened to him, and the thought alone was enough to curl Mablung’s blood.
If Elwë was wounded, they needed to find him quickly, ere the enemy did. Had servants of the old Shadow overpowered him, had he fled them and now cowered somewhere, bleeding and without any hope safe in staying hidden? Mablung could hardly bear the idea, but losing his head now would help no-one, least of all Elwë.

“I am sorry to wake you like that now, but I want to get a head start in searching before the whole camp is buzzing with the news.”

Elmo sounded so desperate that Mablung hugged him quickly, feigning a calm he did not feel.

“That is quite alright. I was… I did not realise that Elwë was gone this long already or I would certainly not have slept so soundly.”

All he and Beleg had wanted to do was pass the time while Olwë’s people rested, and he knew that Elwë had wanted to likewise use the time to meet with Finwë once more, to learn what Oromë plans were, now that they had come so close to the sea. Mablung had been quite glad of this for Elwë’s sake, as he knew how much it irked Elwë to be always the last to learn any news, and to be separated from Finwë, who was after all his closest friend. Had it somehow come to pass that he and Beleg were separated, he would have felt and done the exact same thing.

Mablung followed Elmo to where Olwë and Nowë stood together, both looking grimmer than Mablung had ever seen them. He wondered, briefly, how much was known to them about his relationship with Elwë, why Elmo had chosen to wake him but not Beleg. But none of the others seemed to deem his presence strange, so Mablung took it in his strides, glad he was able to actually do something and look for his beloved.

The feeling of gladness did not last long, however. All too soon, it turned to panic as they retraced the steps they thought Elwë must have taken, through woods and over plains, without finding even the slightest sign of him. When they reached the woods in which the Noldor had camped and found their encampment deserted, hopelessness overcame them. They therefore did the only thing that seemed sensible to them, which was to follow the Noldor’s tracks to the shores of the sea.

Had Elwë been with them, Mablung thought, as he first gazed out over the endless waves and listened to the ever ongoing rush of the tides, he would have marveled, would have longed to stay there. He wandered the beach, feeling the water play around his ankles, and yet his heart ached with sorrow and grief for his friend, his beloved, the elf he had always called his lord. He had not even said a proper goodbye, and now, safe by some miracle, he would not see him again.

But they did at least learn some news as they made the the acquaintance of the Maia Ossë, who told them of the Noldor’s departure and of Finwë being in good spirits then. That made it clear to them that whatever ill had befallen Elwë must have done so on his way back, for Finwë would never have been content to leave without talking to his best friend first.

Over time, Mablung’s blank panic slowly burned itself into an omnipresent dread, weighing heavily on his every waking thought, haunting his dreams. In those he would sometimes see Elwë curled on hard rocks under bushes, terribly wounded, his tunic ripped, and his silver hair matted with blood, whispering all their names as if remembering them were a lifeline, or a comfort in his dying hour. At other times Mablung would just dream of his friend standing as behind a veil, smiling sadly at him, but never speaking. Nerve-wracking as those dreams were, Mablung still knew them to be just that- nightmares. Dreams his mind produced as a result of his ever whirling thoughts, not visions that might give him a clue that could help them in their search. Elwë’s disappearance remained a mystery.

It was a day following one of those nightmares that Olwë first voiced what they all dreaded, but never spoke of aloud. They sat huddled together that rainy night, when Elmo suddenly asked: 
“He is dead, isn’t he? Elwë?”

“I hope so, Elmo.” Olwë answered, tears glistening in his eyes. “For the only alternative I can think of is too terrible to imagine. Yet I fear in my heart that it is indeed so, that the Shadow got hold of him. Were it otherwise, we would have found his body. I only hope that he… that he escaped, and be that only through death. I cannot bear the idea of our brother being tortured and mutilated.”

Even as Mablung watched Olwë’s betrothed pull him into her arms to comfort him, those words rang in his head. He looked around at the others, many of whom nodded, looking stricken. Beleg sat silently, but Mablung knew him well enough to perceive that his friend also agreed with Olwë. Elmo beside him shook with silent tears- why then could Mablung not shed any? 
But then he looked at Nowë, and knew in that instant that he at least still kept hope, and would continue to search, and as long as Nowë did not give up on his cousin, neither would Mablung. And yet, just as he had felt no real grief at hearing Olwë’s words, he now felt no relief in Nowë’s persistence. He did not know what to believe. Up to this point, he had always been able to rely on his feelings to lead him well, but not this time. This time he knew not where the truth was in all the turmoil of his thoughts, what was foresight and what an illusion, the wisdom of his heart swayed by both his hopes or his fears.