"Let me be the judge of that," is Fingon's answer, his voice stern even as his heart breaks. Maedhros is no monster, Fingon knows that all too well- but he is dangerous, and Fingon has known that too. And the sorrow he feels at his cousin's state mixes with frustration and with rage. How could Maedhros, capable of so much more, stoop to such a level?

"I do." He lets out a sound too angry to be called a laugh. "It should not have mattered. I have never doubted your right to the jewels, cousin, but not even they are not worth they horror. What you have done- to those people, to yourselves- these are the deeds that make the Enemy rejoice."

And Maedhros knew that. Better than Fingon, even, perhaps better than any living.

He listens as Maedhros finishes the tale, pale and furious but refusing to let go all the same. By the end he feels ill, and it is a long time before he speaks.

"Oh, Maitimo. What am I to do with you?"