An Intense Dislike of Elves by Himring

---

Chapter 4

---

I lay flat on my back in bed and felt worse than I had ever before in my life. However unhappy I might have been at times in Estolad and in Himring, I had always enjoyed good health, if not the health of the Eldar. I had relied on the strength of my body without thinking about it. Now it had deserted me. The pain in my left leg and side was constant. Most of the time I managed, in part, to block it out. When I didn’t, the pain was intense enough to make me weep. The Eldarin surgeons hesitated to give me too much pain-killer, not knowing how it would agree with my physiology. For the same reason, I hesitated to take even the amount they allotted me.

 

It was little consolation that we had managed to dispatch the troll who had caused the damage. It had fallen on me in its death throes, crushing my thigh bone and my hip into a mass of splinters. I’d been carried back to Himring on a stretcher, largely unconscious. I wished I’d remained so.

 

The door opened, and Maedhros entered the chamber. I had not seen him since my accident. He had not been with us when we encountered the troll and had been absent from Himring upon our return—or so I’d been told, not having been in any position to take any interest in his whereabouts myself.

 

‘Amlach’, he said and moved around to where I could see him without having to move or strain my neck. ‘They’ve told me what happened to you.’

 

I nodded.

 

‘I’ve talked to the surgeons. They’ve concluded that there is no chance now that your hip will heal well enough for you to walk again without a crutch.’

 

‘I could have told them that right away. In fact, I did.’

 

‘So I was informed. However, you are no surgeon yourself, and my surgeons considered it their duty not to take your word for it. They are unfamiliar with fractures and the process of their healing in Edain—they sent messages to Dorthonion to enquire. If they have inflicted unnecessary pain on you in their efforts, I am sorry for it. They meant well.’

 

‘I know. It doesn’t matter.’

 

‘Amlach, you have served me well...’

 

‘How can you say that? I came to Himring to fight against Morgoth. In all the years I’ve been here, how much have I achieved? I killed a few orcs. I helped to kill a troll, which did for me. I’ve never really fought Morgoth, and now I never will.’

 

‘There are those who would say that helping to maintain a siege successfully is a greater achievement than taking part in a pitched battle in which all may be lost at one throw.’

 

I opened my mouth.

 

‘Don’t bother to argue with that. If we should have attacked Morgoth outright during the time of your service with me and did not, it is my failing and not yours. I say you have served me well, Amlach. But it is true that your physical condition will not allow you to fight and serve as a soldier any longer. You came to Himring to fight Morgoth. Now you can no longer do so, do you wish to leave?’

 

I just stared at him.

 

‘I owe you for your services, Amlach. If you wish to leave, I will take care that you are conveyed wherever you wish to go as safely and in as much comfort as possible, and I will also give you the means to set yourself up there. Perhaps you wish to go back to Estolad. Or you might want to go to Eithel Sirion—I know your uncle has recently died but I believe that there are still relatives of yours living there. Or you might want to move to the southern slopes of Ered Wethrin where others of your relatives have settled.’

 

Years after my arrival in Himring, I had sent a couple of brief messages to my Uncle Aradan and my cousin Magor. Maedhros’s messengers to Barad Eithel had carried them for me, together with other messages from Noldor and Sindar who had relatives or acquaintances in Hithlum. I had received equally brief answers, and a tenuous contact had been re-established. They had not visited me or I them.

 

I thought of arriving in Hithlum, a place I had never been to, a cripple unable to walk, imposing on relatives I hadn’t seen for decades. I closed my eyes. They were swimming with tears.

 

‘I still intensely dislike elves’, I heard myself say, desperately. Oh, fool! Fool!

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

‘Truly?’, Maedhros asked. ‘What a fine, well-honed dislike that is! It would almost be a waste to take it among Edain where you could not fully practise it!’

 

This time, the laughter in his voice was unmistakable. But it felt good. It wrapped itself around the sore and aching parts of my soul like a fine linen bandage. I felt his touch on my shoulder, comforting.

 

‘You are most welcome to stay, if you wish it’, he said.

 

 ‘Thank you’, I said without opening my eyes. The tears were threatening to seep out under my lashes.

 

‘I think I should come back and discuss this with you another day. You are, I feel, in worse physical condition than I was led to expect. Perhaps I should not have subjected you to this conversation at all just yet, but I thought you might be worrying about the future.’

 

‘I was.’