An Intense Dislike of Elves by Himring

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Chapter 5

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It is the end of a long summer day. I lean exhaustedly against the battlements and turn my face gratefully into the evening breeze. Then I look at Maedhros.

 

‘Thank you.’

 

It was he who carefully helped me up the steep, narrow steps, when I complained to him that I was feeling stifled. Down below, the heat still hangs in enclosed rooms and will not depart.

 

‘You’re welcome’, he says, smiling. ‘We cripples must stick together.’

 

I gape at him. I haven’t thought of him as a cripple in years and years. He has no trouble comprehending my astonishment.

 

‘There’s a trick to it’, he says, smirking a little. ‘Whenever I need to do something that needs two hands to do, I start looking as regal as possible, as inexpressibly noble as if I would never think of dirtying my own hand with such an insignificant task. Usually, someone takes the hint and steps in and does it for me.’

 

I snort.

 

‘I have a feeling that trick works for you better than it would for me.’

 

‘Maybe’, he agrees. ‘For now, a greater mystique attaches to the name of the house of Feanor than to the house of Marach. However, in time—who knows? But look on the bright side. It saves you having to try and look inexpressibly noble. You have no idea what a pain that can be.’

 

Behind us, two servants climb up to the battlements. One carries two folding chairs, the other a folding table. Maedhros directs them where to set them up and assists me into one of the chairs.  I sit and consider him and myself, as he thanks the servants and dismisses them.

 

I may not have grown wise in my old age, but I have certainly mellowed. I made friends with Bronadui, one of the surgeons who tried to save my hip joint and, once that failed, tried to reduce the pain and discomfort I was suffering to manageable proportions. The unusually high tolerance he has shown for being yelled and grumbled at has encouraged me to believe that elves may be healthier than Edain, but make just as bad patients when there’s something wrong with them.

 

Bronadui has even introduced me to his grandchildren. They have learned to avoid my bad leg when climbing into my lap. They are fascinated by my wrinkles and my thinning white hair.

 

I gave Maedhros a graphic and detailed description of all the ills that may attend Hildorin old age, from incontrollable shaking to memory loss to incontinence to dementia. As I did so, I reflected that I would never have been quite as frank about my fears when talking to a fellow Adan. Maedhros took it all without batting an eyelid and promised me that, if any of these threats materialized, he and Bronadui would see me through. I guess, when you’ve seen Angband, you’ve seen it all; no evidence of physical or mental frailty can shake you.

 

It is not the standard Eldarin reaction. Some of those who used to go out on patrol with me, regard me with pity and awe as if I had been struck down by the wrath of the Valar; others have adjusted rather better. Thankfully, none of the worse blights that I described to Maedhros have befallen me yet.

 

I know he devotes extra time to me because he thinks I will die soon and, in Eldarin terms, I certainly shall.  How it would have offended me once, to be the object of his consideration for such a reason!  It has ceased to bother me.

 

When he realized that during all those years in his service, I had never acquired more extensive skills in reading and writing than were required for dealing with guard schedules and reports, he began to teach me how to read for pleasure. He brought me short, easy texts that he hoped would interest me and would discuss them with me the next time he visited. It helped to pass the time when I was completely bedridden and in pain and, by the time I was able to get out of bed, I had developed a taste for it.

 

Just recently, he brought me an extract from the records he made of our conversations in the months when I first came to Himring. It astonished me. I could not remember having discussed these subjects with him at all. When I talked to him about it, I found he seemed to remember a lot of what I had said word for word.

 

‘Did you ever really need to make those notes?’, I asked him. ‘Or were they always just a ploy to demonstrate to me that you were taking these interviews seriously?’

 

‘No, I was taught to believe in keeping record’, he said. ‘And those notes have come in useful once or twice already. They may be even more useful...later.’

 

I look at him thoughtfully, as he sits down across from me. The sunset touches on his hair, making it seem even redder than usual. I was deplorably lacking in curiosity during my early years in Himring, but even I could not shut my ears completely to what was common knowledge there and I have learned more in recent years.  I know now that I had far more reason than I guessed to oppose the alliance between my people and the Eldar against Morgoth, and yet I am now certain that I was wrong to do so. It is my one regret now, not that I failed to avenge my own injuries on Morgoth, but that when he finally moves once more against my adopted people, I will no longer be there to oppose him.

 

I suppose it is mere chemistry of the body, reacting to his smooth skin, the litheness of his movements that in an Adan would signal youth, but sometimes I feel almost a little fatherly toward this man, who lost his father centuries before I was born. I thought four decades was a long time to pay for my mistakes; he’s been paying for about four centuries now. Eldar may experience time differently, but they still have to get through every moment, every hour, one after the other, as we do.

 

He gives me that straight, direct look that has always concealed as much as it revealed. It suddenly crosses my mind for the first time that to concern himself with my welfare soothes him. Of all the inhabitants of Himring, I am the only one who shall die of completely natural causes and it is almost certain that I will do so, before the Curse on the House of Feanor has a chance to strike again. He will in no way be responsible for my death; he can simply do his best for me, freely, without fear of impending guilt.

 

It would have humiliated me once, to think that it would be my mortality that might serve him best, a trait that is after all in no way individual, a trait which I share with all other Edain. It still is not the way I would have chosen to serve him, but if that is the way I may serve him, I will serve him so.