Diptych by Himring

Angband: Not as Bad as it Looks

(Names: Maitimo=Maedhros, Makalaure=Maglor)

There was one particular wound in his side that was, after all this time, still healing badly; it was deep, inflamed and suppurating, with a tendency to break open whenever he moved. The sight of the festering wound seemed to distress Makalaure so much, whenever he took off the bandage, that Maitimo at length felt impelled to try and console him. The wound, he told him, wasn’t as bad as it looked.

Makalaure was clearly unconvinced, so Maitimo explained that the orc who had inflicted it had been intent only on causing pain. Registering Makalaure’s incomprehension, he explained further that the pain had been intense at the time, of course, but he had passed out eventually, and this particular orc had been quite unsophisticated, really, hadn’t tried to extract pleas for mercy, humiliation or surrender... And saw himself mirrored in his brother’s eyes.

He heard his own voice falter, trying to explain the self-evident facts of Angband to Makalaure, and whatever fragments of pragmatism he had managed to shore up in the darkness of the dungeons slipped away from him. He had been used, he was soiled; he was broken. He felt hot shame creep over him all the way down to his fingers and toes, as he had not felt it in Angband.

Makalaure got a grip on himself, took Maitimo in his arms and started crooning soothing words into his ear. That struck Maitimo as both irrelevant and inappropriate. He would have very much have preferred not to be touched right then and not to touch anybody else. But he thought it would comfort Makalaure to think that he was comforting him, and so he played along as best he could.

And gradually the tightening stranglehold that threatened to cut off his breath turned back into his brother’s familiar embrace, the meaningless jabber in his ears became Makalaure’s beloved voice again.