The Chief in a Village by Himring

Chapter 11

Gil-galad meets Maedhros

Originally written for Keiliss on the occasion of her birthday

‘Gil’, my minder and mentor called out softly across the garden.

I looked around to find out what she was trying to draw my attention to and saw him coming towards me. He was, in a word, striking: so very tall—and that unusual hair colour. Maybe it was because I was so young that the stump of his arm and that trail of faint scars across his face merely seemed other exciting characteristics of this remarkable stranger as well.

He towered above me for a moment. Then he swiftly, lightly, knelt down before me on the gravel of the garden path, bringing my face closer to his, and regarded me intently.

‘Good morning, Ereinion. I am Maedhros, son of Feanor, a cousin of yours. I don’t know whether you have heard of me?’

I thought he was the most exotic person I had ever seen and I was eager to impress him, so I could not resist showing off a bit:

‘Of course I have! You are the Damned Kinslayer.’

There was a moment of silence. I strongly began to doubt my wisdom; maybe I should not have repeated what I had overheard that Sinda say in the marketplace. There had been such force, such intensity behind it that it had caught my interest and imprinted itself on my memory; only maybe it really was not a nice thing to say…

Then Maedhros smiled. It was a smile that warmed me right down to my toes and dispelled my anxiety.

‘Yes. Very good’, he said. But then he added; ‘You don’t know what that means, do you?’

My doubts returned. Father wouldn’t like it if I went around saying offensive things to cousins and, besides, the stranger had a nice smile.

‘No’, I admitted. ‘They aren’t rude words, are they?’

‘No, they aren’t rude’, Maedhros said. ‘But I think it would be better not to repeat them to anybody else.’

I was puzzled and, clearly, it showed.

‘Think of it like this’, he explained. ‘There must be things that you have done that you would prefer other people not to be reminded of?’

Before my inner eye, the fragments of a broken chamber pot, previously full, appeared—right in the middle of one of Grandfather’s precious Valinorean carpets. I shuddered slightly.

‘Yes’, I said, with feeling.

The corner of Maedhros’s mouth twitched, but he went on, seriously:

‘There are a number of people who would be distressed if you reminded them of this.’

‘I see’, I said. ‘I am very sorry I reminded you, and I won’t mention it again.’ But I felt compelled, in all honesty, to add: ‘I still don’t know what the words mean, though.’

It was, after all, fairly obvious that this strange member of my family hadn’t broken any chamber pots, whatever he had done.

‘I know, Ereinion’, said Maedhros—and it occurred to me then that he had had the saddest eyes ever, all along. ‘I do apologize for not telling you. You see, I hope you will never really find out what they mean.’

So that is what I remembered when I saw what he had done at the Havens of Sirion.