The Hammer Does Not Fall by Cirth

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Chapter Three

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Note: I have no excuses to make. This chapter is probably riddled with typos, bad writing, and plot holes, but I figured if I didn't post it now I never would. I'll give it a proper look over at some point. Enjoy, if you can.

Chapter Three

A week later, when Maedhros was pounding dough for bread in his cramped kitchen, four raps came at his door; they were brisk and loud, and sounded urgent. He cursed under his breath. After wiping his hands with a dirty cloth, he wrenched open the door. He blinked. "Elrond?" He was so confused that he forgot to extend an invitation to come in. It was the break of day; a scattering of stars still winked against the sky.

Elrond's face was drained of colour. He raked his hands through his hair and took several deep breaths. "We need to talk. And drink."

Maedhros was not in the mood to do either. He was anxious about Maglor, and growing impatient with the Valar. For the past few days he had been fidgety and restless; he had not even made his bed properly or glanced at the letters that had been slipped into his house from beneath his door. "Is it not too early in the day to drink?" he asked, hoping he would not be fed that affront to elvish existence again. Nausea swirled in his gut at the thought, and he fought the urge to place a hand over his mouth.

"Because I can't talk about this without something that will muddle my wits, and you..." Elrond wagged his mouth a few times, and then shook his head. "On second thought, don't drink. But come to an inn with me. The Leaping Lizard."

Maedhros cringed at the name.

"It's about half an hour's walk from here," Elrond continued, ignoring Maedhros' expression. He shuffled his feet and slipped his book into his satchel. "Let us leave now."

The sky grew overcast as they strolled down the white streets. Maedhros felt oddly as if he were floating through a dream; the tall pillars and the roads lined with arching cherry blossom trees did nothing for his humour. He tried to feel angry, but could not. Then he tried to feel happy, and failed. The only thing he felt was vague, nagging bitterness and worry.

By the time they reached the inn, a cold, miserable drizzle had begun to patter down. They ducked through the arched entryway and, after briefly greeting the innkeeper, settled themselves at a table in an alcove. An unlit lantern hung above the latticed window. Elrond ordered a glass of white wine, and then fell silent, tapping his fingers on his cheek

Maedhros leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms, and glanced around. There were a few people already present, wolfing down breakfast or talking in voices still weighed down with sleepiness. He grimaced when a group of young Noldor sitting at the bar suddenly burst into song: it was something about a cat and a fiddle. And spoons. And a cow. Maedhros decided he would have to be deep into his cups before he could remotely tolerate that song.

A cheery waiter in a stained apron brought Elrond's wine, along with a bowl of salted peanuts.

"Easy," said Maedhros, alarmed, when Elrond chugged half his glass in one go. Bad drinking habits disturbed Maedhros somewhat; they reminded him of uncontrollability, of not having one's life in one's own hands. Seeing Elrond this way made him worry more than he wished to admit. Did his foster-son turn to drink when he was upset?

No. Maedhros shook his head. Elrond had too strong a sense of self-preservation – and responsibility towards others – to throw himself into a habit like that. If Elrond felt something was foolish to begin with, he would avoid it.

Elrond put down his cup, his brow deeply furrowed. He fidgeted, looked to the ceiling, and then at the table. Then he pulled the bowl of peanuts towards him, scowled at it, and pushed it to the side.

Fat drops of rain slid down the window. Maedhros cleaned some imaginary dirt from his nails. "Take your time."

"Maglor."

Maedhros looked up at Elrond.

"Maglor will be resurrected," Elrond managed at last, in what sounded suspiciously like pained tones.

Maedhros blinked, and went still. The sounds of clattering plates, clinking cutlery and laughter seemed to merge together and come from far away. He was not sure whether to feel relieved or offended. "Why did you receive this news before I did?" he asked, bewildered.

"I don't know," said Elrond helplessly. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I think the Valar sent official messages only to the lords and ladies of Valinor; but it is perfectly plausible that they sent a letter to your house, and you did not see it. I only found out last night; apparently, the message was delivered last morning."

Maedhros drew a long, deep breath to steady his hammering heart, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A couple of letters had been delivered to me yesterday, but I assumed they were from Mother or you; I just threw them on a table and did not even look at the seals. I thought – I was sure the Valar would send Eönwë to deliver me news such as this." A surge of bitterness went through his chest. "When will they resurrect him?"

"A fortnight." Elrond cleared his throat. He took another swig from his glass. His hand was shaking. He put his chin in his hand, covering his mouth, and stared at a spot behind Maedhros' shoulder till his eyes grew bright. Someone at the other end of the room shouted for a song, and this was followed by raucous cheers and fists hammering on tables.

Maedhros waited patiently for Elrond to continue. He knew that if he spoke first, Elrond might grow irate or even more nervous.

Eventually, Elrond swallowed, briefly massaged his brow, and mumbled, "He might not have all his memories."

All of Maedhros' thoughts ground slowly to a halt. The idea was so ludicrous, so utterly preposterous, that it did not immediately register in his brain. "What?"

"It is...complicated," Elrond said, appearing to fumble for words. He made vague gestures with his hands, and kept shaking his head. "When Glorfindel was resurrected, he did not even remember how to speak. Gradually, he began to regain all his memories; but it took a good four months. He is still not sure if he has all of them there." He raked his hand through his hair, and his fingers came away glistening with sweat. "Sometimes, he will meet someone who triggers another memory." He glanced up at Maedhros, brow furrowed deeply.

Maedhros was silent for a while. Suddenly, he understood why Elrond had taken him here, and not sat with him in a private chamber; here, there could be no outbursts or arguments without drawing attention. Clearly, Elrond had wanted to keep things quiet and civil ­­– and non-violent.

When the fog in his mind began to break, Maedhros said, "So, it will be like taking care of an infant."

"Not necessarily. It is different for everyone, from what I have seen and read. He might remember everything, or most things."

"Our luck is too poor for that to happen," said Maedhros, massaging his temples. "Between kinslayings, wars, and torture, forgive me if I do not think Maglor will be perfectly normal."

Elrond leaned forward, now looking surer of himself. "He will not be perfectly normal either way. We do not even know if he will be grateful for this. Let us not leap to conclusions."

"He is my brother," Maedhros snapped. "It is only natural that I leap to conclusions."

Elrond dropped his gaze, appearing stung.

Maedhros immediately felt guilt wash over him, and cursed himself for not keeping a hold on his tongue. His own pain was not an excuse for hurting others. "Forgive me," he said in a soft voice. "I am only..." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, at a loss for words. The immense weight of the situation seemed to have suddenly come crashing down on him. His shoulders slumped. He felt weary, as if he had hiked up a tall hill without stopping for rest or food.

"I had a brother, as well," said Elrond. "I can understand your worry, in however limited a manner." Then he looked up at Maedhros, quiet but steely resolution in his gaze. "But I do feel that it is better that we remain calm; nothing will benefit from panic, or from eyes blinded with tears." His frown deepened, and he averted his gaze again. "I have shed enough tears in my life. I do not wish to shed any more."

"Weeping may be inevitable," said Maedhros, though not in an effort to argue. "But my heart says that you are right."

A small smile played on Elrond's lips, and Maedhros, for some reason, felt the weight on his shoulders lessen. "I hope I am," said Elrond. He glanced out the window. "We should leave. Celebrían will want me home."

Neither of them moved. Someone in the inn burst into song, and was joined by a couple more people. Maedhros could have pretended that the Trees still shone on Taniquetil and that he had only come to an inn for food and talk and cheer. Any moment now, someone would thrust Maglor into the middle of the room and merrily demand a song from him.

"Perhaps," said Elrond suddenly, breaking Maedhros' reverie, "it is not my place to say this, but...I wish to see you happy."

Maedhros arched an eyebrow, half-amused and half-disturbed.

"Perhaps you think that you do not deserve to feel happiness again," Elrond continued. He swirled the small amount of wine in his glass, which winked in the light. "But not being happy will not change anything. It will not bring the dead back to life, and it will not raise fallen kingdoms. And...and you are not malicious."

Maedhros barked a bitter laugh.

"You have killed, and that is inexcusable. No amount of time spent in Mandos or some prison can compensate for the taking of even one innocent life. But you took no pleasure in killing, and prevented it when you thought you could." Elrond rubbed his chin. "And my own hands are not unstained."

"You have killed only Orcs."

"Orcs are still living, sentient beings. They are brainwashed or wired to think in a certain way; I am not sure which. But killing them is not an innocent act."

"Is this an inappropriate time to say I am proud of you?"

Elrond smiled. His eyes were sad, and tired, and hollow. "It is. And I am not proud of myself."

"Maglor would not be happy to hear that."

"He will not hear it," Elrond said, in a tone that one did not negotiate with. Maedhros gave a grim smirk and put a finger to his lips. It felt like a pretend-formal agreement between two boys who had only just begun to become friends.

***

Since his re-embodiment, Maedhros made an effort not to avoid his mother. He visited her one misty morning, endured her kisses, and tried to make conversation beyond apologising and explaining himself. He ate the bread she made and plastered a smile on his face. All he wanted to do was go home and huddle in a blanket and worry about Maglor. Then he felt terrible for pretending to enjoy himself, and made his mother tea and offered to rub her shoulders, the way he would do when he was young and wore brighter clothes.

When he met her next, a day after he spoke with Elrond at the inn, she held a letter from the Valar; the envelope was identical to the one Maedhros received. They sat on creaking pinewood chairs in her balcony, which overlooked the garden and the expanse of land beyond. Silver mist, softened by watery sunlight, hung over the endless plains.

Maedhros put his elbows on his knees. He had not wanted to know of Maglor's fate without their mother by his side; the idea somehow felt indecent, almost obscene. "I wanted you to open it; unless you'd rather I did it." He was afraid of what the contents might be, and yet wanted to know them desperately.

Nerdanel frowned at the envelope. A stray lock of hair slipped forward and kissed her cheekbone. She gave the envelope to Maedhros.

He took it and gazed at the seal. Dark red, with the mark of Lord Manwë and Lady Varda. Perfectly round and smooth. It glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Forcing himself not to think, Maedhros slipped his finger underneath the flap and ripped it open. It sounded so cartoonishly ominous he almost laughed.

The message was written on a single sheet of crisp paper. For a moment the letters blurred and drifted, as if Maedhros were in a dream. Then he shook his head, gripped the paper harder, and began to read, his heart clattering against his ribcage. His shoulders began to relax when he realised it was much like the letter written for his own re-embodiment. There were a lot of long, convoluted sentences, grand words, and thinly veiled dubiousness – all typical of the Valar.

"It says he cannot request to return to Mandos, unless he is, for some reason, already fading," Maedhros murmured without looking up. He could feel the weight of his mother's gaze on him.

"Why not?"

"It does not explain. I assume it is because..." He paused, and shifted his gaze towards the garden.

Around the house hung a thick silence, broken only by the chattering of birds. It was not the silence of a home that was full and warm. Maedhros could not imagine enjoying a book in this kind of quiet; he could barely imagine sleeping in it.

"When is he to be re-embodied?" asked Nerdanel.

"Less than a fortnight. I suppose they are giving us time to prepare."

"Where will he live?"

With me, Maedhros thought immediately; it was almost a knee-jerk reaction. He said, "That is your choice. And his, if he has most or all of his memories." He gave a brief recount of what Elrond had told him, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

Nerdanel shifted her gaze to the fields. Dappled sunlight played on her face and neck. Her eyes betrayed no feeling. "If he has his memories, he can decide for himself. If not, I would rather he stayed with you." She looked at Maedhros again, and crossed her arms over her chest. "This is your responsibility, though I will be always be available if you need me."

Maedhros blinked, pursed his lips, and tried to remember if she had said fault or responsibility. He found himself mumbling something in the affirmative. The ground seemed to tilt sideways. He felt as if the sunlight was growing brighter, not in the way that sharpened colours, but in a way that fogged his vision.

"Maedhros?" Nerdanel sounded alarmed.

"Uh." His head swam. Where was he? Oh, yes, in his mother's house. "I need..." Water.

Then something cold and wet was pressing against his mouth. Liquid slid between his teeth and down his throat, and he hacked. He opened his eyes to find his mother gazing at him, her brow furrowed with worry. A damp, plaid cloth was in her hand.

Realisation washed over him. "How long was I unconscious?" he said. His new body seemed to be bent on failing him.

She seemed to relax somewhat. "Not long; a few minutes." She tossed the cloth onto the table. "Have you been eating properly?"

"Yes," he said without thinking, even though he had eaten nothing since the previous night. Never had he considered answering in the negative. Once, in his tenth summer, his father had yelled at him and rapped his knuckles when he did not accurately recite a poem of Rúmil. Maedhros had locked himself in his room and, for a day and a half, had not put anything in his stomach but a handful of raisins. His mother had finally coaxed him out with the promise of a lesson in knife making – something that, in his mind, he had hitherto been unjustly denied.

The first thing she had done was clean his face and feed him honey cakes. "Why do you trouble me?" she said, in that tender, exasperated tone only mothers knew how to use. "Do you know how much I love you?" She put a bite-sized piece of cake in his mouth. "What did you eat for this long?"

An attendant had brought him food, he said, gazing at his shoes. His mother did not reply, though he knew she was aware of his lie; she briefly cupped his chin before feeding him another bite.

Now, Nerdanel raised her hand, as if she intended to place it on his shoulder. Her arm hovered uncertainly for a moment. She put it back down and sat in her chair, and steepled her fingers.

***