Assault to Abjury by Agelast

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Chapter 3

Yes, I did finish this! 

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And all at once, his brothers surrounded him. Not just Tyelkormo in front, but Carnistir and Curufinwë too, with Ambarto leading the rear. Tyelkormo gave a command and everyone else seemed to fade away into the dark of the woods, leaving only them, and Findekáno, behind.

“Where is our father?” Maitimo asked, because he had to say something. “And Makalaurë? And why is there only one Ambarussa?”

“I had heard rumors that you were among the late-comers, Maitimo,” Curufinwë mused, “certainly a redheaded giant is sure to attract attention, but I am surprised that you had not bothered to find out what has happened, yourself. How lazy of you.”

“Much has happened since you left us,” Ambarto said somberly. “But such talk is not fit for the open air. Come home with us, Maitimo. We will tell you then.”

“I will not go without Findekáno,” Maitimo said firmly, grabbing at Findekáno’s hand.

“And I will not return without you,” Findekáno murmured, so low that only Maitimo could hear.

“Fine, then,” Tyelkormo said with a huff. “You have ruined my hunt so thoroughly that I will not be able to feed you. But come along and all will be revealed.”

*

The Fëanorian settlement was far more complete and permanent looking than the sad collection of huts and tents that made up Nolofinwë’s camp. The fortifications seemed sturdy enough to withstand a serious attack, and in most places stone had replaced wood.

There were also buildings made of stone, including what turned out to be Tyelkormo’s -- the king’s house -- which they were led to, leaving the large crowd of curious on-lookers behind.

Many recognized Maitimo right away, and while some shouted their greetings to him, others were silent. Some turned away their faces as he passed, and with a pang, Maitimo recognized those who did it as some of his closest followers.

Had they been punished for their loyalty to him? Or had their hearts been turned on their own? He needed to know, badly.

They came to a private study away from the main hall, and the door was closed. For better or worse, the time to speak had come.

*

“Father’s dead,” Carnistir said bluntly. “As is Ambarussa -- Ambarto is alone now.”

“How did they die?” Maitimo said, leaning back on his chair. He listened quietly as Carnistir described the first battle they had had in Beleriand, of making allies with the Dark Elves who remained here. How Fëanáro had overextended himself in his wrath and was separated from the others. How he had been surrounded by Balrogs and killed by the lord of them.

Even as he lay dying, his spirit was too much for his flesh. He made them repeat the Oath again and again before he perished, his body turning to ashes before their eyes. A spirit of fire met the fate that all flames must.

Maitimo felt his heart ache in his chest as he heard those words. He had never considered this possibility. Always, as he approached Beleriand, he thought of what he should say to Fëanáro once he saw him again. He had thought it possible that his father would refuse to see him, but Maitimo knew now that he was as stubborn and as determined as Fëanáro himself. He would see him, even if it took many years and all his powers of persuasion to do it.

But now even that possibility was snatched away. They would never be able to reconcile, and Maitimo would never be able to have Fëanáro’s love or forgiveness ever again.

If he could weep now, he would. But instead Maitimo sat still as a stone, as numb to sorrow as he was to the pressure of Findekáno’s hand on his.

“Before he was utterly spent, he mentioned you, Maitimo,” said Curufinwë, a ruthless gleam in his eye. “He said that no matter where you hid, you were still bound to the Oath, as the rest of us.”

“I know that to be true,” Maitimo said. “Our father knew that I would come among you again.”

“He did not reject you utterly,” Ambarto said. “In the end, he loved us still.” He spoke with conviction, which Maitimo wished that he shared.

“Did… Makalaurë and Ambarussa die in this battle as well?”

None of his brothers would look at him now.

“Makalaurë sought to treat with our Enemy and was captured,” Tyelkormo said, looking unusually grim. “Not long after father’s death, we received an emissary from Morgoth, promising that we could lay claim to the whole of Beleriand if only we gave up our Oath to retrieve the Silmarils. Makalaurë refused to hear him, and we killed the emissary.”

“The next one was more amiable,” said Carnistir with a grim smile. “It promised half of Beleriand and one of the Silmarils. We killed it as well.”

“... It?” Findekáno said, confused. “What manner of creature were you speaking to that you can call them that?”

“You must have seen them, o dull-witted cousin,” drawled Curufinwë. “A twisted shape like an Elf, a thing that can speak, though barely. Orcs, the Dark Elves call them. They were Elves once, or so the legend goes. Spirited out of Cuiviénen’s shadow and tormented so that they are no longer human. It is our duty here to kill as many of them as we can.”

“It is a savage thing you do,” Findekáno said, with a stubborn set in his jaw.

Curufinwë laughed at him. “You are as naive a fool as your uncle Arafinwë. I’m not surprised.”

“We were speaking of Makalaurë,” Maitimo reminded them.

“He accepted the last offer, which was to exchange the Silmarils with himself. The agreement was that he would come alone, and Morgoth’s deputy would too. Of course, none followed the terms, and we lost him and gained nothing.”

“How could you allow him to do that?” Maitimo burst out, pushing back his chair and standing. “Was it not apparent that our Enemy is a liar and a cheat? How could you think that you could out-lie and out-cheat him?”

The air turned cold around him and everyone seemed on edge. Even Findekáno, beside him, seemed ready to attack.

All except Curufinwë, that was, who remained sitting. He sneered at Maitimo, and said, “Who are you to condemn us? You abandoned us to our fate, and now have come late to chastise us! Brother, dismiss this stranger, for a stranger he has proven to be. Cast him out!”

“You will not dare!” shouted Ambarto, leaping up. Maitimo thought, surprised, that his littlest-but-one brother had grown somewhat since he had seen him last. He was almost as tall as Maitimo himself now.

“You defend him?” Curufinwë spat out. “He is the reason father is dead, that Umbarto is dead, that Makalaurë is as good as dead.”

“Have you not tried to rescue him? Why?” Maitimo cried out. “You will tell me, now!”

“We will tell you nothing,” Curufinwë said fiercely. He was no longer shouting, but from the way he looked at him, Maitimo knew that his brother would not hesitate to cut him down where he stood. They stared at each for a long moment, measuring each other’s resolve.

Curufinwë had never made it a secret that he thought that he was Fëanáro’s true heir, however late he was born. Their father had done nothing to discourage this, instead, he used it as a goad to drive Maitimo harder, to make him a better son.

Ultimately, Maitimo had failed in that, and all else in his father’s eyes, but it still did not make Curufinwë’s words acceptable. Try as he might, Curufinwë was not Fëanáro, and as such he did not deserve Maitimo’s deference.

“Tyelkormo,” Maitimo said sharply, “tell me why you are in this position, and tell me know. I am willing to overlook all of your betrayal for the moment, but I will not be pushed.”

“There is not much to tell,” Tyelkormo said, rubbing the back of his neck. He grimaced and then turned his scowl to Maitimo. “It all goes back to our father, doesn’t it? You knew he would never return to give Nolofinwë passage to Middle-earth. He could not stand such disloyalty. It follows that we we cannot as well. It was because of this disloyalty and cowardice that Ambarussa died. And why Makalaurë is where he is. Neither of them were worthy of being a son of Fëanáro.”

“You lie! Ambarussa was no coward. And I did not kill him for disobeying our father!” Ambarto approached Tyelkormo, an unholy light in his eye.

Maitimo reached and restrained him, though Ambarto struggled against him. His brother's voice rose to a wail. “I did not know where he was in the ship until it was too late. But I felt him burn, I felt him die, Maitimo!”

Maitimo wrapped his arms around his brother and felt him shake against him. A somber silence descended over all of them, even Curufinwë, who was still and poised. Ready for the final knife-stroke.

“What did he say when you found out?” This question Maitimo directed at Carnistir, whose face was dull and red, as it always was when he was under a considerable amount of stress.

“He said that it was better for traitors to burn or freeze than be among us. Let it be a warning.”

“Ambarussa just wanted to see mother,” Ambarto said, his face still pressed against Maitimo’s chest. “He knew this was wrong, he could not shake it after Aqualondë. He didn't kill anyone, but Father killed him.”

“Silence your tongue, coward,” Curufinwë hissed. “I will not stand for your disloyalty. You only dare say these things because Maitimo is here.”

“Maitimo,” Findekáno said finally. All the brothers turned to look at him. Even Maitimo had forgotten his presence there, so absorbed was he in the terrible new world before him. “The hour grows late and we must away. My father will worry.”

“But I am staying here,” Maitimo said, surprised that it needed to be said.

“What? You cannot be serious,” Findekáno said.

At the same time, Tyelkormo said, “I do not recall giving you permission to do such a thing.”

“Give my uncle my thanks and eternal gratitude for his hospitality,” Maitimo said, bowing slightly in Findekáno’s direction. “But now I must put my own house in order.”

“Not your house,” Tyelkormo said, pouting.

“Shut up, Tyelko,” Carnistir said, sighing. “You were only the fourth choice. Given a vote, do you think they would chose you again?”

“Kings are not chosen,” Tyelkormo said with a huff. “They are made.”

“Then Maitimo is our king,” said Ambarto. “He has made it through the ice and terror to find us and claim us. I pledge myself to his crown. Who will do the same?”

“I will,” said Carnistir. “Tyelkormo is only fit to lead a pack of hounds, nothing more.”

“You traitor,” Tyelkormo said hotly. Then he looked at Maitimo squarely in the eye and grinned suddenly. “Well. You will learn soon enough that kingship is a terrible burden, Maitimo. Grandfather, father and Makalaurë fell under it. I hope you do not do the same. You can have it.”

He tossed the crown at Maitimo’s feet and it landed with a small cloud of dust. Ambarto bent down and picked it up, rubbing the golden surface with the back of his tunic.

“I do not accept this,” Curufinwë said, his hands clenched to his sides. “You all know within your hearts that our father would not, either.”

“So three for and one against. The ayes have it. Maitimo is our king,” Carnistir said. “You may go now, Findekáno, and tell this news to our half-uncle. He can stop this pretense at kingship as well.”

But Findekáno was looking at Maitimo steadily. “Is this your will, Maitimo?”

“It is -- remaining here, I meant. The subject of kingship will have to wait.”

“Then I leave you to it,” Findekáno said, rising to leave.

“Wait!” Maitimo said. “Tyelkormo, tell me now. Why did you not attempt to rescue Makalaurë?”

“We did not need to,” Tyelkormo said, clearly annoyed. “Makalaurë came back on his own. He is more of a traitor to us than even you are. He relinquished the Silmarils and foreswore the Oath. Makalaurë is no longer our brother. He is no longer one of the Noldor.”

“That is… impossible,” Maitimo said, blankly.

“Since you are our king now, you will need to fix all of this,” Curufinwë said conversationally. He put his hand on his cheek and smiled. “When will you start?”

*

Maitimo followed Findekáno out to the hall, away from the rest of the household. He was determined to fix something, at least.

But instead, Findekáno stopped walking, looked at him, and gave a short, bitter laugh. “I had forgotten how you are with them! You stray so quickly into the path of madness with your family, Maitimo; how can you stand it?”

“Are you not my family too, Findekáno?” Maitimo wanted nothing more than to touch Findekáno, to kiss him if he could. But he kept his distance. He did not think his overtures would be welcome just now.

“Not like that. Not like -- I cannot love you as you are.”

“So you reject me?” Maitimo felt himself pale. “Your love is weak indeed if it crumbles at the first sign of trouble.”

“You know it’s not that! It’s just like before,” Findekáno said fiercely. “When given a choice, you will always chose them.”

“I did not chose them in Araman,” Maitimo reminded him. “Or would you that I had?”

“Would it have made a difference now?”

“It has made a great difference,” Maitimo said, with a sigh. “Though perhaps we cannot see all ends from where we are.”

*

There was a strain of music that ran through the halls of Maitimo’s new home that haunted him, that would not let him sleep. He lay awake in the room that had been built for his father, then used by his brothers and finally turned over to him, and listened, his heart pounding slowly in his chest. When he was finally able to drift off, he was jolted awake by something -- someone -- gripping tightly to his chest.

He woke to a dark shape looming over him. After a moment, a familiar, beloved face appeared, illuminated by a weak shaft of light.

“Makalaurë,” Maitimo sighed.

“You should not sound so relieved,” Makalaurë said. “Surely they have told you that I am a dishonorable traitor and no longer of the Noldor.”

“Yes, they told me that.”

“It’s all true, you know.”

“You have renounced the Oath?”

“I have renounced everything I could to earn my freedom, but still he does not let me go.” Makalaurë pushed back his hair and revealed a thin, iron collar around his neck. On impulse, Maitimo tugged at it.

“It’s hell-wrought iron, you unbelievable idiot,” Makalaurë said, pushing him away. “Don’t you think I tried everything to free myself? The only thing that would free me would be if you cut off my head. Would you do that for me?”

“... I politely decline.”

“You would, you coward. So, why are you here and not curled up in the peerless Findekáno’s arms?”

“The peerless Findekáno loves me no longer. I am not welcome in his arms.”

“Hm. I do not believe it.” Makalaurë cocked his head, apparently deep in thought. “You are still treating me as a brother and not a cursed traitor. That’s a mistake, you know.”

“Makalaurë,” Maitimo said softly, “what happened to you in Angband? How did you get away?”

“It is a strange place, Angband. There are places in it that are quite beautiful and almost indistinguishable from Tirion that was -- though Morgoth claimed that he had bettered all of our works.”

“He is a thief and a murderer,” Maitimo said bluntly. “He has not bettered anything.”

“I did not agree with him,” Makalaurë said with a moue of annoyance.

“Brother, why did you forswear the oath?” How did you do it, Maitimo wanted to ask, is it possible to do?

“I know you would have done differently,” Makalaurë said bitterly. “Many days I spent being beaten and tortured and thought of how you would have resisted, how you would never have found yourself there. But still -- if that had been all, I believe I could have endured it. But Morgoth did not end there --”

“You needn’t tell me if it’s painful to you,” Maitimo said and Makalaurë gave him a twisted smile.

“I needn’t continue if it’s painful for you.”

“No, I will hear it,” Maitimo said decidedly. He sat up and looked at Makalaurë expectantly. But while his brother obliged him and spoke of many -- most, truly hideous -- it seemed that Maitimo could not quite listen to what he said. His mind could not seem to settle on it. It was something to do with the timbre of Makalaurë’s voice, the way he said certain things…

He heard Makalaurë chuckle slightly. “I told you that you wouldn’t listen.”

“You’re doing it,” Maitimo said, barely able to to keep his eyes open. “Makalaurë, stop it.”

“You should sleep rather than hear of me.”

“Makalaurë --”

Maitimo fought against it -- this overwhelming fatigue -- but the conversation with Makalaurë, with his burning eyes and hands that grasped at his, had drained him. When he woke, he was alone with no signs that he’d had a visitor all. As he cast about for a lamp or candle to stave off the oppressiveness of the darkened room, he heard a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” he called out.

“It’s me,” said Tyelkormo. “Can we talk?”

“It must be the time for it,” Maitimo said, “Come in.”

Tyelkormo had always been an early riser -- his hair was unbound and his face seemed oddly young-looking, cleared from worry that it had housed before. “There’s a stench in this room,” he said with a half-smile. “You have been entertaining the traitor, I see.”

“I do not see why you reject him as you do,” Maitimo protested. “He has escaped Morgoth and for that he should be commended.”

“You know nothing of it,” Tyelkormo said, moving so that he was in front of Maitimo, just out of reach. “When he arrived at our gates, we -- all of us, even Curufinwë -- wept with joy. But the Makalaurë who returned was not the one who marched away. The Grey Elves warn of those who were captured by the Enemy and then returned, and they warn rightly. Makalaurë did not escape, he was sent to us. With the first day of his return, a hundred of our best warriors were dead.”

“Then why do you keep him?”

“Do you wish us to be kinslayers truly? It would be different, killing Makalaurë over some stinking Teleri fisherman. And we cannot exile him, have him betray us again.”

“I am asking why --”

“We keep him because we cannot let him loose. When he is in his right mind -- which is most of the time -- he allows himself to be kept secure. Safe. He understands why. But sometimes -- like tonight, he will sing the locks open and creep out to do mischief.”

Maitimo felt as if he had been struck in the back of the head.

Tyelkormo gave him a sad smile. “You begin to understand now, I think, what you have gotten yourself into. Do you long to go back to the other side of the lake and avail yourself on Nolofinwë’s hospitality once again?”

“No need for that,” Maitimo said grimly. “I feel that we will be over there soon enough.”

*

And Maitimo was right, as he often was on wagers of little consequences. The formal rapprochement between his camp and Nolofinwë's came long after they had settled into their new life. In truth, Maitimo was kept so busy in getting his house in order that he rarely missed his former companions on the Ice. Was this cold-hearted of him? Findekáno had been right when he said that Maitimo’ attention was easily consumed when he was with his brothers. Habits of a long lifetime were difficult to break.

But it wasn’t as if he was wholly cut off from his cousins across the water. He would often hear about their exploits and one day, when hunting, he came face-to-face with Irissë, and some of Findekáno’s followers.

“So I see that you have not died, despite my brother’s long face,” Irissë said when she’d stopped him. Tyelkormo, who was naturally with Maitimo -- he could not be kept from hunting -- made a hurt noise, deep in his throat, when Irissë would not look at him, much less speak to him.

“I have not died,” Maitimo said, offering Irissë his hand to dismount from her horse, which she promptly ignored. She descended on her own and surveyed the clearing where they had met by chance.

“Mithrim’s too small to support two such large and hungry clans, don’t you think? Perhaps you should move on -- leave here, go far away,” she said, as delicately as a knife in the back. Maitimo laughed, surprising himself. She was very like her brother.

“Have you permission to say so from your father?” he asked her, but she snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Why do I need my father’s permission to speak the truth everyone knows?” She finally deigned to look at Tyelkormo. She didn’t frown at him -- if anything, she looked almost sad. “But it is true -- Father wishes to speak to you, before we can have formal negotiations. Why he thinks he will be able to reach you when nothing will, I don’t know.”

“I would accept his offer, regardless of whatever use it might be,” Maitimo said pleasantly, but Irissë was not having it.

“My brother, fool that he is, expected better from you. You’ve dashed all of his expectations and will find him changed.”

“Irissë! Will you ignore me the whole time? How cruel!” Tyelkormo cried out but Irissë dismissed him with a rude gesture and was gone.

*

When it finally came, the meeting between the two factions of the Noldor, it was agreed that both sides would meet in a neutral location -- an old hunting lodge at the edge of both their territories.

Maitimo hadn’t expected music to start suddenly when he saw Findekáno again, nor for sparks to fly. But he hadn’t quite expected this either -- a door suddenly opened and Findekáno looked out and spotted him. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, looking disgruntled. He tried to close the door, but Maitimo stuck out his boot.

“Findekáno, I want to talk to you, I only agreed to this ridiculous meeting because of it.”

“Ridiculous, you say? I don’t think discussing our future existence as a people is so very ridiculous, but what do I know? It seems like I don’t know you at all…”

“You’re crushing my toes…”

“Good! Let me close this door!”

“Findekáno! I’m sorry.”

Findekáno stilled for a moment, letting his grip on the doorknob grow slack. “I don’t know what you want to me to say. It’s all right, Maitimo? I knew you would go back to your brothers anyway? I mean, I did know, but I’m still angry about it.”

“Open the door, let me see you.”

“I won’t.”

“You bar from seeing even your face? Cruel Findekáno!”

“Like your brothers have barred Makalaurë from coming amongst you.”

“You’ve heard that, have you?”

“I couldn’t believe that of you. Maitimo, your own brother!”

“Weren’t you criticizing me just now for being blindly devoted to my brothers?”

Findekáno opened the door and peered out at him. His familiar, beloved face filled Maitimo with a sense of warmth that he hadn’t even realized he had missed. He reached out towards him, but Findekáno shook his head.

“Look, I still have things to work on, I won’t lie --”

“Thank you, I was worried about your lying.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

“Then I say in earnest that I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.”

Maitimo paused a moment, letting himself absorb the blow. “Fine, then, we won’t pick up where we left off. But as allies -- we are still that, I hope? -- I want to be able to count on you.”

“It depends on what you have to offer.”

“Only the resolution to our current political crisis and peace among the Noldor, as well as the destruction of our enemies.”

“How do you suggest we do that? Split Beleriand in half?”

“Well --”

“Honestly, I’ve no idea how you’ve got a reputation for being a strategic genius -- you’re just hard-headed enough to keep going even when everything fails --”

“You’ve just described yourself, you know that?” Maitimo said with a smile. He gestured towards the door on the other side of the room. Behind it, he knew, were gathered all his brothers (save one) and all his cousins and his uncle and their followers. The fate of Beleriand waited for them. “Shall we go, then?”

“If we must,” Findekáno said with a sigh.

Maitimo took his arm and led him away. “In any case, I’m going to tell Makalaurë that I don’t accept his renunciation of the oath. We will bring him back into our fold soon enough, you shall see.”

“I’m not convinced that is the best for him.”

“Of course it isn't,” Maitimo said blithely. “But we are all family, after all. We should stay together. And besides, Makalaurë cannot exempt himself from our doom. Neither can you, Findekáno. No more than I can.”

“What a wonderful thought!”

“Yes. I find it oddly comforting, myself.”