Maps by grey_gazania

Chapter 1: Fingon

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“I'll stay the same / Pack up, don't stray / Oh say say say / Wait / They don't love you like I love you.”

— Yeah Yeahs Yeahs, "Maps"

 

 

We had been on the shores of Lake Mithrim for years now, trading with the local people and tending to our hurts, trying to rebuild as best we could from all that we had lost on the Helcaraxë. But the longer we went without any meaningful contact with our cousins, the clearer it became to me that our people would never move forward as long as Maitimo's fate was unknown.

 

I knew only what Irissë had gleaned from her last angry conversation with Tyelkormo: Tyelkormo believed he was dead, but Makalaurë believed he was alive. What the others believed I did not know nor, frankly, did I care. It wasn't belief I wanted.

 

It was knowledge. And there was only one person who might have that.

 

***********

 

Getting a message to Carnistir without alerting either of our families proved difficult, but I prevailed. We met in a dense copse near the lake, roughly halfway between our two settlements. I had brought my bow, for I was ostensibly out hunting. What excuse he gave I did not know, but he was unarmed.

 

He eyed the bow for a moment before dismissing it as a threat. "What do you want?" he asked with his habitual bluntness, not bothering with any pleasantries.

 

"I want to know what happened to Maitimo."

 

"You know what happened to Maitimo," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, his face shadowed by the leaves above us. "He was—"

 

"Taken by Moringotto," I interrupted. "You and your brothers received a ransom demand which you refused to accept. Makalaurë believes he is alive and Tyelkormo believes he is dead."

 

Carnistir shook his head. "Tyelko hopes he is dead," he said, "because he can't stand the thought of Nelyo in pain. Whether he actually believes it is another question entirely. But you know all this already. What is it you want?"

 

"I want to know what you think," I said quietly.

 

He looked at me, his grey eyes dark and flat as slate, and then turned away as though to leave.

 

"Please, Carnistir," I pleaded. "I cannot bear it. I cannot bear not knowing."

 

His back still to me, he asked, "Are you so certain the truth will be any easier to bear?"

 

"No," I admitted. "But he was my friend. I need to know."

 

He turned to face me then, and there was something vulnerable in his expression when he said, "He never stopped being your friend."

 

"I do not believe that," I said, anger rising in my breast. "A friend would not—"

 

"He didn't."

 

"What?"

 

"Maitimo didn't burn the ships," he said, and that intuition, that knowledge of what I had been about to say — that was why I was here. "He tried to stop Atto. No one ever stopped Atto from doing what he wished, but he tried anyway. Pin the blame for the burning on us, but leave him free of it. He stood aside."

 

My breath caught in my chest, and for a moment the world seemed to spin around me. Maitimo had stood aside. He had not abandoned me as I had thought.

 

"Tell me," I said. "Tell me if he lives. Please."

 

Carnistir watched me, his eyes boring into me like gimlets, before finally speaking. "He lives," he said, very quietly. "I know it in my heart."

 

Maitimo lived. He lived, and he had not abandoned me. The seeds of a plan began to form in my mind, a plan that would hopefully heal the rift between our peoples. It would be dangerous, very much so, but did I not owe it to my family? Did I not owe it to my beloved? "Thank you," I said. "That was all I wanted to know."

 

Carnistir nodded silently, and we both turned to leave. But I had taken only a few steps when he suddenly called my name.

 

"Findekáno."

 

"Yes?"

 

"I'd tell you not to do anything stupid," he said, "but I know that's a lost cause. What should I say when your father comes looking for you?"

 

"Say that we crossed paths and exchanged some news. Itarillë has begun to master embroidery, but she misses her mother."

 

"All right." I saw a glint of something that might have been hope in his eyes, and I nodded in thanks when he said, "Good luck. Try not to die."

 

"I'll do my best."

 

Once he had gone, I waited, unmoving, until a deer passed through the copse. I was no Tyelkormo, but my aim was true enough. With a fresh deer to bring home, I would feel less guilty about the dried meat and other supplies I would need to steal. Already I was making a list in my head of what I would need. If I could, I would leave tonight.

---

Chapter End Notes

This story takes place before Thingol's ban on Quenya, so I've used the characters' Quenya names:

Maitimo = Maedhros

Irissë = Aredhel

Tyelkormo/Tyelko = Celegorm

Makalaurë = Maglor

Carnistir = Caranthir

Moringotto = Morgoth

Findekáno = Fingon

Itarillë = Idril
 

Chapter 2: Caranthir

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It took all of two days for Nolofinwë to come storming into our settlement, Turukáno on his heels, demanding to know the whereabouts of his eldest son. Thankfully for all of us, Makalaurë was on his feet and had himself pulled together enough to receive our uncle without embarrassment. In the absence of both his wife and Maitimo, he had begun to crumble under the strain of leadership and the weight of his own guilt.

 

Me, I was just grateful that none of Arafinwë's brats had come along. They had always been harder to deceive.

 

"Where is Findekáno?" Nolofinwë said as soon as Makalaurë came into view. "Where is my son?"

 

"He's missing?" Makalaurë said.

 

"Obviously," Nolofinwë snapped. He seemed a picture of rage, but I could sense the creeping fear behind his words. He didn't want to bury yet another child.

 

"Well, he isn't here," Makalaurë said, shaking his head. "I haven't seen him in months."

 

"Why should we believe you?" Turukáno said belligerently, and his raw pain was like sandpaper on my skin. "For all we know, you could have taken him captive—"

 

"Don't be stupid, Turvo," Tyelko cut in, earning himself a glare from Turukáno and a sigh from Makalaurë. "Why would we do that?"

 

Turukáno opened his mouth to reply, but I stepped in before things could get uglier. Me, trying to keep the peace — how the world had changed!

 

"I saw him," I volunteered, and everyone whipped around to stare at me. "Three days ago. He was hunting in the woods on the western side of the lake."

 

"What were you doing out there? You're no hunter," Turukáno said.

 

"Trying to find someplace quiet," I lied. It was a believable fib; my dislike of crowds and noise was well-known. "When did you notice he was missing? Before or after that?"

 

"He disappeared that night," Nolofinwë said. "He brought back a deer for the evening meal and went to bed with the rest of us. In the morning he was gone." His eyes were fixed on me, his gaze intense. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?"

 

"Nothing of substance. He mentioned that Itarillë's embroidery is improving."

 

"Perhaps we should send out search parties," Makalaurë suggested.

 

"Irissë and Aikanáro are already leading a search of the western shore," Nolofinwë said.

 

"Then let us search the eastern shore." Meeting our uncle's eyes, his voice level, Makalaurë added, "We would not sneak into your settlement and steal Findekáno from his bed. You know that."

 

"I'm not certain that I do know that," he said flatly. "But I will give you the benefit of the doubt for now, though you do not deserve it." And with that he turned on his heel and left — on foot, of course. We had all the horses.

 

We didn't owe them anything, I reminded myself. We hadn't forced them to cross the Helcaraxë, and anyone with any sense at all would have gone back to Tirion when they found themselves without boats.

 

"Well, that went better than I expected," Curvo said from where he stood behind Makalaurë, little Tyelperinquar balanced on his hip. "No one came to blows, at least."

 

"Yet," Makalaurë said darkly. He began to snap out orders, and soon a search party had been formed.

 

***********

They found nothing around the lake, of course. There was nothing to find. But Nolofinwë's search of his own settlement did turn up a few small details: Findekáno's knife and bow were missing as well, along with his harp and a small share of their provisions. A few days later we heard from a Sindarin trader that a man had been spotted heading north towards the mountains — one of us, with shining blue eyes and hair in two great plaits. The evidence was too overwhelming for Nolofinwë to ignore: Findekáno had left of his own free will.

 

With that, things between us went back to what now passed for normal. I did my best to help Makalaurë, because his guilt was crippling him and because the last thing we needed was Tyelko in charge. But at night I dreamt of Maitimo and, for the first time, dared to hope.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Quenya Names:

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Turukáno/Turvo = Turgon
Arafinwë = Finarfin
Aikanáro = Aegnor
Curufinwë/Curvo = Curufin
Tyelperinquar/Tyelpo = Celebrimbor

Chapter 3: Fingon

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It was a long journey, for I had no horse and thus traveled on foot, stopping here and there at a handful of scattered Sindarin settlements, where I played my harp and sang in exchange for food and a place to sleep. Every step of the way, I prayed that Carnistir was right about Maitimo, for I did not think I could bear to find him dead.

 

Finally, after days upon days upon days of travel, I reached the mountains that guarded the place called Angband. I could see no way in, but then, I had hardly expected Moringotto's stronghold to have a welcome mat. Instead I began to walk the length of the cliffs, looking for a place that would serve as the beginning of a pathway in.

 

Many long hours later, I was forced to admit that such a thing might not exist. Sweaty and exhausted, I sat down upon a rock and took a few precious sips of water to ease my parched throat. The shadows were lengthening and I had still found no sign of amy entrance. I needed to hurry, for I had no desire to spend the night in this exposed, forsaken place. To calm myself, I began to hum and then to sing, picking an old rhyme from my childhood.

 

"I mára quessollo
mára quesset cárina.
Quesset i quessello, quessë filicello
filit i sondallo, sonda i olvallo
olva i aldallo, alda i sulcallo
sulca i cemello—"

 

"— 'pa Menel Cemenyë ontainë," a voice called from above me — raspy and raw, like the singer had been gargling with crushed glass, but still achingly familiar. I looked up, up, up, my head tilted back, peering towards the top of the cliff, and there, finally, I saw him. He was little more than a pale, man-shaped blur in the gloom, his nude body dangling from one thin wrist, but my ears told me what my eyes could not. It was him. I had found him at last.

 

"Maitimo!" I cried.

 

"Findekáno." His voice was no less rough speaking than it had been singing, and I wondered how long he had been without water.

 

"Take heart!" I answered. "I will find a way up." I set to work, but the stone was slick and sheer, and it seemed to resist my efforts to create hand- and foot-holds as though some foul magic lay upon it.

 

"There is no way up," Maitimo called. "They fly, the servants he sends. They do not climb."

 

The servants he sends… I felt a chill in my very core, but I shoved my questions down and said, "There has to be a way!"

 

"There is none." His voice was dull and hollow.

 

"But I have come to free you," I said. "I will not abandon you here, Maitimo."

 

"Your bow, Káno," he said, and his voice shook a little. "Your aim has always been true."

 

My bow? Oh no, no, no, no.

 

"I will not kill you!"

 

"Please, Káno," he pleaded. "There is no way up, and I cannot bear the pain.

 

"I—" I tried to speak, but broke off. What was there to say? He was right — there was no way up. And the longer I stood here, the greater the risk that we would be found by Moringotto's guards.

 

As much as I wished that it were otherwise, killing him truly was the only way to release him from Moringotto's grasp.

 

I pulled my bow from my back and plucked an arrow from my quiver. My hands shook, shook so badly that I could barely keep the arrow in place. I tried to still them, but to no avail. So I sent up a silent plea to Manwë, that he steady my hands and make my arrow fly swift and true.

 

He did not still my hands. But at that moment a great shadow passed over us, and I saw a massive eagle swoop down from the west. As it passed over my head I let out a cry of fear, but it did not attack. Alighting on the ground beside me, twice my height at the shoulder, it spoke. "Loose not your arrow, son of Nolofinwë," it said. "For I am Thorondor, King of Birds, and I have come to aid you." Extending one foot, he commanded, "Take hold of my talon."

 

He lifted me into the air, circling over the cliff where Maitimo was trapped. "At the next pass, let go," Thorondor called to me. I did as he bid, catching the shackle that held Maitimo's wrist to stop my fall.

 

Up close, he was a horrible sight. His skin was stretched taut over his bones; I could count each rib, and his clavicles jutted out like shelves on either side of his neck. His hair was long and matted, turned brown by accumulated filth, and he shivered and burned with fever, no doubt due to his many wounds that oozed with infection. How he was still alive was beyond my knowledge.

 

I tried my best to grip the shackle itself rather than his poor, abused arm, but he still cried out in pain as his shoulder stretched further under my weight. "I am sorry," I said. "But I will have you free soon, I swear it." With that, I began to chip away at the stone. My knife was a fine one, strong and keen-edged, crafted by my uncle Fëanáro himself, a gift for my fiftieth begetting day. But the harder I worked, the clearer it became that it was no match for the hell-wrought shackle that bound Maitimo's wrist.

 

"It will not come loose," I said, on the verge of tears.

 

"Please," Maitimo pleaded once more, and his own eyes and cheeks were wet. "End this, Káno. I can bear no more."

 

"No!" I snapped. "I have not come all this way just to kill you, Maitimo!" There had to be another way. There had to be. But I needed to find it soon; I was placing too much strain on his already-dislocated shoulder, and the shackle was biting into his wrist—

 

His wrist.

 

My knife was strong and keen-edged.

 

"Forgive me," I whispered. Then I shifted my grip on the knife and slammed the hilt against his arm below the shackle.

 

He screamed, a harsh, agonized cry, and tried to bring his other arm up to stop me. But he was weak, and I trapped it between our bodies and then struck again, struck over and over until I felt his bones begin to shatter beneath my blows. I was sobbing openly, begging for his forgiveness as he continued to scream. Eventually he blacked out from the pain, but his cries still echoed in my ears as I began to slice at his flesh, cutting through the tangle of sinews and atrophied muscle beneath his thin skin. Blood soon coated my face, my hands, my clothes, and I let out a hysterical laugh as I remembered the last time I had felt this hot liquid against my skin, fighting on the docks at Alqualondë.

 

The last few cuts were the trickiest, as I sought to drop neither Maitimo nor my knife; my family could not afford to lose so fine a tool, not now. But I managed, and soon Maitimo was free, resting limply in my grasp as I held the knife between my teeth, his blood stinging on my tongue. The eagle had been circling above us as I worked, and it now swooped low to pass beneath our feet. I let go, and we landed safely on his feathered back.

 

"Take us back to Mithrim, to the northern shore," I said, my own voice rough with tears. "Please."

 

"I shall," the eagle said, and we flew off with a great beat of his wings. I took care not to look back, for I did not want to see that lone hand still bound by the shackle, the evidence of my crime.

 

It was cold, up in the rushing wind, but I paid it no mind and pulled my cloak off, wrapping it around Maitimo's frail, shivering body. He was bleeding heavily, and I did what I could to stem the flood of red, but I wasn't certain how long we had before he bled out. I prayed that the eagle would carry us swiftly.

 

***********

True to his word, Thorondor carried us to the northern shore with all haste, and Maitimo's heart still beat beneath his breast as we swooped down to land. I could hear the excited, bewildered cries of my people as they came rushing towards us, my father at the forefront of the crowd. He gasped when he saw me and yelled for a healer, and I remembered that I was covered in my cousin's blood.

 

"I'm all right," I said when he reached me, my voice shaking. "I'm all right, Atto. But Maitimo—"

 

"Maitimo?"

 

I slid down from Thorondor's back, Maitimo in my arms, and saw my father's face freeze into an expression of utter horror when he recognized who it was I held — that it was a person, his nephew, and not…whatever it was he may have thought at first. He yelled once more for the healers, and Almarë was at his side in moments, her skirts hiked up so that she would not trip as she ran.

 

"Stars," she breathed when she saw Maitimo.

 

As she took him from my arms, I pleaded, "Don't let him die. Please don't let him die."

 

"I have no plans to lose another patient, Prince Findekáno," she said firmly. Then she began to call out orders to her assistants, sending them to heat water and gather supplies. I made to follow her towards the Houses of Healing, but my father stopped me.

 

"Atto—"

 

"No, Káno," he said. "You'll only be in her way. You need to bathe and rest, and then tell me why you did this thing. Almarë will care for Maitimo. Let me care for you."

 

I wanted to argue, but my legs were shaking and my head ached, and the smell of the blood that was caked upon me was making me feel ill. So instead I turned and bowed to Thorondor in thanks. The great eagle nodded his head in return and then flew off, the beating of his great wings causing strong gusts of air that nearly knocked us from our feet.

 

My father wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "My brave boy," he said softly. "Let's get you home."

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Many thanks to the long-absent and dearly missed Darth Fingon for his help with the Quenya. It's a translation of a verse from a Yiddish song called "Funem Sheynem Vortsl Aroys" ("From the Lovely Root"):

 

From the lovely feather
A lovely pillow was made.
Pillow from the feather, feather from the bird,
Bird from the nest, nest from the branch,
Branch from the tree, tree from the root,
Root from the earth.
Since Heaven and Earth were created.

Chapter 4: Fingon

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Atto saw to it that I bathed and forced me to take some fitful sleep before he questioned me. I joined him in our little kitchen, dressed in fresh clothes and with my hair pulled back in a simple braid.

 

"Almarë is still working," he told me. "She promised to send a messenger when she finishes, or if Maitimo's condition worsens."

 

I nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

 

"Would you like to eat something?"

 

I shook my head. "No." I said, finding my voice. "I don't think I can stomach food right now."

 

Reaching across the table, he took my hand in his. "Will you tell me what happened? Why did you leave us?"

 

To find Maitimo was the obvious answer, but I knew that wasn't what he was asking.

 

"He's my friend," I said softly. "And we need him. Makalaurë will not be able to hold on to leadership of Fëanáro's people forever. Surely you've noticed that as well as I have."

 

"I have. Though in truth, I'm not certain Maitimo still deserves your friendship. Do you think he would have gone to rescue you, had you been taken captive?"

 

"He tried to stop Fëanáro from burning the ships," I said. "Carnistir told me."

 

My father's eyebrows shot upward. "When did Carnistir tell you this?"

 

"The day I left."

 

"He told me that the two of you exchanged nothing of substance," Atto said, storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

 

"Don't be angry," I said hurriedly. "I told him not to tell you where I had gone. I knew you would try to come after me if you knew of my plan."

 

"Of course I would try to come after you!" Atto said. "You could have died, Káno. Was losing your brother not enough?"

 

I squeezed his fingers and said, "But I didn't die. I'm here, Atto. I'm here, and Maitimo's here, and maybe…maybe we can put things back together now."

 

Atto scrubbed his free hand over his eyes, and it was that simple gesture that brought back to me exactly what it was I had done. I felt my stomach flip over, and Atto, with instincts honed by yení of fatherhood, managed to grab one of our cook pots just in time for me to retch into it instead of on the table.

 

 

"Káno?" he asked, his voice gentle but oddly distant.

 

I shook my head and retched again, and then a third time. Breathing heavily, my eyes closed, I heard him step away. He returned soon, pressing a wooden cup full of water into my hand. I took a sip and, once I was certain I would not vomit again, leaned back away from the pot. "I cut off his hand," I said, my voice shaking. "He was shackled to a cliff and I couldn't free him and he begged me to kill him and I almost did, I almost killed him but I prayed to Manwë and then the bird came, Thorondor, and he carried me up but I couldn't loose the shackle—" I paused, gasping for breath, and realized that I had begun to weep. "It was the only way I saw to free him, but I cut off his hand. My best friend! I crippled him!"

 

"Shh," Atto said, wrapping his arms around me and stroking my hair. "You did what needed to be done. He will understand, I think, in time."

 

I buried my head in his shoulder and wept — wept for Maitimo and for myself, and for all that our people had lost.

 

***********

 

It was another hour before Almarë's messenger arrived. Maitimo was unconscious when we entered the room, the stump of his arm wrapped up and his shoulder set back in its socket. The healers had bathed him and shorn him of his matted hair, and I could see ointments and bandages on his sores and other wounds.

 

"I've given him willow bark," Almarë said, "to bring down his fever. He's very weak, but I do not think he will die. And I've set my apprentices to work preparing more poppy. He will need it when he wakes."

 

My father's eyes were sad as he looked upon my cousin's skeletal form. He and Maitimo had always been on good terms, both of them being sensible and of an even disposition, and it struck me that seeing Maitimo like this must be hurting him terribly, as it was hurting me. I took his hand in mine, twining our fingers together, and he gave me a look of gratitude.

 

"Thank you, Almarë," he said. "We'll contact his brothers. I suspect they'll want to speak to you."

 

"How thrilling," Almarë said dryly. Like most of us, she currently held no love for the sons of Fëanáro. "I'll be sure to prepare myself."

 

Atto nodded. "Findekáno will sit with him for now. You take some rest." He waited for Almarë to leave, and then patted me on the shoulder. "I'm going to send the message. I'll be back soon."

 

I nodded and took Maitimo's hand in mine, my eyes fixed on the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. Injured, yes, and badly so, but alive. He had not abandoned me, and I had not abandoned him.

 

Chapter 5: Fingolfin

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I didn't immediately go to send the message when I left Maitimo's sickroom, for my thoughts were heavy. Instead, I found an out-of-the-way place on the edge of our settlement and stood there, silent, sorting through my own head.

 

It hurt to see my son in such distress, of course. It also hurt to see what Moringotto had done to my nephew. Maitimo wasn't the first child I'd held — I had younger siblings, after all — but he was the first to call me 'Uncle'. I remembered him clearly, a little copper-haired dumpling with a smile as bright as a daisy. He had grown into a kind, responsible, even-tempered man, one with whom I could trust my own children. I didn't recognize him when Findekáno returned, because I never would have connected my charming nephew to the ragged, bloody bundle of bones and dirt and too-thin skin that my son held.

 

I could believe that he had argued against the burning of the ships, but even if he hadn't, he had clearly suffered enough at Moringotto's hands that he owed us no penance.

 

His brothers, on the other hand…

 

I was both angered and troubled by the fact that Carnistir had lied to me, and lied convincingly. I had always thought of him as honest to a fault. But I had had a nagging suspicion for years now that perhaps I didn't know Fëanáro's sons half as well as I had believed. It angered me, but anger had been my constant companion these past few years — anger at what that family had done, anger on behalf of all my people who had died on the Helcaraxë, anger for all that we had suffered and, most of all, anger that my treacherous brother had gotten himself killed before I could confront him.

 

It was a heavy load to carry, all that anger, and with Arafinwë in Aman there was no one to share it with. I wouldn't burden my children. They had their own troubles.

 

I took a slow, deep breath. I needed to calm myself, or at least present the illusion of calm if this situation had any chance of not exploding.

 

Chapter 6: Caranthir

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Makalaurë and I were the first to arrive after we received Nolofinwë's message. He had planned to go alone, but he didn't have it in him to refuse me when I asked to come. Not after all the help I'd given him these past few years. We went to their settlement unaccompanied. There wasn't any point in trying to make a show of force. Our resources may have been greater, but they had our brother; the power here all rested in Nolofinwë's hands, and there was no use in pretending otherwise.

 

Not that I believed he would try to do Maitimo any harm. Nolofinwë wasn't a cruel man, and hurting Maitimo would break Findekáno's heart to boot.

 

We met him at the entrance to his settlement, where he stood waiting for us with his arms crossed. "Just the pair of you?" he asked.

 

"We didn't want to overwhelm Maitimo," Makalaurë explained. "Thank you for caring for him."

 

"Hm. Come along, then."

 

We followed easily; we knew where things were in this settlement, since it was our people who had built it before we vacated to the other side of the lake. The walk was awkwardly silent, and the few people we passed looked at us with hard eyes.

 

"You won't overwhelm him," Nolofinwë said suddenly. "He hasn't woken yet. But Almarë assures me that he will live. She's waiting for you at the Houses of Healing. You're free to make your way there, Makalaurë. I'd like a brief word with Carnistir before he joins you."

 

"Surely whatever you wish to say can be said in front of me," Makalaurë said, but Nolofinwë waved Makalaurë off with a dismissive gesture.

 

"This is between Carnistir and me," he said. He beckoned for me to follow him down a side street, and I did, watching him closely. I'd always thought that if my father was fire, then Nolofinwë was water. But the anger lurking beneath his skin burned as much as any of my father's rages, a series of intense ripples of heat that he was clearly fighting to contain.

 

"You lied to me."

 

"Yes," I said, because it was true. "I lied to my brothers, too."

 

"Did you lie to Findekáno?" he asked.

 

"About what?"

 

"The burning of the ships."

 

I shook my head. "Ask anyone you like. Maitimo tried to stop Atto."

 

"But none of the rest of you decided to take his side?"

 

"Why bother?" I said with a shrug. "Even if every one of us had sided with Maitimo, do you really think that would have stopped Atto?"

 

I watched Nolofinwë grit his teeth. He couldn't argue with that, of course. Like I'd said to Findekáno, nothing had stopped Atto from doing what he wanted in a long, long time. Silence stretched between us, taut as a drawn bowstring, until he made a noise of disgust and said, "I won't pretend to understand how your mind works, but we're done here. Go to your brothers."

 

We didn't make you cross the ice, I nearly said, but I bit the words back; they'd only inflame the situation further. I had no desire to do that, if only for Maitimo's sake.

 

***********

Almarë was talking to Makalaurë when I arrived at the Houses of Healing. She was angry, too, her face wooden and her voice flat. That hurt a bit; she'd helped my family many times over the years, delivering Curufinwë and the twins and treating my wife's burns after an unfortunate kitchen accident. I'd always considered her a friend.

 

"--starvation, dehydration, exposure, pressure sores, infection, and various burns, lacerations, and abrasions," she was saying. "Many of which are injuries I became well-acquainted with on our crossing, so my techniques are not experimental."

 

"Amputation?" Makalaurë said, and I froze. "How? Why?"

 

"Yes. His right hand. And I don't know; he arrived with it cut off, and Findekáno hasn't given me much information about what happened."

 

"Findekáno—"

 

"You owe Findekáno, all of you, more than you can ever possibly repay," she said, her eyes hard as flint.

 

Makalaurë held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I wasn't going to say anything against Findekáno," he said. "But Findekáno is with Maitimo, is he not? May we see them now?"

 

She gestured towards the door to her right before turning her back on us and walking away.

 

I followed Makalaurë inside, and we let out twin gasps when we saw the bald, skeletal form lying in the bed. "Maitimo," Makalaurë breathed, rushing to his side without sparing so much as a word for Findekáno.

 

"You did it. You found him," I said softly, meeting Findekáno's eyes, and he nodded silently.

 

"What happened?" Makalaurë asked, his voice cracking.

 

"I found him chained to the cliffs outside Moringotto's stronghold," Findekáno said. "I don't know how long he'd been there, but judging from his condition I'd say it was a long time."

 

Makalaurë rested shaking fingers on the bandage covering what was left of Maitimo's right arm. "And his hand?"

 

Findekáno hesitated. "He was— He was shackled to the cliff. I couldn't loose the shackle, so I had to cut him free. It was the only way," he said.

 

"What?" In an instant Makalaurë was back on his feet, Findekáno quickly standing up to face him. "How could you?"

 

"Makalaurë," I said sharply. He whirled to face me, anger, grief, and guilt warring on his face. I shared the guilt and the grief, but not the anger, and I did my best to keep my voice level when I said, "He brought Maitimo back. Maybe not whole, but he brought him back. That's more than any of us did. Would you have preferred he leave him in Moringotto's clutches?"

 

He clenched his shaking hands into fists. "I need a moment," he managed to choke out, and then he was out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

 

"When did you become the voice of reason in the family?" Findekáno asked.

 

"Damned if I know. I have to say, I don't much care for the role."

 

That got a weak but genuine laugh out of him, and he sank back to his seat beside my brother. I hesitated a moment before walking over and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Thank you," I said. "Truly."

 

"You aren't angry?" he asked.

 

Silently, I pondered the question. "Not at you," I finally said, releasing him and taking a seat beside him. "You can be an idiot sometimes, but when it comes to Maitimo, I trust your judgement. If you say this was the only way to free him, then I believe you." It wasn't a lie. Findekáno loved Maitimo as deeply as any of us — though not in the same way. I don't think either of them knew that I knew they were lovers, as I'd kept my mouth shut about it, but it had always been plain to me.

 

"I'm angry at you," he confessed. "For all that happened when we crossed the ice. And for abandoning him to this." He gesturing to Maitimo's frail body with a sweeping wave of his hand.

 

"You can be as angry at me as you want," I said. "You brought my brother home. Like Almarë said, we owe you more than we can ever repay."

 

Chapter 7: Fingon

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Makalaurë left a few hours later, but Carnistir insisted on staying overnight. Angry I may have been, but I didn't have the heart to turn him away. We came to a sort of truce, deciding that we would not speak of the burning of the ships or my people's time on the Helcaraxë. It was true that that left precious little for us to talk about, but it was better than fighting. Temporary voice of reason or not, Carnistir had always been more quick to throw a punch than to give a kiss.

 

Maitimo woke the next afternoon, blinking up at us with bleary eyes as we sat silent by his bedside. "Káno," he said, his voice still rough and raspy. I nodded, and he shifted his gaze to Carnistir, saying, "Little brother."

 

"I'm here," Carnistir said, reaching for his hand.

 

He was weaker than a newborn babe, too weak to even lift his head unaided, but he was cognizant of who we were, and I took that as a good sign.

 

"I did not think I would ever see you again, either of you," he said and, wincing, tried to reach for my fingers with his right arm. But he could not move easily, not with his shoulder set and wrapped, and the attempt at movement brought the bandages binding the end of his arm into view. He stared at them for a moment, looking utterly befuddled. "My hand is gone," he said slowly.

 

He didn't remember. But then, why would he? He had passed out long before I began slicing through muscle and skin.

 

"Yes," I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice, and I saw Carnistir looking at me with worried eyes. "You were shackled to the cliff, Maitimo. I— it was the only way to free you."

 

"Hm," he said, as though this were a simple piece of gossip rather than news of a life-altering injury. "Was there a bird, Káno? Or did I dream that?" He paused and then said, "I dreamt a lot of things."

 

"There was a bird," I confirmed. "A giant eagle sent by Manwë. He carried me up to you and then bore us back here."

 

"But how did you get here?" he asked. "Atto burned the ships."

 

"We crossed the Helcaraxë."

 

"That's madness," he said flatly. "You would have died."

 

"Many of us did," I said, noticing that Carnistir was looking away, avoiding my gaze.

 

"I am sorry," Maitimo said. "I tried, but Atto was beyond reason."

 

Having heard our voices, Almarë entered the room with a stack of pillows. "Welcome back, Maitimo," she said, piling the pillows behind him and easing him up into a more elevated position. She had done her duties as a healer without complaint, but she was noticeably warmer now that she knew of Maitimo's protests against Fëanáro. "Do you know where you are?"

 

"Mithrim," he said. "The northern shore."

 

"And do you know what year it is?"

 

"No," he admitted. "I lost count of the days long ago."

 

"It's the fifth Year of the Sun," I said. "The Age of the Trees has ended."

 

"The sun," he said. "Is that one of those great orbs that hang in the sky?"

 

I nodded. "The bright one that brings daylight," I said. "The other is the moon."

 

"I remember when that one rose. I heard— someone. Trumpets. Outside the walls."

 

"That was us," I said. "Had I known…" I let my voice trail off. Would I have done anything, had I known? I had been very angry at what I thought was a betrayal.

 

Almarë had left the room while we spoke, and she returned now with a cup of broth and a straw. "Slowly," she said, holding them so that he could drink. "Go too quickly and you'll be sick."

 

He obeyed, taking small, careful sips. "This is very rich," he said, his voice less raspy now that some liquid had soothed his throat. "I don't know that I can finish it."

 

"That's all right," Almarë said, putting the cup aside. She seemed to have expected as much.

 

The idea that mere broth could be seen as rich troubled me, and I asked, "Did they feed you at all?"

 

"When they remembered," he said, his gaze going a little distant. "It was…unpleasant."

They fly, the servants he sends.

 

Carnistir's face had gone still and blank, the way it did when anyone he loved was in pain, and I wondered what it was that he sensed in Maitimo's mind. Nothing good, that much was certain.

 

Almarë broke the silence by resting her hand on Maitimo's forehead. "Your fever has gone down," she said. "Not all the way, but some. That's a good sign. Are you in any pain?"

 

"Nothing unbearable," he said, and I had to wonder how, after years of torment, his definition of unbearable might have changed.

 

Almarë, it seemed, had the same thought, for she said, "I'm going to give you a little poppy. You don't need to remain in pain, Maitimo."

 

"All right," he said, though he seemed to be humoring her. But he took it as ordered and soon drifted off to sleep.

 

Chapter 8: Fingolfin

Read Chapter 8: Fingolfin

Carnistir once again refused to return to his own settlement; he seemed determined not to leave Maitimo's side, for reasons that he kept to himself.

 

"We aren't going to hurt him, you know," I told him that evening, after Makalaurë and Tyelkormo had come and gone.

 

"I know," he said quietly. "But I need to stay with him."

 

"Very well," I said. At least if Carnistir stayed, Findekáno could get some rest.

 

It turned out to be a good decision, for Maitimo had terrible dreams that night, and it took the combined efforts of Carnistir, Almarë, and myself to keep him from injuring himself in his sleep. He woke with a harsh cry, lashing out with a surprising burst of strength.

 

Catching Maitimo's arms before he could strike anyone, Carnistir made a soft, soothing noise in the back of his throat. "Maitimo, you're safe," he said quietly. "You're safe. I swear it."

 

Maitimo stopped struggling, and something unspoken passed between them. I'd never truly understood Carnistir's relationships with his brothers, but whatever it was that Maitimo saw, it seemed to reassure him, and he went limp on the bed. "I'm sorry," he rasped, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

 

I was familiar with nightmares, for Turukáno and Itarillë both had often woken calling out for Elenwë in the months after her death. It hurt to see yet another one of my kin suffering so. "You have nothing to apologize for," I said gently. "The blame for this rests on Moringotto alone."

 

"Debatable," he said. "But I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle."

 

Uncle. It had been a long, long time since any of Fëanáro's sons had called me by that title. It gave me hope that Findekáno was right. Perhaps we really could reunite our peoples.

 

***********

The rest of the night passed without incident. "They're both asleep," Almarë told me the next morning. At my request, she kept me constantly apprised of Maitimo's condition.

 

I peeked in the room and saw that it was true; Maitimo had the steady breathing of one deep in slumber, and Carnistir was slumped over with his head resting on the foot of Maitimo's bed. Findekáno, too, was still asleep in his own room, which pleased me. It had been several days since he'd had a good night's rest.

 

When Maitimo woke, after Almarë had tended to him and gotten a little more food into him, I went to speak with him alone. Carnistir clearly did not want to leave us, but when Maitimo insisted, he obeyed.

 

"How are you feeling?" I asked, sitting down beside him.

 

He gave me a wan smile, an expression that was not altogether comforting on his skull-like face. "Infinitely better than I have these past…however many years. Thank you for your hospitality, Uncle. I would not have held it against you if you had insisted that my brothers take me."

 

"You would not have survived the trip around the lake, from what Almarë tells me," I said. "You're still far too frail to travel. But I see that Findekáno hasn't left you entirely in the dark about our situation. What has he told you?"

 

"That you came here by crossing the Helcaraxë. That Elenwë perished, along with many others. That Arakáno was slain in battle when you first arrived here. And that you've had little to no meaningful contact with my brothers and our people." He paused. "For what it is worth," he said softly, "I deeply regret all of that."

 

I shook my head. "I appreciate that, Maitimo, but I hold you responsible for none of it. Findekáno and Carnistir both tell me that you argued with Fëanáro."

 

"I did," he said. "But it seems to me that it counts for little. I was naive enough to think that he would keep his word and send the boats back, and when he did otherwise I wasn't able to stop him."

 

"But you tried," I said. "That's enough for me. You have much of your mother in you, Maitimo."

 

"Ammë would have succeeded."

 

"Would she have?" I said, my voice skeptical.

 

He was silent. "No," he finally admitted, and I saw that it pained him to say it. "Probably not. Atto has— had been beyond reason for a long time."

 

I reached over and gently squeezed his fragile, bony fingers. "So you see why I'm not angry with you," I said.

 

"You must be angry with my brothers," he said sadly. "I was angry with them, too, but now… I've been away from them too long to hold on to it."

 

"I am," I said, for I owed him the truth. "I'm very angry, at many people."

 

"Thank you for letting Carnistir stay regardless," he said. "Káno tells me that he deceived you about Káno's purpose. That was wrong of him."

 

"He seems to have felt it was necessary," I said dryly. "I must confess, I've never understood him."

 

"Few do," he said, his voice half fond and half sad. "But thank you for letting him stay. It is a great comfort to have him near."

 

"Of course. I hope— I believe that your return will mean a change for the better among the Noldor."

 

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I wouldn't count on it, Uncle," he said. "I can't even sit up without assistance. And I suspect many of my people are unhappy with me. My plan was foolish, and their fathers and sons died for it." He seemed to be looking at something far, far away from our little room when he said, "Moringotto's servants killed everyone. Everyone but me."

 

It seemed overly harsh for him to blame himself, so I said, "I think you have suffered more than enough for whatever crimes you feel that you've committed. And if there is anything else I can do to help you recover, you need only name it." Taking his hand again, I said, "You're my kin, Maitimo, and my friend."

 

"Thank you for that, Uncle," he said quietly. "From the bottom of my heart."

 

Chapter 9: Caranthir

Read Chapter 9: Caranthir

My brother dreamed again that night, dreamed of bones and shadows, of claws like scalpels and mouths full of bloody teeth. I tried to draw the dream from his mind — I'd be damned before I let my brother suffer through this alone — but he still woke up screaming. This time it was Findekáno and I who calmed him, holding our arms around him as he trembled and wept in our combined embrace. "Don't leave me in the dark," he pleaded, though the room was lit by several candles. "Don't leave me here alone."

 

"Never," Findekáno said, and I rested my head against Maitimo's and thought light, thought love, thought safe.

 

It took nearly an hour for him to calm down enough that he could go back to sleep, but it was a fitful sleep, and when he woke at dawn I saw that his eyes had grown even more sunken and shadowed — something I hadn't thought was possible.

 

Almarë had other patients to tend to, and Nolofinwë had asked for Findekáno's help with some matter or other. I took advantage of the situation to talk to my brother alone. I perched on the edge of his bed, positioning myself so I could reach both his hand and his head, which was covered in a light fuzz of copper-colored stubble. "Your hair's starting to grow back," I said.

 

"Hm," he said, sounding tired.

 

"Do you want me to go?" I asked. "You could sleep a little more."

 

"No, stay," he said. "I don't want to be alone."

 

"Well, good," I said. "I want to talk to you, and Findekáno's been very reluctant to leave your side."

 

I didn't mean it as a complaint, but it must have come out sounding like one, because Maitimo snapped, "Findekáno can stay whenever he likes. He came for me. None of you did."

 

I flinched. Silence stretched between us, one, two, three, until he sank back against the pillows. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That wasn't fair."

 

"It's the truth," I said, even though it hurt to admit it. "The truth doesn't have to be fair."

 

He shook his head. "I think the real truth is that you would not have been able to do what Káno did. Even if you had found me, I don't think that Manwë would have answered any prayer from a son of Fëanáro."

 

"I don't think I would have bothered to pray," I said honestly. I'd never been particularly devout.

 

He squeezed my hand. For the first time, I could feel real pressure behind it; his strength was returning, slowly but surely. "But you looked for me," he said. "I could feel it, sometimes."

 

I nodded. "I needed to know whether you lived."

 

"Did you tell the others any of what you saw?"

 

"No," I said. "Only that I could feel in my heart that you were alive."

 

"Keep it that way."

 

"Have I ever repeated anything you've shared in confidence?" I said. "You always kept my secrets. I'll always keep yours." Not that I'd shared so many with him after I married; my wife had become my confidante. But when I was a child, Maitimo had always been the person I'd gone to when I was worried or frightened or hurt, and he'd never betrayed me. I owed him the same.

 

"My secrets now are too terrible to share," he said sadly.

 

I looked away, because I didn't think I could bear to see the look on his face when I said, "You might not have as much choice in that as you think."

 

"What do you mean?" he asked, his tightly coiled anxiety audible in his voice.

 

"I saw some of your dreams last night," I admitted. "I wasn't looking for them, I swear, but they were bleeding out of you. You're much more…much more open than you used to be, and I don't think it's by choice."

 

I risked a glance at him and saw that he'd gone pale and grey. "Moringotto forced his way into my mind," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Found all my secrets and used them to torment me. I thought— I thought that now that I was safe, I would be able to regain control."

 

"You still can. Let me help you," I said. "Whatever happened, whatever he did to you or forced you to do… You're still my brother. I know that in my heart, too. And a bad dream shared is a bad dream halved," I added, repeating what he'd always told me after my own childhood nightmares.

 

That got a wan smile out of him. "Clever, little brother," he said. "But I don't want to burden you with pain you cannot bear."

 

"I'll bear whatever you need me to bear."

 

He looked at me, his eyes glittering strangely in their sunken sockets. "Will you?" he asked.

 

I nodded. "Test me, if you want to," I said. I was afraid of what he might share, but he needed this. He needed someone to confide in so that he wouldn't suffer alone.

 

"What if I told you that I think I am going mad?"

 

"I'd ask you why you think that."

 

Quietly, he said, "I can feel my hand, the one Káno cut off. It pains me."

 

I shook my head. "That's not madness. Almarë said that might happen, remember?" She'd given him several doses of poppy over the past few days; maybe he'd forgotten some of what he'd been told.

 

"Let me finish, Moryo," he said, using my childhood nickname. "It pains me, and you're correct: Almarë said that might happen. But she never said anything about…" He trailed off, swallowed nervously, and then, voice soft, said, "She never said anything about me feeling another hand."

 

"Like you have three hands?" I asked. That made absolutely no sense at all.

 

He shook his head. "No. Another hand on mine. Touching it."

 

That made a little more sense, and I rested my chin in my hand, thinking hard. "I don't think you're mad," I finally said. "Atto was mad." It was the first time I'd said as much aloud, and I'd never have dared say it in front of anyone but Maitimo.

 

"Atto believed in things that weren't true. How is this any different?"

 

"Hear me out," I said. "Findekáno had to leave your— your hand behind, right?" This was hard to talk about, and my theory was a little shaky, but it made more sense to me than the idea of Maitimo losing his sanity. "What if," I asked, "what if Moringotto found it, and he's using it to torment you further? I mean, it is a part of you, even if it's not…you know. Attached."

 

He was silent for a long, long time. "That seems more plausible than I would like it to be," he finally said. "Thank you. It did help to share that."

 

"You're my brother," I said. "I'll listen to anything you need to say and keep it secret. I promise."

 

Chapter 10: Fingon

Read Chapter 10: Fingon

Maitimo's physical condition continued to improve, but he was still plagued by nightmares and, in his waking hours, by fits of panicked terror that left him shaking and short of breath. His mental state seemed to be deteriorating, and twice we had to turn his brothers away because he was in too much distress to see anyone.

 

"It's because he's safe now," Carnistir said one day, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

"I don't understand," I said. We were standing outside, where our conversation would not disturb Maitimo's sleep.

 

"He's safe," Carnistir repeated. "Before you rescued him he was..." He trailed off, making a frustrated gesture like the words he wanted were just out of reach. "He was just hanging on," he finally said, "and I know that's a poor choice of words, but it's the truth. Now he's safe, and he can't help actually thinking about what happened instead of just trying to survive it."

 

I had done my best thus far not to think about what had happened to my beloved, not to think about the horrors hinted at by his hollow cheeks and haunted eyes, by the web of scars that covered his skin, by the way he tried to push us all away when he was still half in dreams. (No had never held so many shades of desperation back in Valinor.)

 

If Maitimo was reliving whatever hells he had seen even in his waking hours, it was no wonder that he was distressed.

 

Before I could respond, Carnistir said, "If you're about to ask me what to do about it, don't bother. I don't have any more of an idea than you do. I'm just doing what I did for Makalaurë after Melindil died."

 

Melindil. Makalaurë's wife. I had heard that she had been killed, though I didn't know the exact circumstances of her death. But now was not the time to ask. Maitimo's wellbeing was my priority, not Makalaurë's. Instead I said, "You should sleep. I know you were up with Maitimo all night.

 

"I should," he said, though he seemed to struggle with the admission. "Take good care of him until I— Actually, you know what, I don't need to say that. I know you'll take good care of him."

 

With that, he turned away. But it was a rare thing indeed for Carnistir to place his trust in anyone outside his own family, and I found myself strangely touched by his faith in me.

 

***********

 

Maitimo had been sleeping when I left his room, but when I entered now I found him hunched over, his breathing harsh and his head resting in his hand. Taking care not to surprise him, I approached slowly and took a seat beside him on the bed. "Another nightmare?" I asked.

 

He raised his head to look at me, and I saw again the shadow of his pain clouding his eyes once-bright eyes. In a hoarse whisper he said, "I do not think I will ever be free of them, Káno. I do not think I will ever be free of him."

 

There was no question as to who Maitimo meant by him. We were alone, so I embraced him and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "You are free of him now, Maitimo. He will never lay hands on you again. I swear it."

 

He shook his head, his body rigid in my arms. "I wish you had killed me when I asked," he said dully. "Why did you not kill me, Káno?"

 

I considered my answer for a long time before speaking. "Maitimo," I said, "I do not believe that Manwë intervened so that I could kill you, but so that I could free you. I do not think he intended for you to die."

 

"I do not care what Manwë intended," he said with uncharacteristic bitterness, pulling away from my arms. "I do not care what any of the Valar intended. They did not intervene when Moringotto was poisoning my father's mind. They did not intervene when Moringotto murdered Finwë. They did not intervene at Alqualondë, nor when you were suffering on the Helcaraxë. They did not intervene when Atto was killed. They did not intervene when Moringotto slaughtered my friends and took me captive. They did not—"

 

"Maitimo!" I said, shocked. Never before had I heard him speak of the Valar in this way, and never before had he sounded so very much like Fëanáro.

 

"It is the truth," he insisted. "I prayed for death, Findekáno, not for freedom. When I heard you singing, I thought my prayer had finally been answered. But Manwë intervened, and now I am left in this— this wreck of a body, with a mind tainted by shadow, and too many people relying on me. I asked you — I begged you — to release me from this. You had no right to force me to live."

 

"You have no right to force me to kill again," I shot back. "Did we not have more than enough of that at Alqualondë? And has Moringotto not taken enough already? Our grandfather, your father, the Silmarils, the light of the Trees… Would you allow him to take you from us as well?"

 

"There is nothing left of me that he has not already taken."

 

"I do not believe that. You are strong, Maitimo. You will recover, and you will avenge our grandfather and your father. Moringotto will regret that he ever laid hands on you." I gently brushed my thumb across his hollow cheek and then reached for him once more. I was not certain that I had convinced him of anything, but at least this time he came willingly to my arms. "No more talk of death, beloved," I whispered. "You are alive, and you are here with me, and you will survive this."

 

He didn't answer.

 

Chapter 11: Maedhros

Read Chapter 11: Maedhros

I am alone in the dark, chained up once more in my cell after Moringotto's most recent attempt at 'persuasion'. He wants me to sign my name to a letter urging my brothers to remove to the south of Beleriand, or so he says. I will not — my brothers deserve better than his lies — but I think he truly cares little for the letter. He simply enjoys tormenting me, Fëanáro's eldest son, erstwhile King of the Noldor.

Makalaurë holds that title now. I pity him for it.

Every inch of my body aches, and my head is sore and spinning from blood loss. Moringotto doesn't want me dead; that much is plain. But he doesn't give a damn for my injuries unless they threaten my life. I cannot remember the last time I was free of pain. I cannot remember the last time I saw any light but the Silmarils gleaming in his iron crown. So close to me, and yet I cannot reclaim them!

I hear the iron door of the cell creak open. No light spills in, of course, but I don't need light to know who is there. She smells of death and dirt and stagnant water, this winged creature who feeds on my blood. ("Royal blood is so much richer than Avarin blood," she had taunted once. Myself, I can taste no difference between my own blood and the blood of the Orcs I have in desperation slain with my teeth.) The shadows seem to grow even darker whenever she is in the room, a darkness that is airless and oppressive. Without any greeting, she grasps my wrists and sinks her teeth into my neck.

I don't struggle. My past attempts at resistance have only ever succeeded in angering her, and I am too tired to waste what little energy I have on a futile fight. She drinks and drinks and drinks, until spots dance across my eyes and my mind begins to slide into oblivion.

I am almost grateful for the peace that unconsciousness brings.

 

Chapter 12: Caranthir

I pulled down the last two chapters because I wasn't really satisfied with them. My apologies if anyone got confused.

Read Chapter 12: Caranthir

I plucked a smooth stone from the dirt and tossed it at the lake with a flick of my wrist, watching as it skipped across the surface of the water, one two three four five six seven, before sinking into the murky depths. Makalaurë had asked -- insisted, really -- that I meet him a few miles outside Nolofinwë’s settlement so we could speak about Maitimo in true privacy. I could see him making his way around the lake, and I raised my hand and waved, but he was still at least a half a league away.
 

I continued to skip stones. I hadn’t been eager to leave Maitimo, but I couldn’t deny that it was soothing to be alone out under the sky for a little while. The truth was that Maitimo’s suffering hadn’t really lessened at all, and I was exhausted from trying to help him. But I wouldn’t complain, because I knew -- I knew-- that I was the only one of my brothers who could bear this.

 

Makalaurë was barely holding himself together as it was. Seeing the true extent of Maitimo’s pain would’ve shattered Tyelko beyond repair. The twins were only two years past their sixtieth begetting day, too young to have any of this foisted on them. And Curvo had his hands full with little Tyelperinquar. Any idiot could see that the boy would’ve been better off staying in Aman with his mother, but Curvo hadn’t been willing to leave his firstborn son behind. He’d stolen Tyelpo away from Nyellë in the night, probably breaking her heart in the process.
 

I loved Curvo, but sometimes I didn’t like him very much.

 

When Makalaurë finally arrived, I saw that he was carrying a linen bag. “Some extra clothes for you,” he said. Then he hugged me, his arms a little too tight around my chest, and pulled me over to sit beside him on one of the large, flat rocks that dotted the shore.
 

“You look terrible,” he said, studying me with worried eyes

 

“I’m tired,” I admitted. “It’s-- It’s bad, Makalaurë.” I shook my head and blew a few strands of hair out of my face. “It’s really, really bad.”
 

My brother’s eyes narrowed. “Is Almarë not--”

 

“Almarë’s doing everything she can, and Nolofinwë’s treating Maitimo like his own son,” I interrupted quickly. I didn’t want Makalaurë to be suspicious of our uncle when there wasn’t anything to be suspicious about. “His body’s healing. He can’t walk yet, but he can sit up without help now. Almarë’s moved him from liquids to soft foods. All those cuts and burns that were infected have closed up without trouble. It’s his mind that really has me worried.”
 

As I spoke, Makalaurë fixed his gaze on his lap, where he was twisting the hem of his tunic between his long, strong fingers. “Tell me everything,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt.
 

I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t; I’d made Maitimo a promise. But I’d tell Makalaurë everything he needed to know.

 

“He has nightmares,” I said. “Awful ones. Sometimes he hurts himself in his sleep, he’s so agitated. And there are times when he thinks he’s still in Angamando, and he panics. Even when he knows he’s safe, he sometimes panics. If there are too many people in the room, or if he remembers something suddenly--”

 

I paused and made myself swallow, because my mouth seemed too dry for me to continue. Makalaurë noticed, and he handed me his waterskin.
 

“When you say he panics,” he asked as I gratefully took a sip, “what do you mean?”

 

I handed the waterskin back. “He gets all pale and sweaty and shaky, and he has trouble breathing,” I said. “Sometimes he forgets where he is, or he forgets who we are, or he thinks he’s in the dark even though the room is lit. Or he’ll worry that the walls are going to close in and crush him.”
 

Makalaurë closed his eyes, and his lips went thin and pinched. “So he’s going mad,” he said despairingly.
 

I shook my head. “He’s not. He’s just-- He’s in a lot of pain. And he’s scared. He’s really, really scared.”
 

I plucked another rock from the ground and tossed it at the lake, too hard for it to skip. Instead, it sank beneath the water with a soft plop. It wasn’t as satisfying as hitting something would have been, but it would have to do.

 

“We did an awful thing when we left him there,” I said. There was no point in denying it. “What Moringotto did to Haru looks like a kindness next to what he did to Maitimo. At least Haru only suffered for a few moments.”

 

Opening his eyes, Makalaurë tilted his head up to look at the grey sky. “Is he talking about what happened?” he asked.

 

“Only a little.” I lobbed another stone at the water, not even trying to skip it this time. “And I promised I wouldn’t repeat anything he told me.”

 

“Does he hate us?” The words were barely more than a whisper.
 

“No. He’s angry sometimes -- with Findekáno, too, not just us -- but it’s…” I paused, trying to come up with a good way to explain it. “Do you remember that fox Tyelko brought home when I was small?” I finally said. “The injured one? And how it bit me when I tried to help Tyelko see to its leg?”

 

Makalaurë nodded.

 

“It’s like that,” I said. “He’s hurt. And he knows we’re doing what’s best for him, but sometimes that makes him hurt even more, so he bites.”

 

“That’s quite a metaphor,” my brother said dryly.
 

“Oh, shut up,” I said, without any real rancor. “My point is that he doesn’t hate us. I don’t think Maitimo could ever hate us.” He’d always been the peace-maker, the one who made sure that our family of intense, contradictory personalities could exist under one roof without too much strife. He was our glue, in the same way Ammë had been our rock. He knew each of us inside and out, and he loved us, flaws and all, with his whole heart. Even Moringotto couldn’t manage to change that. I was sure of it.
 

“He should hate us,” Makalaurë said flatly.

 

“Yeah.” I couldn’t disagree. “But he doesn’t.”

 

A weak ray of sunlight managed to split the clouds above us, and I realized that it was going on midday. “I should head back. Findekáno’d stay by Maitimo’s side every waking minute if he could, but Nolofinwë needs him. They’ve changed, you know,” I added, pushing myself to my feet. “Nolofinwë’s people. They’ve gone all hard and sharp, like flint. And they’re furious. I think they’d’ve tossed us both in the lake in a sack by now if Nolofinwë hadn’t made it plain that we’re his guests.”
 

“But Maitimo had nothing to do with what happened at Losgar!” Makalaurë protested.

 

“Some of them don’t care,” I said. “He’s still Fëanáro‘s son.”

 

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Makalaurë asked.

 

I shook my head. “They’ll do as Nolofinwë says. As far as they’re concerned, he’s their king, not you or Maitimo.”
 

“That’s not terribly reassuring.”

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” I said. “I’m just telling you what’s going on.”

 

He pulled me into a hug. “Be careful,” he said. “And tell Maitimo we all send our love.”

 

“I will.” I held on to him a little longer than I usually would’ve, because a small, shameful part of me didn’t want to go back. The headache I’d been enduring for the past three days had finally begun to ease, but I knew it’d return in full force as soon as I was with Maitimo again. And I was tired.

 

“Go on,” Makalaurë said, stepping back and giving me a gentle shove towards Nolofinwë’s settlement. “Maitimo needs you.” His pale eyes were sad, and I knew he was wishing that he could take my place for a little while. But we both knew that he couldn’t.

 

I kissed his cheek, hoisted the bag of clothes over my shoulder, and left.

 

***********

Who stayed with Maitimo during the day varied -- me, Findekáno, Almarë, Nolofinwë, even Lalwen and Findaráto a time or two -- but I was always at his side at night. Nighttime was when his dreams were at their worst, and he needed me more than ever in their aftermath.

 

Tonight seemed to be fairly good so far; he’d made it to the early hours of the morning without any nightmares. But I knew better than to get complacent. An hour or so before dawn, a dream crashed over him like a wave, dark and terrible. Gently, I took his hand in mine and said his name, repeating it over and over until my voice finally cut through the shadows in his mind. He started awake violently enough that he nearly tumbled out of bed, and he stared wildly around the darkened room, gasping for breath..
 

“It’s me. It’s Carnistir,” I said. The words had become routine by now. “You were dreaming. You’re safe, Maitimo. I promise.”

 

He sagged against me, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, as I always did. Usually he refused, but sometimes, if the dream or memory had been particularly awful, he would murmur snatches of it to me, like water flowing over the top of a dam during a flood.
 

Tonight he didn’t answer, but simply sat there trembling. Silence spooled out like thread between us, and just when I started thinking that he wasn’t going to speak, he leaned close to me and began to whisper, his hoarse voice so soft that I could barely make out his words.

 

Within seconds, I began to wish that he’d stayed silent.
 

I’d been operating under the assumption that whatever the worst thing I could imagine was, Moringotto had likely inflicted it on my brother. I realized now that, naively, I’d also assumed that the worst I could imagine was also the worst Moringotto had done. But my mind never could’ve conjured up the things now spilling from my brother’s lips. The Eldar didn’t even have words for what Maitimo was describing -- at least, not any words that I knew. And I’d left him there to suffer. I’d made a deliberate decision to abandon my brother to unimaginable torment.

 

I thought I might be sick.

 

I stayed there beside him, my arms around him, until he fell silent and then slumped back against the pillows with his eyes closed, his breathing harsh and labored. The confession seemed to have exhausted him. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. I simply wrapped my hands around his bony fingers, choking on bile, until he fell back to sleep, and then I buried my head in my arms and began to sob.

 

I wanted my wife. I wanted my mother. I wanted somebody, anybody, who’d help me carry all the pain and horror that my brother had just poured into my outstretched hands. But an ocean separated me from Parmë and Ammë now, and besides, I’d made a promise. I’d told Maitimo that I would keep his secrets.

 

I didn’t notice the fingers of sunlight beginning to creep through the window, and I never heard Findekáno enter, didn’t even realize he was there, until his hand touched my shoulder.

 

“Carnistir?”
 

I flinched and then lifted my head. “I left him,” I croaked, still feeling like I might throw up. “I left him there, and Moringotto--”

 

“Moringotto what?” Findekáno asked, and I could feel his trepidation, like goosebumps tightening my skin. “Did Maitimo say something?”

 

I nodded. “I can’t tell you,” I said in a voice thick with tears. “I promised. But it was horrible.”
 

I was shaking in my seat, and I choked on another sob. Findekáno hesitated for a moment, and then did exactly what Maitimo or Makalaurë would have done. He drew me into his arms and held me as I cried, heedless of the tears soaking into his shirt.
 

He wasn’t my brother, but he could’ve been. If Ilúvatar had created Arda differently, if we’d lived in a world where Maitimo and Findekáno could be open about their love -- Findekáno might’ve been my brother in the same way Nyellë was my sister.

 

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I felt ready to burst from everything roiling inside me -- horror and guilt and hatred and anger, not only at myself and Moringotto but also at the rest of the Valar. They’d been the ones who’d set Moringotto loose. If they hadn’t been so nearsighted, so naive, that monster would never have been able to lay his blackened hands on my brother’s body.

 

Finally, I found that I’d cried myself out, and I pulled away from Findekáno and sat up straight. “Promise me something,” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my wrist.

 

“That depends on what you want me to promise,” Findekáno said, eyeing me warily. I couldn’t blame him for it, really. He’d seen our oath in action. But what I wanted from him had nothing to do with the Silmarils. It was about my brother’s aching, terrified heart.
 

“Don’t leave Maitimo again,” I said. “Whatever he tells you about Moringotto, promise that you won’t leave him again.”

 

Findekáno’s eyes went wide, and he stiffened, but I barreled on before he could interrupt. “I know what you are to each other. I’ve known since I was a child,” I said. “He loves you so much, Findekáno. He wouldn’t’ve stood up to Atto for anyone but you.”

 

“Who else knows?” Findekáno asked. I could see his pulse pounding in his neck. He’d turned pale, and he seemed half ready to flee. “Your brothers--?”
 

I shook my head. “None of them. Maitimo doesn’t even know that I know.” I pressed on. “Promise me, Findekáno.”
 

“Of course,” he said hurriedly, his eyes flicking to my brother’s sleeping form. “What do you take me for, Carnistir? I don’t care if Moringotto forced him -- forced him to murder again. I’ve left him too many times as it is.”

 

Murder. If only Moringotto’s tortures had been so mundane.

 

“Thank you,” I said anyway, my voice cracking halfway through the words. Findekáno nodded and squeezed my hands. Then he perched on the edge of Maitimo’s bed, where he began to gently run his fingers through my brother’s shorn hair. It was plain that he wanted to ask about what Maitimo had told me, but he wouldn’t. He knew I wouldn’t answer, and besides, Maitimo would see him prying as a betrayal.
 

“You should sleep,” he said to me instead, though his eyes were fixed on Maitimo. “And ask Almarë for some willow bark. You only squint like that when your head is hurting you.”
 

“I’ll be fine,” I said. That was a bald-faced lie, but I wasn’t going to encroach on Almarë’s time and resources any more than I had to.
 

Findekáno rolled his eyes. “At least take a nap,” he said. “You’re too stubborn for your own good sometimes, you know.”
 

“Like you aren’t?”

 

“Sleep, Carnistir,” Findekáno said, flapping his hand in a shooing motion. He was taking more comfort in the familiarity of our banter than I was. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground if you keep on like this, and then what good will you be?”

 

I didn’t want to be alone with the things Maitimo had whispered, but I had to admit, grudgingly, that Findekáno had a point. If I was to help Maitimo, I needed to rest.

 

But when I finally collapsed into bed, I had nightmares of my own.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Angamando (Q.) = Angband
Haru (Q.) = Grandfather (Finwë)
Ammë (Q.) = Mom (Nerdanel)
Findaráto = Finrod

Nyellë - Curufin's wife
Parmë - Parmacundë, Caranthir's wife. You can read about her in my Wrapped Up in Books series.

Chapter 13: Fingon

Read Chapter 13: Fingon

As my father’s eldest son, I had many duties and responsibilities, but I tried to spend as much time with Maitimo as possible. I also did my best to bully Carnistir into taking some rest whenever Maitimo was awake. My younger cousin was clearly exhausted by the nights he spent at his brother’s bedside. His normally ruddy face had gone pale and his eyes were now shadowed by grey half-moons, and though he always tried at first to resist my efforts, he was too weary to hold out for long.

Today I was perched alone on the bed beside Maitimo, running my hand through his cropped copper hair and watching the steady rise and fall of his bony chest as he breathed. He was curled on his side, asleep – or so I thought, until I absently traced my index finger over a scar that crept from between his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck. He had a number of others of the same kind, but they were strange to my eyes – thin, curving burns, almost as though he had been hit with a lash made of flames.

“A Valarauco did that.”

His voice was soft, but I started at the words and pulled my hand away. “I did not realize you were awake,” I said apologetically.

Maitimo neither moved nor opened his eyes, but he asked, “Have you ever seen one, Káno?”

I shook my head and then, realizing that he could not see me, said, “No, but I have heard the stories. And I know that they slew your father.”

“The stories are paltry little things,” he said. “Seeing one in person would take your breath away. They’re towering beasts of flame and shadow, swift and strong and terrible, with whips of fire that burn white with heat. Atto was mad to try to fight them alone.”

I did not give voice to my immediate thought – that Fëanáro had gone mad long before he had attempted to slay Moringotto’s flaming servants. Instead, I lightly pressed my finger to the scar once more.

“Is there nothing Almarë can do for these?” I asked.

“She tells me they have healed as much as they ever will,” Maitimo said. “The wounds went untreated for too long.” He paused and then added, “Moringotto did not care how badly I was injured, as long as I still lived.”

It was the most he had said to me about his time in captivity, and the toneless way in which he spoke horrified me as much as the words themselves. Looking down at the blank expression on his too-thin face, I thought my heart might shatter.

“I am sorry I did not come for you sooner, beloved,” I whispered.

“You had no reason to come for me,” he said. He had not opened his eyes even once during our conversation, and he did not do so now. “I betrayed you.”

“You did not,” I said firmly. “I thought you had, yes, but I was mistaken.”

“I am not speaking of what happened at Losgar.”

I moved my hand from the back of his neck and began once more to card my fingers through his hair. “What do you speak of, then?”

He was silent for a moment. “I left you with nothing but angry words when I departed for Formenos,” he finally said. “I allowed our fathers’ strife to come between us.”

“Maitimo,” I said with a sigh, “I bear as much of the blame for that as you do. You didn’t truly listen to my words when we argued after the Valar’s sentence, but neither did I listen to yours. We were both at fault. And I missed you terribly regardless,” I confessed.

“I missed you as well. Every day,” he said softly. “But my brothers needed me. My father needed me.”

“I know.” That sense of obligation to those he held dear was a part of Maitimo that I both loved and hated. He would not have been himself without it, but neither would he have been so quick to follow his father against his better judgement.

Still, he had defied Fëanáro in the end. I knew my beloved. I knew that speaking out alone against his father’s orders must have taken every ounce of courage and determination that he possessed, but he had done it all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally turning his head and blinking his eyes open to look at me.

“As am I,” I said. “But it’s done, Maitimo. We should let it go.”

We had other problems to face now, though I did not bring them up. Maitimo was healing, but he was still tired and frail. Politics, kingship, restitution… Those things would have to wait until he was stronger.

He made a soft noise of agreement and closed his eyes once more. Leaning over, I pressed a kiss to his temple and watched as his angular features softened into an expression that held an echo of his old beauty.

I stayed by his side as he drifted off to sleep.

---

Chapter End Notes

Valarauco (Q.) - balrog

Chapter 14: Caranthir

Read Chapter 14: Caranthir

I should’ve known that I wouldn’t be able to shelter Maitimo forever. My brothers, my uncle, and even Findekáno himself might not have been able to see the nightmares and horrific memories leaking from Maitimo, but I wasn’t the only grandchild of Finwë who could sense others’ thoughts and feelings. It was only a matter of time before one of Arafinwë’s brood chose to visit.

At least it was Findaráto who came. True, I’d never been fond of him, and we’d exchanged barbed words more than a few times in the past, but I still found him the least objectionable member of that family. He held himself in check in a way that his brothers didn’t, and he rarely pried like Artanis did.

If it had been her or Angaráto who’d come, the situation might’ve actually blown up in our faces. I’d kept my temper contained so far, for Makalaurë’s sake and Maitimo’s, but I was under no illusions about my self-control when it came to those particular cousins.

Maitimo had always considered Findaráto a friend, though. It made my teeth clench to admit it, but I knew that my cousin wasn’t coming to gawk. That wasn’t who he was. And it would do Maitimo good to see him. Still, I didn’t plan to leave them alone together. If I could stop Findaráto from seeing even a few of my brother’s thoughts, I’d do it.

To hell with him if he was offended. I’d promised to keep Maitimo’s secrets, and I had no plans to break my word.

***********

I was lucky; Findaráto’s visit came on one of Maitimo’s better days. My brother was still frail and his eyes were still clouded by shadow, but his mind was here today, not back in the pits of Angband. He even managed to sit up long enough to embrace our cousin.

“It’s good to see you,” Findaráto said. “You look much stronger than you did when I last saw you.”

I bit back a scowl. Of course Maitimo looked stronger. Findaráto hadn’t seen him since the eagle had deposited Findekáno and my brother on the shore of the lake, and Maitimo had been half an inch from death then.

Findaráto caught at least some of the thought, and he glanced over at me. If there’d been anger or pity – or worse, amusement – in his gaze, I might’ve punched him. But he just looked sad.

I’m not here to hurt him, Carnistir. You can relax.

I nearly flinched at Findaráto’s voice in my mind, and I immediately pulled up the strongest wall against him that I could muster. He withdrew, turning his full focus back to Maitimo. If my brother noticed the moment of distraction, he didn’t show it.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Maitimo said. “I was relieved when Káno told me that you and your brothers and sister had all survived the crossing.”

“We don’t need to speak of that now,” Findaráto said, shaking his head. “I came to see how you’re recovering, not to air any grievances.”

I had to admire his poise. He was just as furious with me over the burning of the ships as my other cousins were – I could tell – but he didn’t even look my way as he spoke.

I held my tongue. It wasn’t easy, but I did it anyway, because something in Maitimo had lightened when he’d seen Findaráto walk through the door. He was the first of our cousins to come, besides Findekáno, and he wasn’t angry at my brother. That had to be comforting Maitimo at least a little.

They talked. After a while, I tuned the words out, focusing instead on my brother’s face and eyes. He was trying to seem strong, but the effort was wearing him out. He’d probably pay for it in nightmares tonight.

Findaráto noticed, of course. “You should get some rest now, Maitimo,” he finally said, squeezing my brother’s hand. “You’re still healing. I’ll come back later this week, all right?”

“I should,” Maitimo agreed, fighting back a yawn. “Thank you for coming, cousin. You don’t know how wonderful it is to see you.”

Findaráto departed, and I sat with Maitimo as he drifted off to sleep.

***********

Hours later, when I stepped outside, I found our cousin waiting for me. “What do you want?” I asked him. Maitimo’s nightmares had left a headache building at my temples, and I couldn’t scrub all my irritation from the words, so I braced myself for Findaráto to hit back.

He didn’t.

“Maitimo is in a lot of pain,” he said, his voice soft and calm.

This time I did scowl. “And composite numbers all have at least three divisors,” I answered. Really, did Findaráto think he was saying something I didn’t already know? Of course Maitimo was in pain!

Again, Findaráto didn’t let his temper rise. It was baffling to me how he managed to stay in such control of himself, and I envied him for it.

“You don’t have to help him alone, you know,” Findaráto said. “I can tell it’s wearing on you.”

I gritted my teeth and, voice tight, said, “I don’t care how much it wears on me. I’ll do whatever my brother needs me to do. And if he wants your help, he’ll ask for it.”

It had been hard enough to get Maitimo to accept my help. He’d never ask Findaráto, for a thousand different reasons – fear, guilt, and pride foremost among them.

Findaráto turned to look at me, resignation painted across his features. “You are the most pigheaded man I’ve ever met, apart from your father,” he said, sounding tired. “Have it your way, Carnistir. I’ve offered. I can’t make you accept.”

He turned on his heel and left without another word.

---

Chapter End Notes

Arafinwë - Finarfin
Findaráto - Finrod
Artanis - Galadriel
Angaráto - Angrod

Chapter 15: Maedhros

Read Chapter 15: Maedhros

Perhaps it was unfair of me to be angry with Findekáno; he had saved my life, after all. But with every nightmare, every memory, every moment of pain and frailness, with the awareness of every ounce of anguish my little brother felt on my behalf, it became harder and harder not to hold it all against him. Despite what he said, I wasn't free. I did not think I would ever be free. Death was no longer an option, not with Káno and my brothers and Nolofinwë all counting on me. I was under no illusions. It was true that they all cared for me, but right now they also saw me as a valuable piece in the ongoing game that would decide who would rule the Noldor.

 

Káno loved me, but he couldn't hide the fact that politics had played a part in his decision to rescue me. My brothers, too, loved me, but to them I was the rightful king of the Noldor, returned to take up his crown once more. And while Nolofinwë had treated me with nothing but care and kindness, it was clear that he also saw my presence here as a way to keep my brothers in check. With all of this weighing on me, was it any wonder that I felt angry?

 

And yet.

 

I felt selfish, too. Káno had saved my body from further torment, at least, if not my mind. Carnistir had barely left my side. And Nolofinwë was caring for me as though I were one of his own children, despite the part I had played in his people's suffering. What right did I have to be angry at them when it was my own foolishness that had led to my capture? What right did I have to be angry at anyone when it was my own fault that my friends and companions had been killed?

 

I didn't deserve their kindness. Not after all my mistakes, not after all Moringotto and his servants had done to me and forced me to do. I wasn't Maitimo anymore. I was something rotten, something broken, something spoiled.

 

Something Orcish.

---

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 16: Fingon

Read Chapter 16: Fingon

“We need to give Maitimo something to do,” Carnistir said to me one morning.

 

“Something to do?”

 

“Something to do,” he repeated. “We’re giving him too much time to think, and he’s getting stuck in his own head. He’s going in circles, and not nice circles, either. I can see it happening. He needs a distraction. We need to give him something else to focus on. Do you think you could find a slate and some chalk? If you can't, I can get them from Makalaurë.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Hell, Makalaurë would probably bring paper and pens if I asked him, but that seems like a waste.”

 

“You want him to practice writing with his left hand,” I said, having caught up with Carnistir’s idea.

 

My cousin nodded. “He’ll need to learn it sooner or later. Might as well start now, don’t you think? And he can ask your father for advice.”

 

My father was left-handed, the only person in our family who was – though I supposed my uncle Fëanáro, who had been ambidextrous, might technically count as well. And I couldn’t deny that Carnistir had a point: Maitimo did need a distraction, and it would be best for him to learn while my father was available to offer tips.

 

“I can get a slate,” I said. “And I’ll talk to my father.”

 

I doubted Atto would say no. He was as worried about Maitimo as any of us.

 

*************

 

“Do you think you could spare some time tomorrow to give Maitimo some advice on writing with his left hand?” I asked my father over dinner. “Not necessarily a full-blown lesson – I know how busy you are, Atto – but just a few tips?”

 

“Is he ready for that, Findekáno?” my father asked.

 

I shrugged. “It was Carnistir’s idea,” I said, “and I think he has a point. Maitimo needs a distraction.”

 

My father pressed his lips together at the mention of my cousin, and he said bitterly, “If it weren't so plain that Maitimo needs him, I would never let Carnistir stay without wringing an apology out of the wretch.”

 

A reasonable point of anger, I thought. My cousin had a lot to apologize for, both to us and to Maitimo. I knew Maitimo didn’t fault his brothers for leaving him to Morgoth, but I certainly did, and I faulted him even more for the burning of the ships, for condemning my family and our people to cross the Helcaraxë, where so many of us had died.

 

“I’d just as soon toss him in the lake in a sack,” Turukáno said, provoking a dark laugh from Irissë.

 

My father, however, did not join in. “We’ll have no kinslaying on these shores,” he said gravely.

 

Turukáno fell silent, but he shot me a look that made my insides squirm with guilt.

 

I hadn’t known. That was the thought that had sustained me across the Helcaraxë. I hadn’t known what was happening. I’d seen my cousin, my beloved, in danger and jumped in to defend him. I hadn’t meant to murder the Teleri. I’d simply been led astray by Fëanáro’s sons.

 

Including Maitimo, but I didn’t like to think about that too deeply.

 

“I’d be glad to give Maitimo some advice,” my father said. “When do you plan to start?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.”

 

He nodded, and then turned the conversation to other things.

 

**************

 

“What is this?” Maitimo asked, when Carnistir, my father, and I presented him with the slate and chalk I had procured.

 

“Something for you to do,” Carnistir said, perching on the end of Maitimo’s bed. “You have to relearn how to write eventually. And it’ll give you something to focus on.”

 

Besides what happened to you, he didn’t say, but the look that passed between him and his brother made me suspect that Maitimo had heard the unspoken words loud and clear. Still, Maitimo gamely maneuvered the slate to rest against the stump of his right arm and took the chalk in his left hand. Then he attempted the alphabet.

 

For a first try, it was better than I’d expected – the tengwar were rather shaky, rather wobbly, but still legible. But he’d only reached up to ando before he noticed that his hand had begun to smear the earlier letters as it passed over them.

 

“Well, that’s not working,” he said matter-of-factly. He looked straight at my father and asked, “Uncle, have you any advice? I supposed you must have run into the same problem when you were first learning.”

 

My father nodded, took the slate and chalk from Maitimo, and demonstrated how he held his hand when he wrote. Then he gave them back, wrapped his hand around Maitimo’s – a hand that was still uncomfortably skeletal, for all that my beloved had slowly begun to regain some of the weight he’d lost during his captivity – and manipulated Maitimo’s fingers into the correct position.

 

Carnistir flashed me a slightly smug smile, and then he withdrew to the corner of the room, leaving Maitimo and my father uninterrupted. Normally such a smile from him would have made me fantasize about hitting him, but in this case he was perhaps justified. I hadn’t seen Maitimo’s eyes so unclouded or his expression so bright since Aman, and I could tell already that Carnistir’s idea had been a good one.

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Chapter End Notes

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