Maps by grey_gazania

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Chapter 12: Caranthir

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

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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.

 

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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.