Remarkable by Luxa

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Chapter 1

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His older brother was, Maglor thought idly, a remarkable Elf. In many ways, too. A remarkably skilled fighter, remarkably good at telling when Maglor is lying, remarkably good with children. His survival was remarkable; as was his strength. But, thought Maglor, nothing more so than his height.

And when a tall Elf has the need to go places, he must pick a tall horse. And when a horse is bigger than all the others from top to bottom...

...it shits bigger. And Maglor was stuck riding behind all of it.

He thought about other things than the increasing trail of frighteningly large horse shit. He thought about the horse's tail as it swung back in forth in front of him, pulling him into a stupor. He thought about the next song he might eventually get around to write. He didn't think about his family or the war or the trail of destruction they'd left in their wake. Just songs, the tail, and the shit.

It was raining, too. So really he was thinking about songs, the tail, shit, and rain.

Eventually he was jolted out of this lethargic line of thought by the line of horses halting in front of him. His brother hopped off his horse, supple leather boots completely missing the pile of horse shit next to him, as was ever the luck of the powerful. He talked for a minute with the scout ahead of him and turned to the twenty Elves riding behind him.

"There's been a road blockage," he heard Maedhros said in his calm, quiet rasp of a voice. "We will have to stop here for the night and fix it tomorrow."

His squire loudly repeated it for him so that the rest of them could hear. Maglor could hear subdued grumbling from behind him and couldn't really blame them. It was sopping wet and the air was full of the fumes of horse shit. That coupled with the fact they were heading from a nice visit in Hithlum back to Himring was an automatic drop in morale. At least he'd be able to get back to the Gap- the only person who seemed to like the hill fortress was his brother.

He dismounted his horse and approached said brother. "Are we going to pitch tents right in the road then?" He did not fancy the idea of sleeping on the horse shit he'd been contemplating all day.

"No," said Maedhros, seemingly oblivious to his joke. "There's a clearing ahead, in front of some farmland. I am going to pay a visit to those who till this land. Would you join me?"

"Please excuse me for saying so," said Maglor. "But why?"

"We are going to be spending the night only a mile or so from their home," said Maedhros. "Meeting us might put them at ease. I would not like it if thirty unknown Elves parked themselves at my door with no explanation."

"By ourselves?"

"Yes."

Maedhros remounted his horse and looked at Maglor, clearly waiting for him to do the same. He did so quickly, stepping on a steaming pile as he did so. He surreptitiously wiped his boot on the horse's flank. Who knows, it could have been that horse's by-product to begin with...although Maglor knew he wouldn't feel any better about having feces smeared on his side if someone were to mention that it was his own.

The ride only took a few minutes; the homestead was as close as Maedhros had said. It was quaint, very well-built, and small. The materials used were stone, Maglor thought, and some brick. Brick must be hard to come by around this area. No wood, though, despite the abundance of trees. Yavanna would have loved that, he thought, before he remembered that thinking about such things put a shard through his heart.

There was a horse post in front, so Maedhros let Maglor tie the horses to it, glad to find that it was under a huge tree and sheltered them from the storm.

"If anything goes wrong, or you're unhappy," Maglor whispered to them, having grown quite fond of both horses (as one tends to when you stare at a horse's tail for hours on end). "Just let me know, okay? I'll take care of you."

They understood; Maglor could feel it.

The door to the homestead was open by the time Maglor and Maedhros were halfway down the path. Maglor hoped despite himself that these were not any of Fingolfin's host, for they were not like to be too kind to them. Rightly so, as his mantra had been for decades now, but hostility did grow old.

When they reached the door Maglor was reminded how very tall Maedhros was. Tall to his own family, who were taller still than the majority of Elves. In public, with Elves of average height, Maedhros was a giant. Friendly enough in his youth and popular with the people, but now he was stern and scarred and often quite frightening to people who didn't know him.

The door opened and the woman behind it bowed. A good sign.

"My Prince," she said. An even better one, regardless of how awkward.

"No longer a prince," said Maedhros evenly. "A lord instead. Please do not bow for me. I have been forced to bow so often that I take no joy in it."

Maglor was the musician and Maedhros was the artist with words. He wished in vain that his father had been able to appreciate that.

The woman smiled. She reminded Maglor of their mother, not that pretty, but very pleasant, with a smile that lit up the room. She was obviously Noldor- her black hair was pulled in a bun and her silver eyes were almost the same shade as Maedhros's.

"I have come to inform you that we are camping on the edge of your land," said Maedhros formally. "We would ask your permission."

"And if we said no?" said a male voice. "Would you move?"

Both their gazes shifted from the woman to a man sitting at a table inside. He was also very Noldor, with similar features to the woman.

"No," said Maedhros. "We would not. But I thought it would still be good to ask."

The man examined Maedhros with sharp eyes before abruptly bursting into laughter. "You're everything that they say you are, Lord Maedhros. And is this Lord Maglor?"

Maglor bowed slightly, to the obvious distaste of Maedhros. "Yes, I am he."

"Come in," said the woman. "I insist! Eldras, their horses must be soaking, can you go take them in?"

The man sighed and stood, limping to the door and outside. Maglor felt a twinge of guilt. "We could have-"

She shook her head, strands of hair falling from her bun. "No, no, you're guests. Come in!"

Maglor's head brushed the top of the doorframe as he entered. For the Valar's sake, how tall were this people? Six feet? He glanced behind him to see Maedhros bending to get his head under the doorframe. Once inside he stood and his head brushed the ceiling.

"Just as tall as they say," said the woman, sounding a little in awe. "Oh, my name is Lamelin. Sorry about the mess. It's not much, but it's ours."

She pulled out two chairs and beamed at them, so Maglor sat and Maedhros did the same. The room was indeed small, but it was comfortable and clean, fresh straw gathered in corners and much of the stone walls covered with woven hangings. There were warm blankets over every piece of furniture and a basket of bread on the table.

She pushed the bread towards them. "Go ahead," she encouraged.

Maedhros lifted his gloved hand, but hesitated. It filled Maglor with pain; he'd seen him do it before. Whenever he was offered food, his brother usually thought it was some sort of trap, that the food was full of pain and danger and that he would take a bite and begin to vomit and convulse, or worse, find out his escape was nothing more than a dream.

Maedhros seemed to come back to himself and picked up the bread, breaking off a piece with his teeth and chewing noisily. He looked rude, Maglor suddenly realized. He looked like a rude, harsh giant because no one could know the pains Maedhros went through to chew because he was missing eight teeth on one side.

"We marched with your host," said Lamelin, watching them eat. "We were taken in by your father's words in Valinor. Riches and glory he promised us, but it was this life that we found."

Maglor didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Maedhros's jaw worked as he thought of a response. Finally he said, "None of us found what we expected."

"You least of all," said a voice from the door. Eldras had returned, dragging his leg as he walked. He smiled as he spoke, but his words were grave. In a strange way he reminded Maglor of his father. "I do not blame you for the woes we have suffered here, for you have suffered far more."

Maglor watched Maedhros carefully. The subject of his imprisonment was a tender subject, although Maglor suspected it was more because of his own aversion to the subject.

"Kind words," said Maedhros thoughtfully. "But do not be quick to dismiss your own suffering. Did you get that limp in battle?"

Eldras slumped down into the seat next to his wife. "I did," he said, not sounding very sorry. "I would have died if Lamelin had not saved me."

"It's how we met," said Lamelin warmly."I found him in the aftermath of a battle. We were so covered in blood that I almost missed him, but I felt a light guiding me to him, helping me."

"That is very beautiful," observed Maedhros. "My brother could write a song about a story like that."

Both Eldras and Lamelin's faces turned red in the manner of seconds as they stared at Maglor. Maedhros's face didn't change, but remained impassive. Maglor wondered what the couple thought of his brother's raspy, broken voice, if they could see the long, thick scar that wrapped around his neck half-hidden under his collar, if they could put it together.

"O-Oh, no, that wasn't what we were-" started Lamelin.

"What's she's saying, I wasn't trying to suggest-"

Maglor tilted his head. "Yes, I think that would be a good song indeed."

Maedhros raised his left hand in defense of an attack that wasn't there. "I didn't mean to suggest you had to, brother. I just thought it would be nice."

Nice. He hadn't heard his brother say so many words at once in years, and now he was spouting things like 'nice' and suggesting songs to write. This couple was bringing a part of his brother back that he hadn't seen in a long time.

"You're quieter than I thought you'd be, Lord Maglor," observed Lamelin. "With your reputation, I mean."

"And what is our reputation?" asked Maedhros. His face still hadn't changed, and Maglor thought it was beginning to unnerve the couple.

"That Lord Maglor is the best bard who's ever lived," said Lamelin dreamily. "That he can weave dreams with his songs and entrance even the most hard-hearted. That he is a fearsome warrior in battle and deals mercy and justice in equal measure."

"Perhaps you should write the songs, not me," said Maglor, smiling.

Eldras leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Lord Maedhros, they say you are one of the greatest warriors that have ever lived. They speak of your strength and your power and your ability to hold lands most would not even want. They say you are grave now, that you've been hardened by your torture and pain."

"Whoever they are," said Maedhros evenly. "They have the right of it."

Lamelin glanced at the expression on Maedhros's face and then glanced away quickly. The tension in the air was tight. Maedhros didn't even seem aware of it, but the other three did, and Maglor was desperately looking for a way to defuse it.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" blurted Lamelin.

Well, that worked.

"Don't you think we should discuss that?" said Eldras, smiling again. "I do make the dinner, after all."

Lamelin blushed. "Sorry. What do you think, love?"

Eldras turned to the two lords. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"If we don't return soon, they may begin to worry," said Maglor.

"Let them worry,"said Maedhros. "It would be rude of us to refuse."

He smiled for the first time then, the scar that ran across his lips making it unsettling. Unsettling but welcome, Maglor thought. He did not see that smile often enough.

Maglor stood. "I would love to stay for dinner, really. But I should make sure our people know where we are. I will return soon, and perhaps I will bring my harp. That is, if you'd like me to play a song?"

Lamelin and Eldras beamed while Maedhros quickly shelved a look a disbelief. He hadn't played for anyone but himself since the last time he'd seen Maedhros smile. This time they were going to go hand in hand.

The sky was darkening when he started, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the air was crisp. It was a good ride; he rode hard and was back soon with his harp slung over his back, confident that their Elves were safe, dry in their tents, and knew where their lords would be. He led his horse to the stables himself and took care of him with thoughts of chords and lyrics and his brother in his head instead of horse shit.

When he reentered the house he found Maedhros sitting at the table with Lamelin, deep in conversation. Eldras was in the adjoining room cooking their day. Maglor shook the water out of his braids and set his cloak at the door, carrying his harp in one arm.

"I offered to help," said Maedhros, motioning to Eldras. "But he pointed out that I might not be of much use."

Maglor had never noticed the way the skin around Maedhros's eyes crinkled when he grinned. He was grinning, so wide you could see the gaps where his teeth should be. As Maglor watched his brother brushed his hair back, letting his severed ear show. An unconscious decision perhaps, but one that still made his jaw go slack with shock.

"Lord Maedhros was just telling me a story about you were you were growing up," said Lamelin, snickering.

"I'd rather not know," he replied truthfully. "What happened while I was gone?"

"What do you mean?" asked Maedhros, one auburn eyebrow raised.

"You two...when I left..." Maedhros did not make friends anymore, not when there was no political advantage to be gained. He spent his free time alone often as not, even when Maglor was visiting. This...this was something new.

Lamelin beamed at Maglor. "If you'll excuse me, my lords, I think I will help Eldras for a few minutes. It will make the cooking go faster."

Maglor sat in her abandoned seat and just blinked at his brother. "What's going on?"

Maedhros sighed, dropping the smile, his face returning to the stone visage Maglor was used to. "These two don't expect anything from me. They don't expect unwavering strength, for me to never fumble or falter."

Maglor didn't say anything, and Maedhros began to turn red. It reminded Maglor painfully of their youth, of his tall, gangly older brother with the long red hair and the freckles, the one who'd carry him on his back and swing him around, the one who'd always been there for him when his were busy with their art.

"It sounds stupid," mumbled Maedhros, the low timbre of his voice combining with the rasp to make his words almost unintelligible. "They do expect things from me. Of course they do. Just..."

"Not as much?" suggested Maglor.

Maedhros nodded and looked away. "It is nice to meet common folk with such unreserved love for us."

Maglor tried not to think about the truth of that. He was saved from his thoughts by Lamelin and Eldras, both holding large platters as they entered the room.

"That looks delicious," said Maglor truthfully. "You cooked all that in such a short time?"

"My husband is a master," said Lamelin, her pride for him evident in those shining Noldor eyes. "And even better, he is quick about it."

Maglor helped lay the table and soon they were eating. Soon Maglor stuffing his face in a manner most undignified to a high lord, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, especially when he tried the pheasant that Eldras had cooked. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Maedhros take off his glove with his teeth and begin to slowly cut his meat. Thankfully neither Lamelin nor Eldras offered to help, as Maedhros had spent a long time learning to cut his meat one-handed.

He rarely saw Maedhros without his glove on. He forgot that, sometimes. His hand was pitted with scars, mostly small, fine ones running up and down, but also thick burn scars splayed across his knuckles. He flexed it when he removed it from the glove and reached for his fork, Maglor's eyes drawn to the worst part. He was missing the last two fingernails on his hand, his pinkie and the finger next to it completely covered in scar tissue, from the tip of the fingers disappearing into his sleeve in one long raised streak.

"Would you mind answering a question?" asked Eldras.

"Not at all," said Maedhros. "Most are too cowardly even to ask me an honest question."

"Where did that scar come from?"

Eldras nodded at Maedhros's hand. The scar really was much worse than the others, not even a small spot of original skin left, just scar tissue. And it was so thick. Maglor knew it ran from his fingers all the way up his arm, a strip of unmentionable horror.

"Flaying," said Maedhros, mouth tightening. "It's from flaying. No one's ever asked before."

Lamelin's face was stricken, but Maglor wasn't sure what that meant. It sounded horrible, though. Thankfully (or not), Eldras asked the question he was thinking.

"What's flaying?"

Maedhros drew a shuddering breath, but when he spoke his voice was calm. "It's similar to skinning an animal to eat. A special knife is used to-"

"That's enough," interrupted Maglor. "I don't want to hear anymore."

Three sets of eyes bored into him, but he refused to back down. "Is it not bad enough that you must suffer with the knowledge of what was done to you?" he continued. "I don't think we were invited so you could regale us all with nightmares."

"It was my life, brother," said Maedhros quietly. "I would give much for it to have been only a nightmare."

Silence reigned as they ate. Maglor regretted his words but was unsure how to say so, so he said nothing. His eating slowed as he felt the warmth of shame rush to his face, trying to forget what he'd said.

"Your land is beautiful," said Maedhros, breaking the silence. "I have passed before it before, and I always remember it."

Lamelin and Eldras beamed. "Before we were farmers," said Eldras. "I was a metal-smith. Your father was who we all inspired to be...but once we were here, it no longer seemed important."

"I was a blacksmith," said Lamelin. "A wonder my husband's and my paths didn't cross earlier, isn't it? When we settled this land it became more than enough to look upon it. I wish I had spent more time in the gardens back in Valinor."

Maedhros smiled again, gently this time, and his face did not look sinister any longer as he said, "I wish the same."

Maglor set down his utensils, finished with his meal. Maedhros ate faster and was also done, pulling the glove on the same way he had taken it off.

"Would you like to stay the night?" blurted Lamelin. Eldras blushed slightly at his words, but did not look opposed.

"No," said Maedhros. "We cannot."

Lamelin's eyes dropped, disappointed.

Maglor cleared his throat. "I promised you a song, did I not? When I am finished, we will go."

Maedhros nodded, his face turned towards the couple but his eyes fixed on Maglor.

Maglor set up his harp with practiced ease and set his fingers to the strings, where grooves had formed from constant use. It was a simple harp, and perfect for this use. Maglor began to move his fingers and to sing, and soon his woes were forgotten, caught up in his music, only to return when the song was finished.

He sang a ballad about two lovers who'd grown up together, how their hearts beat as one until one day they didn't. The woman had grown apart and needed time...and the man gave it to her freely, waiting for her faithfully. She had mny adventures, but at the end she returned to the one she loved. It wasa happy story. Maglor didn't remember many of those anymore.

When he finished, tears were streaming down Eldras's face and Lamelin was wiping her eyes. Maedhros was standing, head brushing the ceiling, a faraway look in his eyes.

"We'd best get going," Maedhros said. "Thank you for your hospitality and your kindness. Thank you for..." The hesitation was brief, but Maglor felt it, knew it was there the same way he knew blood was flowing through his veins. "...your friendship."

The couple nodded, hands clasped together.

"Thank you for your performance, Lord Maglor," said Eldras. "It is the best I have ever heard."

"And thank you, Lord Maedhros," said Lamelin. "We will remember this day forever."

"As will I," said Maedhros, bending his knees so he could be on their eye level. "Whatever the future holds, whatever you hear about me, please...do not think too badly of me."

"I promise," said Lamelin and Eldras in unison.

"Goodbye," said Maedhros. "We will not meet again."

Maglor didn't say anything, but Lamelin stepped forward, grasping Maedhros's huge gloved hand in her own smaller ones. "There is one more thing they say about you," she said, voice so low Maglor almost couldn't hear it, saw his brother with his severed ears straining to catch it. "They say you are broken inside. But they are wrong."

When they left, it was raining again. The drops that splattered on his face were welcome after the heat of the home.

"You were rude," said Maedhros. "But I understand."

"I realize that," said Maglor. "And I'm sorry. It is hard to hear you speak of that time, knowing what part I played in it."

"I could tell you not to blame yourself, but I have already said that more times than I can count."

Their boots became coated with mud as they made their way to the stables, but that's what boots were for.

"Why didn't we stay the night?"

"I was enjoying myself too much," said Maedhros, his face hard in the dim light and the rain. He looked like a statue, one of the living statues their mother had carved, only now Maedhros's likeness had one hand, a crooked nose, and too many scars. "I was letting my guard down. I was afraid that if we'd stayed I'd never want to leave."

"There were lovely," said Maglor."

"Yes," said Maedhros, reaching his hand out to grasp the stable door. "They were."

A song about their love, was that what Maedhros had said? A song about their sweat-and-blood-stained marriage. Yes, Maglor thought, he could do that.