The Eight-Pointed Star by Tyelca

Day 1 - Maedhros

The first day of Fëanorian Week! Maedhros has the wonderful prompts: Childhood, Kingship, Torture, Adjusting/Coping, Unity, Beauty; I believe that with the exception of Childhood I used them all.

Summary: After being rescued from Angband, Maedhros suffers from nightmares and has some dark thoughts.

Characters: Maedhros

Warnings: Aside from non-graphical canon references to Maedhros' torture in Angband, there are some pretty dark thoughts, as well as the aftermath of/coping with said torture.

The darkness is lifted and what the light reveals is even worse than what his imagination ever came up with. Illuminated by the light of the Silmarils, so close yet out of reach, the pit is a stark contrast of blood and shadow. Moringotto towers above him; and those dark eyes are alight with terrible humor as he watches how the pit swallows him. But the pit is the cold of the wind and the hunger in his stomach and he is burning and drowning and Moringotto is the fire and the water and the air that he suffocates in. And always, always the thrice-cursed Silmarils, that scorch his face and blind his eyes, until all he can see is Moringotto, Moringotto, Moringotto…

With a scream Maitimo awakes. His legs are tangled in his blanket and his pillow is soaked with sweat. He wants to brush away the hair that sticks to his face, but is reminded that he does not have a hand anymore. A sound that is half a cry, half a sob escapes his throat, and he is thirsty and needs something to drink. He kicks until finally his legs are free of the blanket - he still has both feet - and he pushes himself upright. A glass of water stands on nightstand, and Maitimo gulps it down. The cool water spills over, but he is already drenched in sweat so it doesn’t matter. He puts the glass down and breathes heavily - in, out, in, out - until he feels his heartbeat slow down.

Only a dream, he tells himself, like he does every night. Only a dream - but one that is always different yet the same, and Maitimo is exhausted. Ever since Findekáno freed him from the shackle that held him to the Thangorodrim, he has not slept a full night through. Sometimes Maitimo wishes this all was a dream and he was still Moringotto’s prisoner, for then this all would be a beautiful dream, a reprieve from Moringotto’s endless tortures. Or perhaps this was the dream and the pit the reality; Maitimo knows his thoughts are somewhat meddled after he wakes up from a nightmare.

No one comes to check on him, like they did in the beginning. He is not left alone, for his brothers have all chosen to stay close rather than whatever they did when he was in Angamando; still, it has been a long time since his screams roused them from their sleep. His eyes scan the room and quickly locate the half-filled bottle of wine from last night. For a moment he deliberates; then he rises, walks towards his desk, and takes the bottle. He quickly moves back to his bed, for although it is tainted with his own sweat, the rest of the room is even colder. He sits down, bottle still in hand, and tries to pull the extra blanket around him. He manages with some difficulty; the corners fall off his shoulders that are still way thinner than they should be.

He sits cross-legged and has the bottle of wine clutched between his thighs; with his single remaining hand he tries to remove the cork. It takes a few tries and when it slips out the bottle almost falls over, but the instinctive clenching of muscles prevents the wine from spilling. He puts the cork down and takes a swig of the wine. The liquid is thick and spicy, and the warm burn in his throat temporarily removes all unpleasant thoughts. It is neither the flavor nor the potency of the wine that makes him forget; rather, it is the sensation of tasting that shuts everything out.

Maitimo tries not to do this too often, but most nights he’s unable to resist the temptation, and he’s getting into the habit of accidentally forgetting to put the wine away in the evening. He knows others are worried about him; not just his little brothers, who’ve faithfully kept their promise not to put their people and Oath at risk for his life, but everyone from the footsoldiers to the generals, from the farmers to the smiths. They whisper when he passes, but their intent is not malicious, so he lets them. He has changed in those long years in Angamando and he knows it. There is no full recovery for him, no complete healing. Most scars have faded and he learns how to live with only one hand, but he is damaged. He looks at the wine bottle and takes another long drink. He is glad the rest of his family cannot see him, the High King of the Noldor, in such a state.

The room is dark and the window faces the west, so no early dawn light penetrates the darkness. Maitimo knows he is not going to sleep any more tonight - he never does - so he keeps sitting, thinking, and now and then he takes a sip of the wine. As always in the pre-dawn hours, his mind wanders back to the nightmare and inevitably to the source material; he may have gotten away from Angamando, but Angamando was not getting away from him. The memories make him flinch and he hates how weak he has become.

The sun rises and the western sky too is lightening to a pale blue. The stars disappear; but to Maitimo the stars have long since lost their beauty. Cold specks of light against a black canvas; Varda’s creations are nothing to him now. Maitimo reflects that even after the Slaying at Alqualondë his brothers have retained an innocence he has now lost, and he is determined to protect that innocence in them. He has endured Moringotto’s terrible hospitality; he shall not allow any of his family to experience the same horrors.

Defeat the Enemy; in the end it all comes back to the Oath they swore in a time that seems so long ago. Maitimo recites the words to himself, and they offer a comfort he has not found anywhere else. Moringotto shall fall, and Angamando shall collapse upon him, and perhaps then Maitimo will feel safe again. He doubts it, but the Oath is a source of hope and that is something he hasn’t had in a long time. He clings to it with all the abandonment of the deprived and is not about to let anyone take it from him. He does not think anyone understands; but most are wise enough not to comment on his sudden vigor.

However, his mind sometimes travels on roads he before would not have dared to tread; and he follows those paths with a morbid curiosity. Findekáno he often meets on these paths, and together they move, until that crucial meeting atop Thangorodrim, where he had asked, begged and ordered his cousin to put his knife in his heart. But Findekáno is unafraid of his ire and did not obey, and Maitimo simultaneously loves and hates him for it. In his mind he then comes to a split in the road; on one side, there is a rift mended between the two Houses of Finwë, and it is this path of unity that Maitimo has chosen. On the other side, there is a promise of vengeance for letting him live like this, forcing him to deal with the aftermath of capture in Angamando. More and more often his thoughts follow this darker path, and Maitimo imagines his cousin screaming like he screamed, and he revels in the sound.

He knows he is broken, damaged beyond repair, and he empties the bottle of wine in his mouth. The sun has risen above the horizon; Maitimo has come to recognize the particular shade of pinkish orange that signals the beginning of these new and shorter days. He rises, uses his single hand to put the empty bottle on the nightstand and leaves his bed. A small waterfall rushes down from the top of the hill, and each of the sleeping chambers is angled so that it has a door towards the ledge above the lake. Maitimo goes through and the cool water washes away all the sweat that has dried on his skin.

Inside he dresses and puts the crown on his brow; for no matter what terrors plague his nights, by day he is the High King of the Noldor in Exile, and it would not do to show he is anything but the High King of the Noldor in Exile. It is a new day; he need only be whole till nightfall, and then he can be alone with his wine and his thoughts and his nightmares again. Survive till nightfall. He hopes today is the day he finally can make it, but he doesn’t hold his breath.

Chapter End Notes

Maitimo is Maedhros, Findekáno is Fingon, Moringotto is Morgoth and Angamando is Angband.