Reconciliation by Ariana

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Chapter II

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Chapter II

 

The sun was setting when Fingolfin’s settlement appeared before their eyes. Although they had wasted no time and had taken fresh horses, the way around the lake was quite long. They went together as soon as Maglor had shared the news about their brother’s return. They had not passed this information any further, but nevertheless their settlement was bustling with speculations

“Wait.” Maglor stopped his brother, seeing that Caranthir was heading straight to the gate.

“Why?” HIs younger brother obviously felt the need to ask, though he slowed the pace of his horse.

“Because it is not your camp. Would you suffer Turukano walking freely  on your ground with no invitation?” snapped Curufin before Maglor had a chance to answer.  He wasn’t too eloquent, but nonetheless right; they could never get along with this particular cousin.

“How long do we have to wait?” Amras jumped off his saddle and fidgeted anxiously by his horse. Caranthir soon followed him and the rest of the brothers dismounted too.

They didn’t wait long. To Maglor’s astonishment it was Fingon who came to greet them. He was dressed more formally and his hair was braided, but his eyes still carried those black circles; he must not have had a chance to rest after his journey. He also looked uncertain when he saw all the five brothers.

“I’m afraid you came in vain,” he said, glancing at the sons of Feanor. “No, Maitimo is still alive,” he reassured them, preventing any violent reactions.

“Still...” echoed Maglor. “So...?”

“My father does not wish to see any of you within our settlement.” Fingon explained calmly. ”Only Kanafinwe may go with me.”

The mentioned elf caught himself wondering how many archers were standing behind the palisade and how quickly they would take their arms, should one of his younger brothers lose his temper.

“Would you forbid us the entrance?” As always, Caranthir didn’t need much to explode. “He’s our brother!”

“And, unlike Findekano, you did nothing to save him,” snapped Maglor, aware that it was just the beginning. “Just like the rest of us.”

Fingon had the decency to remain silent; Maglor found himself unable to meet his gaze.

Caranthir blushed, Amras took a step back. The eldest among them had said aloud what they were all thinking. Maglor himself realized fully that Maedhros’s return changed nothing, that the responsibility for his family and his people was still his burden to carry. Until now he had not even realized how relieved he was to see his elder brother back, how he had subconsciously thought that Maedhros would take the lead back. Maybe it would happen, but not now and not anytime soon.

“Give us a moment,” Maglor asked his cousin.

Fingon nodded and stepped back, though that was just a gesture of politeness; Maglor had no doubt they could easily be heard by the gate.

“They have their reasons for not wishing to see us here,” he hissed quietly, looking at Caranthir, glancing at Celegorm with the corner of his eye, as the latter was most likely to agree with his impetuous brother. “It is my fault that I haven’t thought about that and took you with me.”

“We would have come anyway.” Caranthir glared back boldly, provocatively; Fingon’s presence seemed not to bother him. “And we have every right to know...”

“Hold your tongue!” Maglor jittered angrily, aware that they were making a scene. “You want to know, then respect Nolofinwe’s wish and let me go with Findekano without fear that your churlish speech will get half of this camp on our heads!”

“You can talk, you’ve seen him,” Amras joined the argument with rancour in his voice. He kept glancing longingly at the gate, as if he hoped to see his eldest brother.

“I have.” Maglor replied dully. ‘You wouldn’t want to see him like that,’ he added silently.

“They cannot keep him against his will, they will give him back to us, won’t they?” For a moment Amras sounded so young when he silently pleaded  for  confirmation.

“I think they don’t want him here as much as we want him back,” muttered Celegorm. “Apart from Findekano, that is,” he added.

“I don’t like it that they won’t let us go to him,” Caranthir wasn’t about to change his mind. “Who knows what they may do to him...”

“They won’t do anything!” Maglor was at the edge of his nerves. “But you’re right, we cannot leave Maitimo alone. So if there is possibility, we need to take it. I will watch over him.” He risked a lot. His brother could agree with him or, Eru forbid, decide that Maedhros may be in any kind of danger.

“Go, we’ll stay by the water,” said Celegorm. “Now,” he hissed at the youngest, still glancing at Fingon with hope.

 

“Forgive me,” muttered Maglor to his cousin as they passed the gate.

“I should have told you.” Fingon just shrugged his arms. “It’s understandable that your brothers came too.”

Maglor followed him the already known way to Fingolfin’s house. Before they reached the room Maedhros was placed in, an elleth ran past them with a bowl of hot water, muttering hasty apologies.

“What’s going on?” Asked Fingon, seeing three healers deep in discussion at the corridor. The elleth went past them and vanished in the sickroom.

“We cannot subdue infection,” said an elf Maglor didn’t recognize. “The wounds are a mess, and his hand...” he shook his head grimly. “I know not what kind of curses and spells of Moringotto have kept him alive, but I’m afraid we are on our own now.”

“Will he live?” Maglor chocked on this question, looking desperately at the healers. If they told him that to heal Maedhros, they required something from Valinor, he would have walked back there and then.

“No, if we don’t stabilise him,” the healer took the little hope he had. “His body is too damaged to fight, the poison is slowly consuming him. If we don’t stop the infection, he won’t last long.”

Maglor chewed on that information for a moment, fighting the urge to fly past them and reach his brother.

“I can send for our healers,” he offered, struck by sudden realization. “We’ve dealt with Moringotto’s poisons, they have caused us a lot of trouble after battle. Maybe together you’ll be able to come up with something.” He glanced at Fingon, looking for approval.

“Of course,” Fingon had no objections. “Will you send your brothers? I wish you to stay here.”

Maglor barely managed to stand still, but he waited until the healers listed all of the problems and gave him clues for his brothers, what kind of help they should seek in their camp. As soon as they finished, Feanor’s son left in a hurry. Only when he was half way to the gate, he realised that Fingon had sent a guard after him, but the elf remained by the gate, so Maglor didn’t think twice of him.

“What’s going on, Kano?” Caranthir was first to jump on his feet, seeing his brother approaching in a hurry.

“We need help, Maitimo is bad,” Maglor panted slightly as he spoke. “Go home, send Alcarino. Ask for healers who have dealt with poisons, perhaps someone’s tended to someone who had lost a limb,” he explained quickly. “Nolofinwe’s healers are running out of ideas. Maybe ours can help.”

“You’re telling us Maitimo is dying and you are sending us away?” Despite Maglor’s assumptions, it was Amras who objected first. “They won’t even let us see him?”

Celegorm turned and grabbed Amras by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Do you wish to help or sit and watch him die?!” He growled at his youngest brother. “Think of what Maitimo needs, not about yourself!”

The colour of Amras’s cheeks matched his hair; then the redhead broke free from his brother’s grip, jumped at his horse and sped away without a single word.

“Tyelko,” Maglor stopped his brother before he mounted too. “Make haste. And don’t you all come back, I doubt Nolofinwe will change his mind.”

“Sure.” Celegorm just nodded. “Stay strong.”

 “Don’t let him go,” added Curufin, brushing his hand over Maglor’s shoulder.

 

The healers wasted no time and when Maglor returned, they were just changing the dressings, so he stood by Fingon’s side so that he would not disturb them, but also because he felt nauseous at the extent of his brother’s wounds.

This time he had every possibility to fully see in what state Fingon had brought his brother. Previously he saw Maedhros when he had been blissfully set into sleep with medicine and he was so quiet and fragile, with bandages mercifully covering the worst effects of Angband.

Right now nothing covered the cruel, festering lashes on his sides, reminiscences of fire whips, going far to his back and shoulders. The shackles Maedhros must have had as a prisoner cut deep into flesh, leaving his ankles in terrible state. All the wounds looked horrible and Maedhros, though unconscious, cringed and trembled with barest touch.

And then one of the healers uncovered  the stamp. Maglor shifted uncomfortably and tightly crossed his arms, watching in terror and fighting nausea and the growing urge to run away, though he would have heard his brother’s screams even on the corridor.

“If you’re about to faint, you’d better get out,” Fingon suggested coldly and that broke Maglor’s stupor.

“No, no,” he coughed; his throat felt dry. “I can help, I wish to help,” he glanced at the healers, trying to silence the distain he felt for himself. ‘You sentenced your brother for years of torture and now you lack courage to even look at him,’ whispered a merciless voice in his head.

The healer who was cleaning the wounds on Maedhros’s torso looked at him critically and nodded.

 “Hold him still,” she ordered shortly. “Just remove all this clothing.”

Maglor undressed quickly so that he was only in a shirt, without any hard things that could cause Maedhros discomfort, and he tugged his hair. Accordingly to the healer’s commands, he sat on the edge of the bed and rose his brother high, so that he could feel his damp hair on his collarbone. Maedhros trembled weakly and to any movement he responded with groan that crashed Maglor’s heart.

“He won’t break if you hold him more firmly,” reprimanded him the healer that was now kneeling beside the elleth, when Maedhros still tried to escape their touch.

Maglor realized that he was indeed afraid of holding his brother, of using any kind of force. He didn’t want to harm him and he knew not where to put his hands on his bruised shoulders without causing further pain. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip and, no longer able to stand the pleading whimpers, he leaned over and started muttering reassuringly.

“Good, keep him like that.”

Maglor sat crouched, his eyes glued to his brother’s face, tightened with pain. For some time he was rambling nonsense, just to talk, because it seemed that his familiar voice calmed the wounded. Then he started singing one of his old songs his brother liked; anything to quiet him.

Either Maedhros reacted to his singing or he simply tired himself out, Maglor didn’t know, but the moans quieted, the wounded stop moving  and he fell asleep. Maglor froze, not daring to move as not to disturb his rest. The healers finished cleaning and covered the wounds. Maglor didn’t know when Fingon left, but suddenly there were just the two of them and he was ready to sit an count his brother’s shallow breaths.