Reconciliation by Ariana

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Chapter IX

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Chapter IX

The place Turgon had insisted on showing him was a pleasant one, but Fingon barely hid his impatience and feigned enthusiasm when his younger brother kept talking about his plans of building a city, gesturing vividly and showing him sketches spread on the ground. Finrod and Turgon made Fingon join them on their trip, which  provided a good distraction, but on the other hand cut him from any news from their cousins’ camp. He had gone anyway, to soothe the storm Maglor’s departure had left. Turgon was quick to anger but wouldn’t hold grudge for long, so when he had sent Finrod to ask him to come, Fingon agreed, knowing his brother wanted to say he was no longer angry with him.

Unfortunately, it meant that the messenger sent to them by their father reached them after three days. Fingon was ready to ride back there and then, once he learned that Maedhros had awoken, but they had to finish measurements Turgon needed for further planning, though Finrod did his best to rush his friend. Turgon complained a bit, but then gave up and said he would come back there with Finrod, because Fingon would surely just mess with his notes and he would have to repeat everything anyway.

xxx

It was late morning when Fingon came to his cousins’ settlement; he left home long before dawn, as he couldn’t sleep. The guards at the gate let him through with no problems and one of the elves led him to the sons of Feanor. They went through the camp which had already changed into a proper settlement. Tents were rare, replaced by simple houses. Whatever could be said about the sons of Feanor, it was not that they wasted their time.

There was a commotion at the yard with elves passing by in a hurry. Fingon easily found the centre of it and with little surprise spotted Celegorm there, going back and forth. The reason of bustle was a huge amount of animals brought from a hunt. Celegorm was ordering his comrades, he himself too dirty up to his elbows. He must have dragged to work everyone who had come close enough, realised Fingon as he saw Maglor skilfully plucking a pheasant.

“No, wait, take this one first.” Celegorm pointed at a deer, then turned around and almost stepped on Fingon “Oh.”

His abrupt silence must have been a change, as Maglor raised his head from his pheasant. For a moment Fingon caught his grim gaze, but then a polite, studious smile appeared on his lips.

“Forgive us for not greeting you properly,” he said and rose on his feet; he was as dirty as his younger brother. “Tyelko has brought so much meat we need to take care of it before it runs off. But please, follow me, I’ll just get changed.” Maglor pointed at the ajar door and led him inside, with his pheasant still in his hand.

“You don’t need to drop your work, I came to...” started Fingon, but Maglor cut him off.

“I know why you’re here,” he said sharply, but then covered the unpleasant impression with a smile. “If you stayed there any longer, you’d surely gotten a bird to pluck, I made this mistake in the morning. Excuse me for a moment, I’ll go get changed.”

Maglor left him in the kitchen. Fingon mused if he could go and search for Maedhros himself, but decided it would be better to wait. He could feel Maglor was tensed under a mask of courtesy, as if he was trying very hard to hide the fact that he didn’t want him here. Considering in how good terms they had been during those three weeks, Fingon could not understand his cousin’s behaviour.

“Maitimo is sleeping,” said Maglor at the doorstep, now clean and changed.

“How is he?” Fingon watched his cousin closely. Maglor seemed less hoarse and sleep-deprived than he was in their house, but tensed and nervous nevertheless.

“He’s better, much better. Alcarino is pleased, his hand has finally started to heal,” replied Maglor as if he was reciting. The unsaid ‘but’ hung in the air.

“Then what bothers you so?” asked Fingon, staring at his cousin.

“He’s closing up on us.” Maglor winced. “He knows it was only you who went to search for him. I guess he’ll greet you warmly. Well, you’ll see.”

xxx

‘Four in this week, eleven through the previous two, so along with the rest...’ Caranthir tossed the pages with nervous gesture, seeking for information. He found, added and cursed.

Trying to organize records made by at least two other brothers, apart from him, was never an easy task. Maglor’s letters were brisk and Caranthir always half expected to find rhymes, but Celegorm had a habit of taking notes on whatever came in hand. Caranthir had recently neglected his records and now it was getting back at him.

 He fought an urge to shut the book ant throw  away all the notes. He was silent; earlier, when he kept muttering under his nose, cursing the mess, Maedhros told him that Caranthir could go elsewhere if he and Fingon were disturbing him. That was the most Maedhros had said to him since morning. Caranthir refused, explaining only that his brothers’ notes made no sense. He would have never admitted it was Fingon’s presence that made him unable to think.

‘Findekano,’ he growled silently, biting his lip not to curse aloud. Their cousin had come while Maedhros was asleep. At first Maglor took upon himself to entertain the guest, but when the wounded woke, Caranthir had no choice but to meet his cousin.

It hurt. Maedhros welcomed Fingon with enthusiasm and he must have been well rested, because he became chatty. He even expressed his desire to sit up and Caranthir rose to help him, but Fingon was closer. He sent him an inquiring look, seeing his cousin froze half way to the bed, but Caranthir just blushed and went back to the table.

Fingon had done nothing wrong and yet Caranthir wholeheartedly wished his cousin already gone. The easiness Maedhros talked with him reminded only of the thick silence of the previous three days. His wounded brother kept asking about Fingon’s lonely journey, then about the other settlement, once he realised the Noldor did not live in one place. Caranthir sat there and listened; at some point he stopped even pretending he was trying to count anything. He listened and wondered when Maedhros would ask Fingon to take him back at the other side of the lake. Considering the atmosphere here, Caranthir would not be surprised.

The request did not come, but Fingon must have seen the wounded was getting weary, for he asked about how he was feeling. Maedhros quieted at once and moved weakly, as if he was trying to get away.

“May I?” Fingon asked as he grabbed the edge of the blanket, seemingly wanting to see if there was any progress in the healing.

“NO... Nnnnno.” Maedhros looked around fervently and to Caranthir’s satisfaction calmed visibly once he found him.

Caranthir used the opportunity to bring his brother fresh herbs and helped him lie down, covering him with ostensible care. Despite his reluctance, Maedhros was more used to his brothers and accepted his help more easily than his cousin’s touch. For a moment Fingon didn’t know what to do, but then he said goodbye and left to let the wounded rest. Caranthir sighed in relief and went back to his recordings.

xxx

It was all surreal. The bed, clean and dry; fresh air coming through the open window; food that had taste, that he could eat or not, whatever he wished; the herbs with intensive smell, soothing his pain. Home.

Every time he woke he could not cease to be amazed. Neither his brothers nor Alcarino disappeared, the food was still tasty and the herbs helped a bit. Earlier his brothers would talk to him, chatting about whatever they liked, and Maedhros could listen to them just for the sake of hearing their voices – fair, elvish, familiar. Safe. Anchoring him and convincing it was all real.

The more this silence hurt. Three days of impassiveness from Maedhros’s part and ignoring every attempt to start a conversation had shut his brothers’ mouths. Even Maglor started singing only when Maedhros was already drifting asleep.

The better he felt awake, the worse the nightmares struck once he closed his eyes. Without the voices, the conversations giving him some kind of familiar ground, he was slipping, losing himself to the point when he no longer knew if his brothers were just another illusion. And yet, when he was once again aware where he was, the bitterness prevented him from seeking the company of those who had left him.

Now he was too eating in silence, without looking at Maglor. He focused on the spoon, furious he could not grab it himself; his hand was too weak and shook too badly for him to eat,  so he preferred to be fed and spared further embarrassment.

“Why are you still here?” snapped Maedhros, when his brother did not go back to the table, or out of his room, but sat on the chair by the bed and watched him.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t wish to talk to you.” Maedhros turned his head and closed his eyes; this much he could do. “Why don’t you just leave? You were good at it,” he pointed out. Maybe if he offended Maglor, he would stop coming.

But no, this time Maglor did not retreat, he just slammed the bowl.

“I do not make the same mistake twice,” he hissed, reminding his brother their father had not been wrong when he had named him. “You know very well why I’m not leaving.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why did you keep Telvo away from father?” snapped Maglor, now plainly at the edge of losing composure; his voice was shaking. “You told him you would let him go once it’s safe. I cannot leave you now, not until you’re well. If you wish then not to know me, I will respect that. But not now, Nelyo. Not now.

“You could, then.” Maedhros looked at his brother.

“Really? Do you honestly believe we did nothing?”asked Maglor, no longer hiding his hurt and bitterness. “Do you really think we did not rush to your aid? We didn’t make it to the gates, we were pushed away. I had to retreat,” he spat in raspy voice, as if barely constraining himself from shouting. “And then Moringotto sent his emissary. He demanded that we go back west or at least move south. And give up any claims concerning the Silmarills. Then and only then, he said, he would let you go. Do you think I could trust him, when he had just captured you and slaughtered all of your men? That I could break the Oath, condemn our brothers and myself, knowing at the same time I would not buy your freedom? Do you really think it was easy to send his emissary with refusal?”

Maedhros blinked in confusion. This was the first time he heard about the conditions the Enemy gave to his brothers. Sauron always told him he had been abandoned and forgotten, and Curufin’s late behaviour seemed to confirm that. Now Maglor said something completely different... and he was honest, Maedhros realised.

“I thought he killed you once we refused,” admitted Maglor. “I hoped, for it seemed more merciful solution. If I knew... I don’t know what I would have done. Forgive me if you can,” he added and stood abruptly. He went out just like he was asked earlier and Maedhros was left alone with his thoughts.

xxx

Maedhros was woken by muffled sobs. He opened his eyes and saw his younger brother sitting on the floor beside his bed. Maglor didn’t even realise he was being watched; he kept his head hidden in his arms laying on the bedding by his brother’s hand, his back shaking from sobbing. He was muttering his apologies over and over again, begging for forgiveness and then apologizing again. Maedhros did not remember when he had last seen his brother crying; perhaps in Valinor, when their grandfather died. For even when Feanor died he could not recall a single tear. Though who knew what happened then...

“You should not be crying,” said Maedhros, trying to keep his memories at bay.

Maglor startled and rose his head, with blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said nervously.

“Your people should not see you like that.” Suddenly, Maedhros wanted to hush him somehow, to caress his dark locks spread on the bed, but his maimed arm was useless. He turned carefully on his right side and reached to Maglor’s cheek with his good hand.

“There is no ‘my people’,” objected his younger brother. He straightened and escaped beyond Maedhros’s reach. “I never wanted to be a king,” he said quietly; something that must have burdened him for a long time.

“But you were,” replied Maedhros calmly. “And you still are,” he reminded him. Though he was back and he was more and more conscious, it was still Maglor ruling. And he was going to rule for the nearest future.

Maedhros’s remark only depressed his brother more. Maglor stopped staring at the floor and placed his keen eyes on him. His fea, usually balanced, shone brightly in his eyes.

“I was,” he corrected Maedhros bitterly. “And I managed to make the worst decision ever. With one word I condemned you to long years of all this, you, my brother, my king.”

“Stop it.” Maedhros leaned farther, forced his brother to raise his head. “You would have achieved nothing. And I never, ever, not in the darkest moments wished for any of you to share my fate,” he said forcefully. “Knowing that you were all far away, relatively safe, was what kept me alive.”

“I could have freed you years ago.” Maglor was adamant in that matter. He seemed stiff, as if he tried to back away and at the same time wished to lean to the touch.

“You could not,” retorted Maedhros and changed position. “To set me free, you would have had to cut your way to the deepest holes of Angband and fight every worst evil of this world.” HIs voice was cold, his fingers clenched subconsciously at his brother’s cheek. “We did not have such power, then, when I so foolishly thought I could outwit Moringotto. I doubt we have it now, even with Nolofinwe’s aid. You kept all our younger brothers safe, so do not torment yourself for being more sensible than father and I.”

“And yet Findekano...”

“Even Fin with Manwe’s eagles would have achieved nothing if Moringotto had not grown bored with me and left me alone there on the cliff. “Maedhros cut him off. He had repeated it to himself so many times during the last hours that he even managed to say it out loud convincingly. He tried to silence it, but it still hurt that his brothers had not tried to do what Fingon had managed. ‘Your brothers abandoned you,’ whispered Sauron’s silky voice in his mind.

“Nelyo?” Maglor’s alarmed voice made Maedhros open his eyes; he didn’t even realise he had closed them.

His brother had guilt written all over his face, his eyes still shining and disturbed. Maedhros fully understood what the whispering voices tried to do. ‘Even here you are trying to make us quarrel?’, he asked silently his imaginary tormentor and then glanced at Maglor. No, he would not let it happen.

“It’s past,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm. “And you really should not be crying, look how you sound,” he tried to lighten the mood.

“My voice, what does it matter?” Maglor laughed bitterly, still too drowned in his remorse to realise his brother was trying to change the topic. “I would give it up without hesitation if it meant I could go back, free you, if I...”

“Kano.” Maedhros cut him off again. “Don’t ever say that again. Never.  It was your voice that called me back from the darkest places,” he reminded him; his brother’s voice was the only thing he remembered from the last weeks, apart from a foggy image of Fingon on the eagle. “It is dangerous to ask for such things, and there is no power on Arda that could reverse the time. Desiring it may only lead us the wrong way.” Worse way, he added silently. “Don’t go back to it, please,” he added, weary, and leaned against the pillows.

Maglor stared at him in silence, unsure and unconvinced, but when Maedhros reached his hand, he did not escape but grabbed it in his. The eldest son of Feanor relaxed a bit.

“Sing for me, would you?”