Reconciliation by Ariana

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Chapter X

Chapter X

Long days of recovery began for Maedhros. Alcarino was adamant in that matter and expected him to move as much as possible. Maedhros himself wasn’t exactly oppose to that, as after two weeks he was no longer sleeping most of the time and grew bored of laying still. As the healer suggested, he started mostly with training his left hand to get its strength back.

But as he grew stronger, he also became aware of his limits. His right arm remained swollen and numb, with the stump healing slowly, fortunately without any infections. It didn’t change the fact that his arm was irreparably maimed, but the other sons of Feanor would not let his brother fall in despair. Every time Maedhros quieted and grieved, they would force him to talk to them or start exercising, though they could see by the hunger and relief in his eyes that they did not always catch him in time. The wounded didn’t want to talk about it, so none of the brothers insisted, afraid to wake unwanted memories.

xxx

“What do you have there?” Maedhros asked finally, because Amras, leant over the table, seemed to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone. He was sitting silently for a long time and sketching something with black and red ink.

Amras startled when he heard his brother and sent him an apologetic look. He placed the quill aside, as if Maedhros had caught him doing something improper. Then he must have realised how his it looked, for he grinned.

“A map of the nearest grounds,” he replied. “I am still missing quite a lot, but we’ve already got more than half,” he said proudly.

“Show me,” asked Maedhros. He had known his brother was working on maps, but had not felt like watching them.

Amras waited for the ink to dry and then carefully grabbed the sheet of paper. His wounded brother sat more straight and flattened the blanket on his knees, so that they could place the map there. At the same time he accidentally dropped some clips and mechanisms that Curufin had brought him to exercise his precision, either by opening and closing them or by matching the pieces together. To Maedhros’s frustration, his fingers were still clumsy, though he was getting better with some of his brother’s bibelots.

The youngest son of Feanor picked them from the floor and placed at the nightstand, then sat on the bed and rolled the map.

“We’re here,” he pointed with his finger at the southern part of long lake Mithrim. “Here’s Nolofinwe and his Noldor,” he moved his finger up.

“Quite far away,” remarked Maedhros as he judged the distance. “We were there with father, were we not? Before we were attacked.”

“Yes, and now Nolofinwe is there,” confirmed Amras. “There was too little place for all of us and Makalaure decided it was better to keep some distance,” he explained shortly.

Maedhros didn’t ask, as right now he was more interested in maps. He asked about the hills east to the lake and Amras brightened. Maedhros didn’t have to ask twice to tell him about the nearby grounds.

xxx

Maglor looked in his wounded brother’s room as he heard Amras talking vividly about something. Maedhros was answering him and seemed almost cheerful; the last few days were calm and he made progress, though he still needed help with simplest tasks. ‘Seems it’s a good day,’ mused the singer as he watched his brothers.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked, smiling to himself at the sight of his two redhead brothers leaning over a map. Maedhros was trying to sit without support, but it was plain he was getting tired. Nevertheless, he tried and he played with one of Curufin’s clips.

“But not soup,” said Maedhros.

“Is there anything particular you’d like?”

“No, I don’t want to eat at all.” Maedhros leaned against the pillows. “Yes, I know I should,” he said before Maglor objected. “Anything but soup.”

Maglor decided against asking further questions. There was a pot of stew in the kitchen and another one with groats; recently they rarely ate together as they usually came home at different times, so everyone just grabbed something to eat whenever it suited him. They remembered about regular meals only when it came to Maedhros.

Like his brother had asked, Maglor left the soup and took some groats with stew, making sure the meat was cut.

In the meantime Amras removed his maps and went out as soon as Maglor came to the wounded, muttering something about joining Celegorm at the fields to see how the harvesting was going.

“Give me,” requested Maedhros as Maglor sat and he took the fork from the bowl.

The singer moved closer without a word to make it easier for him. Maedhros focused completely on eating and seemed unaware of his brother’s presence and Maglor silently watched his brother eat. Maedhros’s fingers, though healed, were still stiff and his movements looked clumsy and unnatural. Nevertheless, the exercises  had given some effects because he was able to hold the fork and emptied half of the bowl before giving up with frustration.

 “We’ll need some table,” remarked Maglor as he placed the bowl away and tossed the groats from the blanket; not exactly an ideal food for first independent attempt, he realised too late.

“I’ll need to get up finally,” growled Maedhros; despite making another step towards independence, his good mood vanished.

“Alcarino was against it,” the singer reminded him. “He doesn’t want you to put too much pressure on your ankles just yet.”

“It’s my arm that bothers me,” muttered the wounded darkly and tried to place his arm more comfortably. He drank a mug of herbs without protests and slipped deeper into the blankets.

Maglor didn’t insist on talking. He made sure his presence wasn’t annoying his brother, then sat with his legs crossed and started singing one of the songs he knew Maedhros liked. He wasn’t surprised when his brother fell asleep; the herbs he had given him were strong and worked fast.

xxx                                                                                                                                                             

The room was dark, someone must have covered all the crystal lamps and the last candle had burned out some time ago. Maedhros lied in this darkness and listened to the silence of the sleeping house, to calm breathing of Maglor sleeping on the other bed. A few days ago he had managed to convince his brothers he no longer needed someone sitting beside him all the time, as he could easily call, should he need something.

Maedhros watched his brother lazily, trying to focus on how calm Maglor looked. He couldn’t sleep, he didn’t really want after sleeping through most of the day. His arm was still bothering him, but he didn’t want to wake Maglor. It had been so well...

Why had Fingon done this to him? Maedhros suddenly remembered his cousin’s visit, his warm voice and his mood, too bright to be completely sincere. Fingon wore a mask, hid his emotions; loss, pity, perhaps even disgust? He was kind, they all were...

Maedhros swallowed bitter tears that came out of nowhere. They all consequently pretended they didn’t see. Amras picked things he had dropped as naturally as if he had been doing it of ages, Maglor said nothing when he cleaned after his meal. Celegorm usually became chatty when Maedhros failed to do something, as it to draw his attention away, Caranthir stuck to similar strategy. Only Curufin  would just cross his arms at his brother’s frustration and tell him to try again. But they all seemed blind and talked only about his progress, without seeing that Fingon had irrevocably crippled him.

He wished he could just say he hated his cousin for what he had done to him. He wished... And yet he could not say he would prefer to have died, not when there were still small things that pleased him. He couldn’t remember his rescue; for him it was just another day of hanging between life and death that was merciless and wouldn’t come. He knew what happened, but these were not his memories, just Fingon’s relation, lacking the details. His friend had told him more about his lone journey and fruitless attempts to get inside Morgoth’s domain. About the rescue itself he had said little, but Maedhros clung to that, repeating his cousin’s words and trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered. The memory hit him suddenly, overwhelming him with images, emotions, sensations. His shoulder exploded with pain, emanating to his elbow and further, up to the tips of his fingers; he couldn’t breathe. Maedhros curled under his blanket and clenched his teeth, biting his lip until he felt blood.

He remembered. A song, coming from somewhere below, a voice full of remorse singing about the Blessed Realm. He took his cousin for an illusion, a cruel joke of his own mind, but he pleaded for death anyway. He hoped that one precisely shot arrow would ease his pain, but no, Fingon’s phantom, though pulled the bowstring, did not end his life. He was not killed by the giant eagle either, even though it would take just one scratch of its claw. But the claws pinned to the stonewall over him and the phantom, no, not a phantom, Fingon slipped from the eagle’s back. How he was able to find a place for his feet, Maedhros did not know, it was enough he managed to keep himself there as he pulled at the shackle, making Maedhros rock and hit painfully against the wall. Fingon remained deaf to his cries and pleas, he could not give up.

At first Maedhros did not realise what he was up to. With every movement his shoulder burned as if Fingon tried to rip his entire arm off by the ribs, but up from his elbow the arm was mercifully numb. It took several blasts of a knife before Maedhros realised what his cousin was trying to do. He scram. He begged for death, and yet...

Maedhros had no idea what happened later, after the blissful darkness came. He felt nothing, remembered nothing until he was called by Celegorm’s half serious reproach. He didn’t wish to remember what kind of dark paths his mind had wandered those first weeks after his rescue. But the fact was that Fingon had cut off his hand so why did it still hurt?

The room became brighter. The windows, usually curtained, as if his brothers feared something could harm Maedhros and tried to shield him from anything that might have come from outside, were uncovered today. The silver light of the moon came inside when the whole circle moved on the sky and glanced through the window. The sky must have been so clear...

Suddenly Maedhros wished he could go out to see the stars. Even just to the window, just for a moment... The desire to look at the sky, even through the glass, was strong enough to make him sit up carefully and glance at the other bed. Maglor slept peacefully and deeply enough not to react at the movement. All the better; Maedhros did not intend to wake him. He could not require help in everything and anyway Maglor would oppose his idea of getting up. He had to learn how to manage on his own.

The sick elf put his feet on the floor and waited for a moment, listening to his body. His arm still hurt up to his non-existing fingers, but his legs did not oppose the change of position. Maybe they would even carry him...

The task of raising was still a problem though. Getting up with no help was not going to work, there was no way his muscles would manage. Maedhros sat at the edge of his bed and slowly dragged the chair standing nearby. He grabbed the back, but it wasn’t enough. Irritated, but all the more determined, Maedhros dragged the chair closer and placed also his elbow on its back. He tried again.

The chair moved and fell, dragging Maedhros behind. The noise, as well as the startled cry of the elf, immediately woke his younger brother.

“Maitimo?!” Maglor jumped off the bed and uncovered one of the lamps as he rushed to his brother. “What are you doing?”

Maedhros blinked, still a bit confused, as Maglor moved the chair and knelt beside him. He didn’t answer nor protest when his younger brother picked him from the floor and sat him back on the bed. Maedhros just clenched his teeth and hugged his arm, hit painfully when he fell. Maglor was talking to him, but the wounded elf did not focus on his words, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What happened, Maitimo? Can’t you sleep?”

“No..” He could not, when he felt Fingon’s knife hitting his wrist again and again, cutting through his tendons and crushing bones.

“Why didn’t you call me?” There was mild reproach and care in Maglor’s voice. “Let me see.” Maglor carefully forced Maedhros to lean against the pillows and moved away his left hand. “What hurts?” His skilful fingers ran up his arm, over the elbow to the shoulder.

“Lower... Wrist...” Maedhros gave up. “My hand...”

Maglor sighed. Without ceasing to massage his arm with one hand, he placed the other on his brother’s face.

“Maitimo...”

“I know, Kano,” hissed the wounded. “I know...” He closed his eyes and leaned to the touch, hoping it would bring some relief.

One of their brothers must have come to check what was the reason of the noise, because Maglor asked someone to prepare some painkillers. He apologised for not reacting in time, though Maedhros purposely had not woken him. The eldest brother did not answer, too worn with pain and his failed attempt to stand. He opened his eyes back only when Maglor pressed a mug with hot herbs to his lips. He swallowed as soon as he could without burning his lips and gave his brother the empty mug.

“Why did you try to stand up?” inquired Maglor and took his hand. “What were you up to?”

“I just wished to see the stars...” muttered Maedhros. He tried to look at his brother, but his eyes closed.

“You will see them soon, Maitimo,” he heard Maglor. “Soon.”

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