Second Childhood by HannaGoldworthy

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Chapter 3

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Maedhros woke up the next morning beside his wife’s still, cold, lifeless body.  She’d gone peacefully in her sleep.

 

It could be worse.  It had been worse, even here.  Tuor’s boon from Eru was not Aulë’s fragile claim on her lineage, and not even the Undying Lands could make her immortal; this was not the first time she had died in his arms, nor were they the only two who had to work through this very problem nowadays.  He’d known this was coming, and prepared for it ahead of time, and knew it would only last a little while.

 

It still made him want to rip out his own beating heart and run weeping back to Mandos, every single time.  But he wouldn’t.  He’d promised.

 

He took his time wrapping her in the shroud they had prepared.  There was a whisper in the back of his mind that he was forgetting something, but for the life of him he could not remember what.  Not, at least, until a sound like thunder approached from down the hall.

 

“Hey, old man, stir your stumps!  You said spring planting was today!”  Curvo slammed open the door before Maedhros could say anything, and instantly went silent.

 

Maedhros had his back to the door; Sarnai always preferred to sleep on that side of the bed, in a protective instinct that was an artifact of their brief time together in Himring.  He raised himself to his full, formidable height, but did not turn to reveal his tears, knowing he had Curvo’s full attention.  “Planting is postponed,” he said levelly.  “Take the day off.”

 

“Maitimo, I’m so sorry…”

 

“I said, take the day off.  Now.”

 

There was a moment of tangible silence, and then the door creaked shut.  Maedhros waited to release the breath he’d been holding until he heard timid footsteps go down the hall toward the stairs.  This always happened when the house was empty; neither he nor Sarnai wanted to burden the children with this impermanent setback, which would soon be over.  Curvo was an unexpected variable in the matter.  His emotional state would need to be addressed.

 

He was not sure how long it was until he reached the bottom of the stairs, face cleaned of tears, in his best outfit, with his wife’s shrouded form in his arms.  It had obviously been long enough for Curvo to fry a couple of eggs as breakfast, which he offered on a plate with trembling hands.

 

Inwardly, Maedhros kicked himself.  He had no doubt terrified the boy…one good reason why it was better that he was alone.  He dredged up enough energy to manage a shaky smile that never reached his eyes.

 

“Thank you.  I mean that.  But I’m not…”

 

“Right,” Curvo said, putting the plate on the table.  “Of course.  Why would you be hungry?”  He squared his skinny shoulders, took a deep breath, and looked Maedhros in the eye.  “Is there anything I can do?”

 

Feeling completely exhausted, Maedhros closed his eyes.  “Open the door, and help me get her to the wagon.”

 

Curvo dove to comply.  He also watched carefully to make sure Maedhros did not trip down the porch steps.  Then he raced to the barn and had the bay mare tethered to the wagon before Maedhros could catch up.  He also grabbed two shovels and jumped into the back of the wagon.

 

“That won’t be necessary.  I’m taking her to the Forges.”

 

“Oh,” Curvo floundered.  “I thought the custom was that they were buried.”

 

This time, the smile that briefly fought its way to the surface was genuine.  “It was, across the water.  Here, Aulë prefers to use a mold when re-forging dwarf-kin.  It prevents him from taking any real credit for Eru’s work.”

 

“So we’re going to the Forges.”

 

“I’m going to the Forges.  You’re staying here and staying out of trouble.”

 

Curvo bit the inside of his cheek, obviously trying to rein in his temper.  “With all due respect, no, I’m not.  You ought to have someone on your side of the family with you at the funeral.”

 

“There will be no funeral.  She’s only going to be gone for a few months.”

 

“You’re sure of that?  My mother is still sleeping.”

 

The cloud of grief in Maedhros’ mind dissipated slightly.  “Curufin said that the pregnancy was easier than most births.”

 

“Curufin likely wanted to gloss over the truth so that you would not talk to me about it.  He’s a persistent meddler when it comes to sparing my feelings.  He probably gets it from his mother.”

 

“He definitely gets it from his father,” Maedhros deadpanned, resting Sarnai gently besides Curvo’s feet.  “Stay here.  I mean it.  I’ve weathered this enough times before that I have it down to a science.”

 

“Maitimo, please.”  A glance up at the boy’s face proved that he was weeping now.  “Let me come with you.  I have nothing to do here, and I will ruin something if I stay, I just know it.  Just let me sit next to you and say absolutely nothing.  I promise that’s all that will happen.”

 

Maedhros felt his heart thaw, just a little.  Fëanáro had never let anyone see him cry.

 

“Very well.  Let me drive; stay there, and make sure she doesn’t fall out.  I’d never hear the end of it.”

 

Curvo wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  “Right.”

 

***

 

They were met at the entrance by Njall and by Baatar, Sarnai’s younger brother, who had chosen to live with Njall with his herds.  Baatar’s handshake was as firm as ever, and he nodded pleasantly toward Curvo.

 

“You didn’t tell me you two had had another.  I’d have sent you a goat.”

 

“We have more than enough goats.  And this is…”

 

“I’m…a hired hand.  Well met, sir.”

 

Baatar shook Curvo’s hand, and looked doubtfully at his hair.  “What were you hired to do, stand in the pasture and pretend to be a tree?”

 

For a moment, Curvo looked as if he was torn between slapping the man and bursting into tears.  Maedhros intervened before either could happen.  “Baatar, gallows humor only rings true on the gallows.”

 

“Right, right.  Forgive me.  Here, I’ll help you with that.”

 

They moved Sarnai’s body onto a trolley to be taken to Aulë.  Though Njall and Baatar removed their hoods for a moment, that about did it for them to acknowledge the solemnity of the occasion.  Maedhros never blamed them, for what was a sad day for him was an opportunity for them to catch up on the family gossip with their kinswoman.  He had no doubt they were looking forward to spending some time with her disembodied soul as she waited deeper in the Halls; he’d tried to be there with them once, but the crick he’d gained in his neck was not worth the feeling that he was intruding.  She needed her time alone as much as he did.

 

Curvo, however, was indignant.  “Are you not going to say anything?  She is family, is she not?”

 

Njall blinked at him, perplexed.  “Kid, I’ve seen you in the Forges.  You know what it’s like when a dwarf is re-forged, right?  It’s the same here.”

 

“She is elf-kin as much as she is dwarf-kin.  Words need to be spoken.”

 

The herder did not smile; he was older than he looked, and wise to the fact that the elf youth had his own reasons for his sensitivity.  “Then speak, by all means.”

 

Knocked onto his back foot, Curvo quavered for a moment.  “Right then,” he nodded.  “I shall.”

 

From his breast pocket, he removed a small, red-and-white dappled rose – Sarnai’s favorite, which the boy had no doubt learned during one of their conversations.  He’d presumably cut from one of the bushes before Maedhros had finished dressing.  Placing it on Sarnai’s chest, he bowed his head for a moment, probably looking for the right words.

 

“Thank you for being kind to me for the short time I’ve been here.  I regret that I’ve only barely gotten to know you.  Go with my love, and return home safely.”

 

Brief and succinct.  It was fitting.

 

Curvo’s eyes followed Sarnai as she was wheeled away, and finally, Maedhros had to put an arm around him to guide him back to the wagon.  Perhaps it should have felt strange that he had to behave so paternally toward his own father, but it didn’t; Fëanáro had always felt things strongly, and Maedhros had been taller than him since he himself was thirty.  At least this time he didn’t fight back.

 

“How long does it usually take for her to come back?” he asked quietly on the ride home.

 

“Anywhere from a few weeks to a year, depending on how long she’s lived and how quietly she’s gone.  I don’t think it will be long this time.”

 

“And how long can she live?”

 

“Her personal record is three hundred years, but she never goes much past one-fifty these days.”  Zorig, her older brother, had once gone four hundred years before succumbing, and bragged extensively about it to her.  Ever competitive, Sarnai had tried to beat him – then she realized that, around two hundred and fifty, she could no longer ride her horse or work the farm.  She’d given up out of sheer frustration, and received no end of twitting from her brother about it…well, until Zorig’s significant other told him to shut up and quit using old age as an excuse to sit around all day.  That had been a fight which Sarnai had eagerly watched for a century, from a distance.  It was easier to laugh about when she was with him.

 

Curvo’s eyes were still very sad.  “It seems like a lot of heartache to go through for only a century and a half.  How on earth do you do this?”

 

Maedhros hunted for a moment for the words to answer.  “One day at a time.”