To Build The Bonds That Tie by ThatFeanorian

To Be Loved

Maedhros stands beneath the hot water, letting it pound down on the top of his head. He is numb, the tips of his finger’s still shivering with cold, and his skin has turned lobster red under the heat of the water. None of this matters though, as Maedhros is not really paying attention to his surroundings while he stares blankly at the wall before him because he has failed. He wasn’t able to take care of them all when it mattered the most.

Maedhros only knows one thing about who he is for sure, one thing that no one at school can take away or try to steal from him: He is a good brother. Suddenly, he is not so sure. Junior’s cries echo up the stairs from below where he is taking a hot bath and thoroughly rejecting the idea of warm water on his freezing skin, and Maglor, Caranthir, and Celegorm have disappeared off to wherever they go once their turn cleaning is over. 

The air steams around him, clogging his lungs with moisture and flying around in tendrils of curling sparkling water. Maedhros scrubs hard at his skin, the already angry red turning a shade darker in response to his rough treatment, trying to wipe off the sting of the rain, to tear away his failure and leave who he thought he was behind. He scrubs so hard that when he goes to dress again, his jeans chaff against his skin. 

The bathroom door opens with a rush of steam, evaporating into nothingness in the cooler room outside, and his parents sit side by side on the bed, waiting for him. His mother wears a gentle smile, his father a thoughtful frown, but Maedhros knows why they have come. No amount of posturing and pretending can ignore what a supreme failure he has just been to the role of an older brother.

He is supposed to be strong. He is supposed to be able to take care of them when they are upset, but he couldn’t. Instead, he left an eight-year-old to clean up his mess and broke down crying like Junior.

“Nelyo, baby, come here.” Nerdanel sits on the edge of the bed and Maedhros approaches her, his legs as heavier than a mountain as he drops down in the space his parents make between them. He sits slumped over, his eyes stuck on a spot somewhere between his knees,

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and Nerdanel reaches over, rubbing soothing circles over his back,

“Honey, what are you sorry about?” She asks gently, and Maedhros looks up at her questioningly,

“I messed up. I couldn’t take care of them all. I was stupid, and--” Fëanor’s hand squeezes his, cutting him off soundlessly,

“Maedhros, you are only twelve years old. No one expects you to take care of four younger brothers all by yourself. It’s okay to need help sometimes.” Maedhros’s head swivels to his father, who is looking at him gently with his intense blue eyes,

“But-- but I couldn’t do it, and now they all hate me, and I let you down.” He whispers, trying to pretend there aren’t tears in his eyes again as Fëanor reaches over, wrapping his arms around him tightly,

“No, Nelyo, you have never let me down. I will always be proud of you.”

“Baby, you are the best brother anyone could hope for, they could never hate you,” Nerdanel says gently, her fingers still stroking down his spine,

“You are so kind, I don’t know any other kid who would take as much time to love those crazy kids as you do, beautiful.” Maedhros’s heart warms ever so slightly at the genuine smile on his mother’s face, and Fëanor chuckles,

“Crazy is certainly an apt word, and Maitimo, if it weren’t for you I’m not sure even the two of us would be able to fully corral them all. They adore you, son, and so do we.” Nerdanel shifts closer to him, rubbing a hand over his wet hair,

“I know we don’t tell you enough, sweetie, but we love you so much. There’s no one out there I would be prouder to call my son.” Maedhros is embarrassed when he sniffs, finally unable to stop his tears from once again tracing tracks down his cheeks, but instead of commenting on this latest digression from their expectations, Fëanor anFëanorrdanel only shift closer to him, hugging him tightly. 

Between them, warm and safe and not alone, Maedhros almost forgets why he is upset. Feeling wanted, loved, being enough, all of these are emotions that only come rarely and Maedhros wants nothing more than to soak them all up inside himself to a little treasure chest he can open when he needs to be happy. It is like a small fire, burning inside his chest and keeping away the ice that threatened to freeze over his insides as Junior cried on the cement, and Maedhros would be happy to sit there, sandwiched between his mother and father, finally feeling like there is something he is good at, forever.

Downstairs, his father lights a fire in the big stone fireplace of their living room and Maedhros sits on the floor, watching as Celegorm and Junior build towers of blocks and then smash them down with as much glee as if it is a third dessert they are being offered instead of a precariously crafted tower of wooden rectangles. Caranthir curls up silently into his mother’s side, a thick book in his hands. The cover reads ‘A Complete History Of The American Capitalist System’, and Maedhros shakes his head with a rueful smile. 

His crazy five-year-old brother, reading a study of American Capitalism. Fëanor slides onto the floor next to Maedhros, one arm going around him as he calls over to Celegorm,

“That one was a little too close to the fire, try to make sure he knocks it towards me please.” The air is sweet with the smell of fresh cookies that Nerdanel appears to have just taken out of the oven, and Maedhros is warm, snuggled against his father’s side and surrounded by his family. Maglor spins around suddenly from his previous position on the piano bench, his fingers ghosting over the keys without noise, and glances over at Maedhros, still looking sad and guilty. 

“Dad?” He asks quietly, and Fëanor glFëanors over at him,
 
“Can I play a song?” he requests, leaving his father to nod encouragingly as his fingers hover a moment longer over the keys of the piano before sinking down with a talent that far exceeds his age. The keys blend together to create a beautiful river of sound that holds Maedhros captive and even brings Celegorm and Junior’s destructive game to an end for a moment as they watch Maglor play, his hands fluttering and tongue sticking out in focus as his fingers fly over the keys. It is beautiful, and although when he finally begins to sing, the lyrics are still hold all the sweet childish innocence they should, Maedhros thinks it is the most outstanding thing he has ever heard.

Maglor has come a long way from when the two of them would sit side by side and play ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ together, from the day Maedhros first lifted him up onto the seat and showed him how to press the keys and create sound.

He was born singing, that is what their parents say, and at the moment Maedhros cannot help but believe it. Maglor is ethereal with his damp hair falling on either side of his face and his pale fingers dancing, creating gentle chords that weave themselves into harmony. Maglor’s brow is scrunched in concentration, his eyes squinting as he invents the tune on the spot, and there is a melancholic undertone that Maedhros cannot help but feel vibrating deep in that part of himself that even now, surrounded by warmth and love, threatens to pull him deep and keep him hidden in the dark and cold, away from all the heat he could have hoped to feel.

Maglor’s fingers dance, they glide, they flutter, rise, and fall, and slowly the lugubrious undertone is replaced by something new, a rising tide of notes which tremble through the air on half-broken wings before gaining strength and planting themselves deep inside Maedhros with all the intense hope and beauty of a newly fledged songbird.

When his brother finally stops playing, Maedhros is breathless, waiting for the last note to finally disappear before Maglor hops off the bench with an embarrassed smile and joins Maedhros on the floor. As if the spell has been broken, Junior shrieks and kicks, sending the blocks tumbling down to the floor again as Nerdanel reappears in the doorway, setting steaming hot cookies on the table where Maglor eagerly grabs three, passing one to Maedhros and cramming one whole into his mouth with chocolate dripping hot and melted down his chin. 

Maedhros chews slowly, watching his little brother gulp down the sweet and immediately shove an enormous bite of the second into his mouth as if he cannot bear for the favour to dissipate even the slightest bit. He looks up at Maedhros, his mouth full and messy and says,

“Did you like my song?” except to Maedhros it sounds more like ‘dish ooh kckph mmh ong?’ Nevertheless, the two questions have the same general meaning, so Maedhros responds without comment,

“Of course I did, Káno. Did you have a name for it, or is it just ‘your song’?” Maglor swallows and frowns thoughtfully, looking up at Maedhros with his blue-grey eyes and saying softly,

“I don’t know if it has a name, but when I made it I was thinking about you, Nelyo.” Maedhros smiles as Maglor reaches for a third and fourth cookie, once again passing one to him, and wraps his arms tight around his little brother. 

“Thank you for writing about me. That’s a very important thing to have in my name.” Maglor grins goofily, chocolate staining his teeth,

“Yeah, someday when I get famous like Mozart you can say, ‘oh I know him he wrote a song for me. It’s called Maesong.’” Maedhros laughs, taking a bite of his own cookie and looks around the room at his big happy family, Caranthir and Nerdanel the couch quietly together, Celegorm and Junior shrieking and crashing woodblocks to the floor, and Maglor curls up into his side, who wrote a song for him. On his other side, Fëanor pulls both the two of them closer to him and whispers in Maedhros’s ear,

“See, you are loved.” And Maedhros feels that right now, that might just be true.