Whom They Fear by Michiru

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Title: Whom They Fear

Pairing/Characters: Findecáno, Findaráto, Maitimo, Moringotho, the Sindar; mentions of Angaráto and the Fëanorians.

Theme: “… Morgoth… used such ‘escaped’ slaves to work mischief among the Elves.” The War of the Jewels, page 321.

 

It is Maitimo they fear. So Findaráto tells me, who heard it from his brother Angaráto, the one he sent as messenger to Thingol.

Not Macalaurë, whose songs have taken a darker turn since I had last heard them; not Tyelcormo with his political machinations. Not the remaining Ambarussa, driven half mad by his twin’s tragic death, nor Carnistir who holds the Sindar in dangerous, collective contempt by their mere association with the house of Arafinwë. Not Curufinwë, now grown fey and distrusting, as his father was before him. Maitimo.

Findaráto worries how the news will affect me, for I have grown overprotective of my favorite cousin, who has not stirred from his bed since I saved him, who, indeed, seems to be deteriorating. The healers have not had much luck guessing precisely what torments Moringotho put him to, but they do not have to worry over much about that; his nightmares tell us more than we want to know about what our enemy is capable of. Sometimes I catch myself wondering what Fëanáro would have done, had he known beforehand what would befall his beautiful firstborn. I wonder if he would have been more willing to surrender his jewels- unfeeling stones that cannot be tortured in the way the Eldar can. It is true that my half uncle loved the works of his hands, but what of the works of his loins? Would he have been willing to yield one for the sake of the other?

Maitimo, whom they fear? He cannot sit, nor feed himself, nor bathe himself, and he shrinks from our hands in fright when we draw near. It is ludicrous, I remember thinking when Findaráto first told me, cringing as though I might strike him. Simply ludicrous, how can they fear him?

And Findaráto, beautiful, lithe Findaráto with his harpists’ hands, murmured softly that his uncle, this King Elu Thingol of Doriath, cautioned Angaráto that the enemy had feigned this sort of ‘escape’ before, in order to mislead and perform his will.

I do not believe I struck him, though he fell before me as if I did; my brother later told me that my face was terrible to behold, as if it was lit by the wrath of the Valar. I would have, at that moment, liked nothing less than to confront this Moriquende king, this once friend of my grandfather, and somehow make him beg Maitimo for forgiveness. Quite impossible, both because I could never reach Thingol to do so, and because Maitimo can neither hear nor grant mercy, or so it seems.

 

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It is him they fear, who, as the months pass, heals slowly. He continues to have nightmares, but he no longer screams for his father to save him; eventually he stops screaming and progresses to silent night terrors. The healers say they do not know if this is a good or bad development, but as I sit, keeping vigil over him in the night, I can see that his sleep grows more restful.

He becomes stronger still, and now fumbles with his left hand, trying to feed himself the broth we have adapted to the ingredients Endor has to offer. His eyes are haggard and overcast, and he is quiet; so quiet that the healers resort to body language to communicate with him.  Maitimo, who has always had such a way with words, has lost his voice or his language or both, and these Sindar fear him?

 

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He finally does speak, but not to me. Curufinwë deigned to visit him, Tyelperinquar at his hip, and Maitimo began rambling on a history thesis that I remember learning when I was young. He calls Curufinwë ‘Atar,’ and asks if he can hold Curvo. Curufinwë stares at me as if it is my fault, but hands his son over wordlessly. Maitimo asks him if something’s wrong, ‘Atar,’ and after a moment Curufinwë points out an error that Maitimo later went on to correct in Aman. They engage in a long historical debate, Curufinwë sitting with his legs pretzeled at the end of the bed and Maitimo propped up on his pillows, passing Tyelperinquar in between them absently as Curufinwë shifts closer and closer to his oldest brother. I notice that Maitimo’s legs spread automatically to accommodate for the close proximity, and still Curufinwë presses closer and closer, until Maitimo’s thighs are brushing his sides, and I am overcome with the urge to snatch Curufinwë from the bed by his unbound hair.

Maitimo calls him Father, and Curufinwë says nothing to dissuade him. This is whom they fear? When Curufinwë leaves, Maitimo again lapses into silence.

 

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I grow dangerously weary of sitting in the oppressive silence, weeks now having passed since Curufinwë first visited, and I begin to speak, hoping that it may jar Maitimo to reality. I mean at first to speak of purely academic things, the better to avoid sore subjects, but I inevitably run out of things to say; it is perilously hard to not bring up tender issues in my family. The silence falls, a shadow over my words, and I break into speech again, speaking now of whatever crosses my mind- his infuriating younger brothers; his fool of a father; my mother, who stayed behind, and his mother, who left long ago. His grandmother. Finally, unable to endure, I savagely attack his obstinacy, his willful mute state, his poor physical condition, his apparent psychological trauma, and at last, my worst fear spills from my lips: that Moringotho did indeed engineer Maitimo’s rescue in order to sow discord amongst the Noldor. My voice chokes, and I cannot speak.

Maitimo turns his head to look at me- and smiles.

“’ Cáno,” he rasps, completely different from the controlled voice he had when speaking with Curufinwë. “How long have you been sitting there?” I bolt from the room. There is a mocking twist to his words, and he has heard every thing I said.

I fly from the room, for my thought, treacherous and unwanted, is whether ‘he’ is Maitimo or Moringotho.

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Chapter End Notes

So, here I am experimenting with the notes features of the site. Please excuse any whacky formatting, I have probably done my best.

I’ve realized, and been unable to rectify, that I took some liberties with the canon time line- in The Silmarillion, it seems pretty clear that Tolkien probably didn't have Angaráto meeting with Thingol until after Maitimo had recovered:

"Angrod son of Finarfin was the first of the Exiles to come to Menegroth, as a messenger of his brother Finrod, and he spoke long with the King... Now the lords of the Noldor held council in Mithrim, and thither came Angrod out of Doriath, bearing the message of Thingol. Cold seemed its welcome to the Noldor... but Maedhros laughed, saying, 'A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is in vain.'" The Silmarillion, Of The Return Of The Noldor; page 127 to 128 paperback.)

My excuse/justification is that there was probably some initial negotiating before any of the returned Noldor were allowed into Menegroth, and Thingol probably wanted to first establish that some of these people were actually related to him. So says I.