The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part II, Chapter III

In which autumn comes, and in which there are talks and arguments.

Maitimo began to heal indeed, although it happened so slowly that he didn't even notice it at first. He was far too occupied with the many miracles he encountered, things that had once been natural to him but that were now strange and new: the soft texture of his night-shirt and the blankets; the taste of hot, sweetened tea; the feeling of a full stomach; the sound of fair voices, of laughter in some other room; above all, the absence of new torment. All these were overwhelming during the first conscious days of freedom. His exhausted mind was as weak as his body; the slightest melancholy thought or sight would make his eyes well up, and occasionally he clung to Findekáno's shoulders and wept sorely, unable to either stop or at least know the reason for his tears. Any touch made him wince and shy away on impulse even when he could see that the hands belonged to Findekáno, or Istimë, or some other Nolofinwëan healer; when the touch turned out to be kindly meant, when instead of being put to pain he was washed with warm water, or anointed with sweet balm, or helped to sit and take his tea or broth or thin porridge, he was always surprised and reduced to tears of gratitude, even after a full week.

But if he was quick to cry, he was also quick to laugh for no good reason, delighted just because a leaf looked so pretty in the sunlight, or because Findekáno smiled, or because there was honey in his tea. Together with his need for help with such trivial things as sitting up or eating, it made him feel like a new-born child. Leaning against Findekáno, drowsy after another meal, he mentioned as much.
Findekáno laughed. "Well, as long as you don't start calling Istimë 'Mother', I don't think that's so bad," he said.
Maitimo peered up at him. "Ah, but in fact you delivered me," he said. "Istimë is more the fatherly presence. Perhaps I should begin to call you Nana Findekáno?"
"Ts!" Findekáno made, trying to look stern and disapproving, and Maitimo laughed again just because he could.

After the miracles there were the small triumphs: the first time he felt content, not deprived, when his bowl was empty; the first time he managed to look at his right arm without retching when Istimë changed the dressings; the first time he had regained strength enough to sit up on his own and reach for and hold a cup without help. Outside the window, the leaves on the swaying tree turned red and golden and began to fall, drifting on the wind. Sometimes one of them was carried into the room through the open window – after years spent in the open without anything to protect him from the cold and the wind, the still air in the small room soon felt too warm, almost suffocating, to him – and came to rest on the floor before someone threw it out.
Maitimo realised that he did not need to dread the winter this time.

But he still tired quickly, and as soon as he gave in to the need for sleep, the nightmares returned. Then his mind was convinced to be in Angamando again, or high upon the cruel mountain. It didn't matter that he was safe, lying comfortably on a warm bed in Hisilomë: He could feel the chains, the fire and the icy winds and the ever-growing pain, and he thrashed and screamed in his sleep, unable to escape the terror. Frequently he had to be torn out of his dreams by a guard or servant or healer and awoke sobbing, staring with wide, terrified eyes at the strange but Elvish faces before him. Soon those who woke him and assured him that it had been nothing but a dream were no longer sympathetic but grew annoyed. Once he was awake, they left swiftly, and he lay in the darkness, face burning with shame, trying to stay awake for the rest of the night. He could hear them talking outside in hushed, angry voices. At these times he felt all too clearly that he was unwelcome here. The only friendly faces to tell him otherwise were those of Findekáno and Istimë the healer. No other member of his family came to see him, least of all his brothers. In the dark hours when he tried not to fall asleep again, he found a lot of time to wonder why, and to come up with various explanations, all of them disheartening.
Findekáno of course soon noticed the dark shadows under Maitimo's eyes and the waning of his just-regained strength. After one of Maitimo's meals, Findekáno finally addressed the topic. Maitimo didn't reply at once.

"Have you often dreamt of the Ice even after you were here?" he finally asked. Findekáno shrugged. "Not that I remember. It was harder for Turvo, I think; he lost his wife…"
Maitimo looked pained. "I did not know that." He took a sip of tea, then sighed. "You should tell me all about the Ice. And what else befell you." Findekáno realised that his cousin was trying to steer away from the original question, but he did not try to stop him. "Very well," he said, sitting down on the side of the bed, "I shall tell you everything." And he did, as well as he could. To his surprise he found that the past grew easier to bear in the telling. Maitimo, on the other hand, gnawed his lip, clearly distressed by the tale.
"So much suffering," he said when Findekáno was done, unable to meet his cousin's eyes. "And it was all our fault."
"Not yours," Findekáno protested, "and you couldn't have done anything to help it." He found this drift of the conversation rather frustrating - it would do nothing but irritate him and depress Maitimo.
"Maybe not," the other said softly, "but it was still my family that started it."
The silence that followed was so uncomfortable that Findekáno reached out for a comb and shifted closer to his cousin in order to brush his hair. Maitimo leaned against him, closing his eyes; this was another little miracle, to have clean, soft, tidy hair instead of a tangled greasy mass. The silence grew companionable.
"Still I wish your people would talk to me instead of just glaring," Maitimo suddenly said.

Findekáno halted. "Perhaps they don't know what to say," he suggested, carefully avoiding to say anything that might further his cousin's feeling of guilt. "Or even how to address you."
Maitimo gave a short laugh that still resembled a cough more than anything else. "They know well enough what to call me when they think I can't hear them; 'traitor' is one of the kinder terms."
"At least they don't call you thus to your face. But truly your name is a problem, isn't it?"
"You don't seem to have a problem with it."
Shrugging, Findekáno pointed out, "That is because I can call you Russandol, but for them using your epessë would be too familiar. Even Father won't use it; when you are mentioned, you are 'my nephew'."
"Kin, at least," said Maitimo, finding to his surprise that the idea of Nolofinwë disliking him too much to use his name was painful. "I must speak with him at some point. – But I have other names beside Russandol. I mean, I understand full well that nobody will call me Maitimo," he lifted his atrophied right arm, ending in the firmly bandaged stump, an expression of disgust on his face, "for that would be a lie. But what of Nelyafinwë?"

Findekáno stared at him, laying the comb aside. "Why, you should know why none of my people like that name. It's presumptuous, and your father chose it purely to spite mine. It would not be fitting."
"On the contrary," said Maitimo and leaned back against the pillows, carefully. "It is now more fitting than it has ever been. There is your father, makes the first, and Uncle Arafinwë back home, makes the second, and then there is me, makes the third - now I am indeed Nelyafinwë."
Findekáno frowned and studied his friend's face, pondering that statement and its implications; but he said nothing. Maitimo seemed to be wrestling with exhaustion again. His eyelids fluttered shut only to be wrenched open a few moments later. A little awkwardly, Findekáno patted his shoulder. "You need your sleep."
But Maitimo shook his head. "That does me no good. It only brings the dreams. Keep me awake? Please?"
With another frown, Findekáno said, "You're not strong enough to do without sleep."
"I'm not strong enough to bear the memories," Maitimo replied. "Company will do me better than sleep. Please, keep me busy somehow."
He changed the topic abruptly, looking past Findekáno at the wall. "Why do my brothers not wish to see me?"
"I am sure they would. But Father has told them not to come. He thinks there'd be strife if they were to enter our camp. And he's probably right."
Despite this rather disheartening reply, Maitimo felt profoundly relieved. "Then it is not because they no longer love me."
"Of course not," Findekáno cried, even though he wasn't quite as certain as he pretended. But though the brothers had done nothing to save Maitimo, surely at least some of them would wish to see him again now? "Don't think so lowly of yourself."
"It is hard to do otherwise," Maitimo muttered, "when you're surrounded by people who let you feel you're worthless. Not you," he added quickly when he saw Findekáno's face, "but surely your guards do not pretend to love me. Or your father, either."
Biting his lip, Findekáno replied, "They mean no ill, they just find it hard to deal with the situation. Don't forget that your father --" he stopped himself. "Well. Do not blame them too much."
"I do not. I merely noted what was true."
Findekáno sighed. "They'll get used to you."
"I do hope they won't have to." Maitimo took Findekáno's hand, holding it tightly. "Will you ask your father to speak with me, please?"
"I will try if you sleep."
"That is a cruel condition, for when I sleep I dream."
"Perhaps you'll dream something better this time." Findekáno did not like the dark turns their conversations kept taking and tried to make light of it. He rose and winked to his cousin. "Dream of me."

And Maitimo did, but it didn't make his dreams better in the least, for now his fears took shape in his mind: In his dream, Findekáno had been captured, and now the Orcs tormented him instead of Maitimo, who was instead forced to watch helplessly. Findekáno neither screamed nor pleaded – ever the brave, thought some strangely distanced part of Maitimo's brain – but his agony was obvious, and soon Maitimo was begging the Orcs to release his cousin, to no avail. Worse and worse it got until Maitimo was screaming in Findekáno's stead, weeping at the cruelty he was forced to witness, at the blood and fire and madness. "Do with me what you will, but let him go and harm him no more," he cried, and finally they grabbed him by the shoulders which exploded with pain – and without realising that he had wakened he found himself sitting bolt upright in his bed in Hisilomë, and the hands on his trembling shoulders belonged to his uncle.
"Findekáno," Maitimo sobbed, only half-awake, "where is he?"
"Outside, with the warriors," Nolofinwë replied in an even voice, though a frown marred his composure. "He told me you had asked to see me."
"Yes," said Maitimo, falling back into his pillows, burying his face and crying in anguish and relief.
Nolofinwë took a step back. "Now, now," he said sternly. "It rather distresses my people to hear a grown elf cry like a child."
Maitimo nodded, ashamed of his weakness but unable to reply at once. It took a while until he trusted himself to speak. Then he said, "I apologise. I am not doing it on purpose, I assure you."
Nolofinwë began to pace around the small room. "Some here believe that you are, hoping thereby to gain some pity and kindness."
Maitimo gaped. "You cannot be serious."
"I am not jesting. I assure you that opinion has been heard."
Incredulous, Maitimo struggled into a sitting position and reached for his cup; his throat felt raw after all the screaming. The tea had gone cold and bitter, but it served to shake off the last remains of the dream. When he had taken a generous sip, he spoke again. "Is it what you think," and carefully he added, "Uncle?"
"Is it what I should think," Nolofinwë retorted, "Prince Nelyafinwë – or should I say King?"
Maitimo winced at his tone. "I hear your people name you King," he said defensively.
"I do not ask for it."
"But they do."
"They feel it is right. You have not answered my question."
Softly, Maitimo said, "I do not wish for pity, and I cannot hope for more kindness than I have already been shown." He had thought that his words might ease the tense atmosphere and soothe his uncle, but to his surprise and horror Nolofinwë understood it quite differently.
"There is no need to be ironic," he said, lips pursed. "Findekáno has told me of your complaints."
Maitimo suppressed a grimace. Nolofinwë was a gifted rhetorician, and he obviously felt the need to assert himself. Maitimo had rather wished that their conversation could be on a familiar level, but that seemed to be impossible. This was not just simple talk, it was a competition, and he wasn't sure that he was up to that. Still, he had been educated in politics and public speaking as well, and he could not ignore the challenge. Keeping his voice soft despite his agitation, he replied, "But I am not being ironic, Uncle. Truly, after the past years, you could have made me sleep on the cold ground in the rain and fed me on nothing but hard bread and stale water, and yet I would have perceived it as kindness."
That stopped Nolofinwë short, and he stood, taking a deep breath. Then he surprised Maitimo again by nodding and saying, "Point taken." But his gaze grew sharp again almost immediately. "Now, why did you ask after Findekáno just now?"
Maitimo almost groaned. "No reason." He did not wish to tell his uncle about the terrors of his dream. "It was just a nightmare."

Of course that didn't calm Nolofinwë one bit. "If it concerns my son, I demand to know it," he said, pacing again.
His nephew shook his head wearily. "It was not prophetic, Uncle. Only a fear relived."
"'Just', and 'only'? Then you would not have screamed like that, I daresay. Tell me."
Clenching his eyes shut, Maitimo gave up. "I dreamt of the day Findekáno saved me, but in my dream he failed, and they took him captive," he said. He heard a sharp intake of breath from his uncle and knew that he had to explain no more. "That was what I feared the most when I saw him there, and now it has come to torment my sleep."

For a while he heard nothing but Nolofinwë's footsteps measuring the room, about and about. He opened his eyes and sought his uncle's, hoping to guess at his thoughts, but the other's face was mask-like, unreadable. Finally Nolofinwë stood again, folding his arms across his chest.
"It was foolish of him to try and find you."

Inwardly, Maitimo winced; even though he felt the same, it was a slap in the face to be told so by somebody else. Nonetheless he managed to reply evenly.
"We agree on that."
Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow. "But it is rather good for you that he did, isn't it."
"Oh yes, and now that it has ended well, I cannot even begin to express how happy I am that he dared it. But if he hadn't tried yet, and I should advise him, I would tell him – no, beg him - not to go."
"We agree indeed, then," said Nolofinwë, and for the first time there was the hint of a smile on his face. Maitimo smiled in return, relieved and grateful, and finally found it possible to approach the topic he had wanted to discuss in the first place.
"Findekáno told me that you have informed my brothers of my rescue?"
"I have."
"Thank you."
Nolofinwë nodded graciously.
"I should like to see them again," Maitimo went on. "Would you permit them to visit me?"
"That is out of the question," his uncle said at once. "First, I do not quite see why I should invite them, for they did nothing of the sort when we had only just arrived and could have used their support; second, even if I were inclined to see them, it would not be advisable, for my people have no love for them and would object strongly. Nay, it is safer for all of us if they do not come. There is resentment enough about harbouring you."
"I understand," Maitimo said with a sigh. "I apologise for being such an inconvenience."
Nolofinwë frowned. "I did not say that."
"It does not take explicit words to make me understand that," Maitimo said. He set his now-empty teacup down. "Perhaps it would be wisest if I importuned your hospitality no longer." He paused briefly but went on before Nolofinwë could interrupt him. "I think it is time I returned to my brothers."
His uncle spoke up now. "You are not fit for the journey."
"I was not fit for the journey when your son brought me here, and yet I made it."
"That was a necessary evil. This is madness."
"It may be that, but it will rid you of me. Your people would doubtlessly appreciate it."
Nolofinwë breathed in sharply, and Maitimo winced, surprised; he had not wanted to antagonise his uncle, and he certainly had not intended to hurt him. For all the aloofness he displayed, Maitimo suddenly realised, Nolofinwë wasn't nearly as indifferent as he pretended to be. But how should he have guessed?

Nolofinwë stood at the window now, no longer looking at Maitimo. "You are ungrateful," he stated.
"No," said Maitimo in a soft voice. "Please do not believe that. There are not enough words to express my gratitude. Yet I long to see my brothers again, for I love them, and that cannot change; and I miss them. And it would take at least one burden from you if I no longer distressed your people with my presence."
Sighing, Nolofinwë said, "I still do not think it is advisable for you to travel. Winter is coming…"
"And then you'll be stuck with me for months on end. I would risk it."
"I cannot dispatch anyone to accompany you."
"Then permit someone from my brothers' camp to pick me up here."
Nolofinwë turned away from the window and fixed him with a stern glance. Maitimo returned it as calmly as he could.
"Fine," his uncle said finally. "I shall send a message. Yet I find it unadvisable. You may have regained some strength, but you have lost far more. You cannot even walk. You should wait."
"I cannot," Maitimo whispered.
Nolofinwë made no more reply, but the disapproval in his eyes was obvious.

As soon as his footsteps had died away, Maitimo swung his legs over the side of the bed – or that was what he had planned. It was harder than he had expected, and it took quite a bit of work until his feet finally touched the ground. The splinted leg that he hardly felt when lying down was hurting fiercely already. But he was determined to prove his uncle wrong, and thus, when he had given it a little time to adjust, he pushed himself off the bed and tried to stand.
He barely managed to catch himself against the wall as he fell, the atrophied muscles and the unmended bone refusing to carry his weight, piteous though it was. The effort made his head reel; already he was panting, and cold sweat made him shiver.
He gritted his teeth and tried again, intending to make up for the lack of strength with momentum. It took him halfway towards the window before he collapsed.
There he lay, too exhausted to pick himself up again, and forbade himself to call for help. It was shameful enough that he had brought himself into this predicament; he had no wish for witnesses. At any rate, he was not overly uncomfortable, aside from the embarrassment and the hurt in his muscles. He could wait until Findekáno returned from his training, no matter how long it would take. The floor was very clean and smelled pleasantly of beeswax, and Maitimo couldn't help noticing that there was no dust even underneath the bed. Someone was being meticulous.

Findekáno was in a bad mood, and finding his cousin on the floor didn't make it any better, even after he had been assured that it was Maitimo's own fault. He helped him back onto the bed, and in doing so, he discovered that what Maitimo had believed to be sweat was in fact blood. Findekáno exploded.
"What did you go and do that for?" he snapped while dabbing at the re-opened wounds and cleaning the drying blood away. "You're bleeding again!"
"I wanted to walk," said Maitimo quietly.
"It's too soon for that, and you should know it," Findekáno said, rinsing the linen in a bowl of water. "If you try that again, I'll have to tie you to that bed."
Despite his anger he wasn't serious, but Maitimo didn't realise that and reacted with panic. "You wouldn't!" he cried, eyes widening, and he pushed away from Findekáno before the other had a chance of replying. On any other day the terrified look on his cousin's face would have made Findekáno feel miserable, but now it only served to fuel his anger. It was, after all, not his fault what Maitimo had gone through, and it wasn't his fault that his cousin couldn't keep his mind safely away from the terrors of Angamando.
So he growled, "Not if you don't give me reason to," and Maitimo edged further away until he pressed against the wall. Findekáno stood before him, fists clenched around the cloth he'd used to clean the blood away, and they stared at each other. Maitimo's eyes were wild and glassy, seeing things that were not there; Findekáno's eyes were dark with frustration. Both were breathing heavily.

Only slowly did the terror leave Maitimo's face, and when it did, it was replaced with confusion. "What did I do?"
"Are you asking in earnest?" Findekáno snapped incredulously.
"Otherwise I wouldn't ask at all."
Findekáno's lips were pursed so tightly that they all but disappeared. "Oh, that is strong. You want to leave me, you're endangering yourself – and then you ask all innocently what you did."
Maitimo's eyes widened, this time in surprise. "I do not want to leave you!"
"No? Who then asked my father to send for your brothers, to take you away with them?"
All Maitimo could think of saying was, "Oh."
"'Oh' indeed!" cried Findekáno. "Is it so dreadful to be here? Am I such a nuisance, that the first thing you do now that you're well enough to no longer make me fear for your life is run away?!"

Maitimo sighed. "I am hardly running. And I rather thought I was the nuisance."
"You are selfish, that's what you are."
"Perhaps. But shouldn't you be glad to get rid of me then?"
He rued the words as soon as he had spoken them. "I did not mean that,” he said in a pleading voice, fearing that Findekáno would leave him after that. But instead, Findekáno slumped down on the side of the bed, shaking his head. "You shouldn't go. Even Father says so."
"Findekáno, I am a terrible burden to your father. It is laudable that he can put aside certain grievances and sustain me here, but quite obviously not all of your people can. It'll drive a wedge between you and them sooner or later, and I don't want to be the cause of that. And I…" He moved back towards Findekáno, reaching for his hand. "Look, I've been nothing but pain and memory for so long. I have forgotten what I am. Perhaps my brothers can help me find that again."
"Because I can't," said Findekáno bitterly, but he allowed his cousin to take his hand.
"That's not it!" Maitimo tried to catch Findekáno's gaze, but the other was still looking down. "That's not it. You have helped me so much already. But it's… it's not everything." He sighed. "I am bloody useless here anyway." He lifted his right arm for emphasis.
"How do you think that's going to change when you go to your brothers? For the better? The house of Fëanáro isn't exactly known for its kindness to those it judges to be useless," said Findekáno savagely.

A stunned silence followed his outburst. Maitimo withdrew his hand and curled up on his side. Findekáno bit his lip, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I am sorry. That was a cruel thing to say."
Maitimo shrugged. "Perhaps it's true." He grimaced and went on, "Well, I ought to get used to that now that I am likely to live. Sooner better than later." He closed his eyes.
Cursing himself, Findekáno took Maitimo's hand again. There was no reaction.
"You are still their brother. I shouldn't have said such a stupid thing," he said.
Faintly, Maitimo replied, "Oh, it's fine. I understand."
Findekáno shook his head but dropped the topic, asking instead, "Do you want to sleep?"
"What else can I do?"
"What about the dreams?"
Maitimo turned to face the wall. "I suppose I better get used to those, too, unless they intend to miraculously leave once I have five brothers around to distract me."
"I see," Findekáno replied weakly. "Try to sleep well then." But he did not leave, nor did he let go of the hand, and he thought that Maitimo's sleep was easier, imagining vainly that it might be his presence that kept the nightmares at bay. He knew that he could not remain at Maitimo's side forever, and he knew that it would be selfish to hope that his presence alone could help the other rest peacefully. But although he reminded himself of these things, he couldn't help but feel pleased when in all the long hours that he sat and watched and held Maitimo's hand there was no scream, no writhing, only once or twice some murmured words Findekáno didn't understand.

The day drew on, and in the end a servant came in with a tray of food and the Lord Nolofinwë's urgent advice for Findekáno to go to bed.
Findekáno ate slowly, wondering whether to wake Maitimo so he could have his supper as well. He decided against it; his cousin was sleeping restfully for once, and he would be able to eat later when he woke up on his own. With his features relaxed in sleep, Maitimo looked a little more like his old self, if one managed to ignore the bruises and creases and the hollow cheeks.

Having finished his meal, Findekáno rose with a sigh; there was little point in angering his father, but he dearly wished he could stay so Maitimo could get his much-needed sleep. Even as Findekáno opened the door he could hear his cousin growing restless.
By the time he returned from bidding his father goodnight, Maitimo was tossing underneath the blankets, struggling against invisible foes. Findekáno set his jaw determinedly and covered the lantern, finding his way to the bed in the moonlight. He touched Maitimo's shoulder, and the sleeper started awake, panting, frightened.
"Hush," said Findekáno, unable to think of anything better. "It's only me."
"Oh," Maitimo said. His breath still came fast and hitched.
"Yes," Findekáno said, feeling awkward. "I think you slept better earlier, when I was with you…"
"I don't know," came the drowsy reply. "Just now…" Maitimo shuddered and tried to sit up, fighting exhaustion.
Findekáno shook his head. "Hush. You were calmer earlier. But I was commanded to go sleep…"
Maitimo grimaced even as his eyes fell shut again. "You should go then. Don't worry about me," he mumbled.
"Don't be foolish," Findekáno retorted. "Of course I worry. And I will go to sleep – but I figure there's room enough beside you?"
"Oh," said Maitimo again; Findekáno thought he could discern the hint of a smile on his cousin's face, but it might have been a trick of the shadows. "There might be, I suppose. I can tuck my belly in to make room for you..."
Findekáno smiled, for now Maitimo's voice had sounded vaguely hopeful; and he undressed and slipped under the covers. Maitimo leaned against him, and Findekáno carefully wrapped his arms around his cousin's frail body, remembering wistfully how strong and firm these thin arms had once been when they had lifted him up as a child. Maitimo's breath grew flat and steady very soon. Findekáno lay awake for a long time, lost in thought. But in all that time Maitimo did not scream once.