The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part II, Chapter V

In which the family reunion begins.

A week of quiet, undisturbed sleep had done Maitimo a world of good, Findekáno thought. The dark blotches under his eyes had almost disappeared, and although he was still unhealthily pale, at least his skin had lost its greyish hue. To be sure, he still looked far from well, and anyone who had not seen him before would be shocked by his frailness, his hollow face, the still clearly visible injuries; but Findekáno had seen him before, and to him the difference was striking.

They did not speak about Maitimo's departure again. Until he could no longer deny it, Findekáno had decided to pretend that it wouldn't happen. In secret, he hoped that it would be put off a bit longer, that the Fëanorians would not be willing to come or that early snows or something of the sort would make the transfer impossible. At the same time he was ashamed of begrudging Maitimo the reunion with his brothers. Maitimo, on the other hand, knew that he had hurt his cousin by his desire to leave, and did not wish to offend him further. They spoke of trivial things or read old poetry to each other from books that Nolofinwë's people had brought over the Ice, books that were missing their leather bindings and all their empty flyleaves. Maitimo had asked why that was so, and had regretted his question at once. Findekáno had given him a long uncomfortable look before saying, "We needed to keep warm more urgently than we needed books."
Occasionally they would play a game of chess or checkers and find themselves evenly matched. But they did not mention the approaching parting.

Thus Maitimo kept his growing anxiety to himself, for the closer Elenya came, the more he was questioning his decision. He had tried to get up again, and failed again; he had no idea how he had thought he could even leave this room, let alone reach the opposite lakeshore. And what would his brothers say? Whenever he imagined their reunion, he saw himself in his old form as it had been before his captivity: strong, beautiful, undamaged. He could not reconcile that image of himself with his new, broken body, nor did he try too hard. What would his brothers do upon seeing the wreck he had become? He was terrified of their reaction, not because he feared that they would reject him entirely – he refused to consider that idea in earnest – but because he was afraid that they would nonetheless be disgusted, as well they might.
But he did not dare to voice his fears to Findekáno, and he grew more taciturn and distracted as the days passed.

Elenya dawned beautifully, the pale sunlight glittering on the frozen dewdrops outside the window. Nonetheless Maitimo couldn't shake off his gloomy mood. Findekáno beside him did not fare much better. "We will have to be all distant and noble when your brothers are here," he said, "so we should say goodbye properly now." They embraced long, and Findekáno said, "I wish you wouldn't leave."
To his surprise, Maitimo admitted, "So do I."
Findekáno looked at him, sighing. "It's too late now for you to stay, huh?"
"I'm afraid so. It would look stupid to have my brothers come all the way here to tell them I won't come along after all." Maitimo's lips curved in a mirthless grin; then he looked grave again. "That may yet happen. I don't actually know if I can travel."
"If you really want to, you probably can," Findekáno said with a snort. "You're the most stubborn mule I ever met."
This time there was a hint of amusement in Maitimo's smile. He pulled Findekáno closer for a moment. "You must visit me often," he said pleadingly.
"I will. If the weather and my father permit it."
Maitimo sighed; he had forgotten that Findekáno was confined to the Nolofinwëan camp until further notice. After all, it had not mattered so far.
"Do you think your father will ever forgive us?" he asked.
"Us? You mean…"
"I mean the House of Fëanáro," said Maitimo, "my brothers and me. Do you think our families can ever be reconciled?"

Findekáno took a while to ponder this question. "I don't know. Perhaps. Sometimes I think he never will, sometimes I think he wants to, if only he could. But it's – we have reasons enough to be angry, you know," he said defensively.
Maitimo waved his hand weakly. "I know. I am not suggesting that you don't, or that your father should simply forget what we did. But I do admit that I wish he could. It is foolish that our houses battle against each other while there is an enemy we should fight together. We have to reunite if we want to have the slightest chance."
"Then your house must begin it."
Maitimo grimaced. "Unless that would be seen as presumptuous. Well, I suppose I shall have to think about this. It's not like I don't have the time," and here bitterness crept back into his voice as he looked at his atrophied limbs.
"I'll try to make the time shorter," Findekáno said quickly. "And I'm sure your brothers, too, will keep you occupied." He hugged Maitimo again. "I'll miss you."
"Even though I'm nothing but a useless, self-pitying cripple?"
"Don't say that." Findekáno gave him a stern look.
"Your people say it," Maitimo retorted.
"That's bad enough. You should show them that they're wrong, not parrot them."
Maitimo raised his right arm. "How exactly am I to show them that I am not a cripple?"
Findekáno snorted. "I meant the 'useless' part. Although perhaps you'd better start on the self-pity."
"I am trying."
"I know," said Findekáno, more softly now. "And yes, I'll miss you regardless." He sighed, unwilling to let go; but now horn-signals were heralding the arrival of the Fëanorians, and he had to rise. "Well, let's hope everyone will behave themselves."
"And let's hope they still want me back once they've seen me."
Findekáno looked scandalised. "Of course they will. – Yes, I'll be there right away," he said as the door opened, even before Istimë could say a word.

"Good," she commented. "Meanwhile I'll help our runaway have some breakfast, so they won't blame us for starving him." Findekáno hastily donned his crumpled clothing and left, and the healer walked over and sat on the side of the bed, handing Maitimo a bowl of porridge. "How are you feeling?" she asked, and to Maitimo it seemed that her voice was colder and more business-like than usual.
"All right, I suppose," he answered; he had grown so used to the healing pains and the everlasting throbbing in his arm that he did not give them much thought. At any rate they were a relief compared to the agonies of the past years. "A bit nervous."
"Nervous, eh? I would be, too. It's a long way to the other side of that lake, and longer for someone who can't make it to the other side of the room."
Maitimo hung his head. "Istimë, I know it's not wise to try and travel. You don't have to tell me – I am frightened enough on my own."
"Hm," she said, but her face softened a little. "Well, eat that before it gets cold." While he did, she cleaned him and changed his bandages for the last time. "You shouldn't lean on your back so much," she said at one point. "It can't heal properly with the pressure on it. Shirt's stuck to it again." She peeled it off as carefully as she could, but of course some of the wounds reopened. "Well, that'll be a fine sight for your brothers to see," she said, and now there was a note in her voice that confused Maitimo – was it fear?
"I won't let them see my back then." He finished his breakfast and set the bowl down; his arm trembled as he extended it although the bowl was not very heavy. "At any rate, it's not your fault."
"Will they know that?" Istimë asked dryly, and Maitimo thought he understood. "Do you fear they'll believe you did not take good care of me?" he asked, frowning. "You think they'll blame you?"
She shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."
Maitimo shook his head vigorously. "You've done a lot for me, and you have done it well – or so I assume; I am feeling so much better that I shan't complain. If anyone dares to say anything else, I won't permit it."
She said nothing in reply but finished her work, and then gathered her equipment and made to leave. Only when she had reached the door did Maitimo realise that she truly meant to go, and he called, "Hey, wait!"
She turned back towards him. "What is it?"
"Is this farewell?"
She pondered him as he sat – upright now instead of leaning against the pillows, careful to spare his back. "I suppose it is."
"Then I wish to thank you for everything you've done for me. Especially considering who I am."
"I did not do it in order to be thanked," said she. "And I try to keep my personal feelings out of my work."
Maitimo chewed his lips. "But now your work on me is done, so perhaps I can ask you: Do you hate me?"
She gave him a strange look and shook her head. "No. After having cared for a patient for a while, I can hardly hate him." Maitimo took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Istimë went on. "I know, I know; that is not quite what you asked. The answer is nonetheless no. I was hurt – I still am – by what your family did to us. But so much that I'd hate them? No. And when you were brought here, it did not matter who you were; first and foremost you were wounded and in dire need of healing, and that is what I did." She shrugged. "For what it's worth, even those who believe in vengeance tend to acknowledge that you have suffered more than enough."
"I see," said Maitimo. "Thank you."
She nodded, a wry smile on her face, and left him.
He leaned towards the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the proceedings outside, but it faced to the wrong side, and all he saw was the familiar tree, now stripped of its leaves, some dewdrops hanging mournfully from its bare branches. With a sigh, Maitimo retired against the pillows, waiting.

When the door opened again, he saw his uncle and his cousins, and amid the throng there was Macalaurë – but he looked so different, so much graver and so much more mature, that Maitimo did not immediately recognise him. Then in a flurry of dun robes and red hair Ambarussa rushed forward, all decorum forgotten, and flung himself onto the bed, wrapping Maitimo in a tight embrace that momentarily knocked the breath from his lungs. "Oh Nelyo!" Ambarussa cried, "Nelyo, Nelyo, it's truly you!" He looked Maitimo in the face and frowned. "My, but you've grown thin." His voice was downright reproachful.
Maitimo, struggling with tears and laughter, gave his youngest brother a one-handed squeeze and replied, "And I've been even thinner. Hello, Telvo, I've missed you too. – No, don't do that," he cried then, for Macalaurë had come forward and fallen to his knees before Maitimo. The Nolofinwëans looked on uncomfortably, waiting outside: The room was too small for so many people.
"Please don't do that," said Maitimo again, and he reached for Macalaurë's hand, trying to pull him to his feet. He couldn't, of course, but Macalaurë understood the intention well enough. He rose. He was crying, unable to stop himself despite the presence of his uncle and cousins. Now he, too, moved to embrace Maitimo, whispering, "I am so, so sorry."
"Aren't we all," said Maitimo softly, returning the hug as well as he could. "I am glad to see you again, except glad is not strong enough a word. I can't quite believe it." He held both of them close, resting his head between their shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he took in their scent, still familiar after all those years: Apples and earth and wet leaves, that was Ambarussa, and Macalaurë's warm scent of soap and wood. He tried to grasp the idea that this was real, that these two were indeed his brothers, that he was truly holding them again. The thought took a while to register. They did not release each other quickly.
When they finally did, Maitimo gave his brothers a watery smile. "I've missed you so much." They assured him that they had missed him at least as much. Their words rang sincere, and he completely forgot that he had feared that they might not want him back.
"We've brought some of your old clothes," said Ambarussa, who alone of the three was not in tears, instead smiling broadly, absurdly.
"Well, then I'd better put them on," said Maitimo. "But you'll have to help me."

They had not truly noticed his injuries yet, and they hadn't been warned about the hand; now they were forced to take note, and their joy was darkened with anger. Although they had read that Maitimo was 'gravely wounded', as Nolofinwë had put it in his letter, and although they had technically been aware that Moringotto might have been cruel, it was quite a different thing to accept the distant idea of torment or to see its marks on their brother's body. When they saw the stump of his right wrist, they were thrown entirely off-balance. Now Ambarussa wept, unable to conceal his anguish. Macalaurë's eyes had gone dry, but they were glowing with fury, and Maitimo was the tiniest bit worried where that fury might find its outlet. He tried to reach for Macalaurë's shaking hands, but his brother withdrew them and used them to cover his face.
"It hardly hurts anymore," Maitimo lied.
Of course they would not believe him. They were unable to help him dress for their anguish. Findekáno grew frustrated with the scene and took their place, helping Maitimo into his silken undershirt. He had seen Maitimo in a state far worse and was somewhat hardened to the sight, and the shock and pointless regrets of the brothers annoyed him.
"You aren't helping him by trying to re-live his pain, you know," he said before he could stop himself, "and you can't. All we can do is move on."
Macalaurë shot him a hurt, almost angry look, but Maitimo agreed, and his brothers had to pull themselves together. Eventually they managed to help Maitimo into the travelling clothes they had brought. Maitimo in his turn found himself amazed by the amounts of clothing put upon him. He recognised the items, even vaguely remembered that he had worn them in the distant past, but their texture had become alien: Another shirt of fine linen came on top of the undershirt, then breeches of soft leather, an embroidered tunic of rich red wool, and a padded vest on top of that. Having spent more than a decade with nothing but his skin to protect him from the world outside, being dressed so generously felt grotesque and wasteful. He let it happen, not daring to delay his journey further. If his brothers had to swallow their dismay whenever they encountered a new patch of raw or scarred skin, he felt he should swallow his objection to being wrapped in so many stifling layers.

Yet the next interruption was Maitimo's own doing. Everything went well enough, and he even felt that he could bear standing while he was being steadied on both sides; the splinted leg hurt badly, but he had learned long ago to shut pain out, although it took focus. Aside from the embarrassment of needing help with the most trivial things, standing with their support worked better than he had feared.
Then he heard the jangling of chains, and before he was aware of it he had pushed backwards and found himself pressing against the wall. His face, which had gained fresh colour at the sight of his brothers, was ashen again. Macalaurë and Ambarussa stared at him in shocked confusion.
"What is that?" asked Maitimo, not quite succeeding at keeping a tremour out of his voice.
"Dwarf-wrought chainmail," said Ambarussa, frowning. "It offers good protection against blades."
Maitimo eyed the mail-shirt doubtfully. It looked as though it had been knit from steel. He could now see that his brothers were wearing similar shirts underneath their cloaks and leather jerkins, but the clinking alone made him feel sick, and the metal was sure to be heavy.
"I don't think I'm up to that yet," he admitted in a small voice. "I think that thing is heavier than I am."
Unhappily, his brothers wrapped the chainmail back in the sheet it had been transported in. Maitimo carefully placed his feet on the ground again, and the brothers hoisted him up and helped him into a jerkin that had once been made to fit his frame perfectly and now only served to underline his painful thinness. Nobody spoke now; Maitimo was ashamed of his outburst, and his brothers could not quite come to terms with even the small glimpse at the terrors of Angamando that they'd seen. They only broke the silence when Maitimo was fully clothed, marvelling at yet another foreign feeling: He now had boots on his feet – or rather on one foot; the splinted leg had been left free, wrapped only in strips of fabric, provided by Findekáno, to keep it warm.
"Now you look more like yourself," said Findekáno encouragingly. It was grossly exaggerated; even though the clothing did give Maitimo an air of normality that he lacked while lying in bed, it failed entirely to hide his weakness.
"Can you walk?" Macalaurë asked anxiously, glancing at the left leg.
"As long as you keep me upright. I just can't carry my weight." Maitimo said decisively.
"What weight?" muttered Ambarussa. Maitimo squeezed his hand.

They made their way outside slowly and silently, followed equally slowly by the equally silent household of Nolofinwë. When they walked through the door, all conversation among those waiting outside was hushed, and they all turned and stared as Maitimo, propped up between his brothers, limped towards the gate. Even though most of his attention was necessary just to move his feet, their silent watch was intense enough to make him feel extremely uncomfortable. He could see in Ambarussa's face that his youngest brother felt the same: His creased brow betrayed his resentment against the reproachful silence of the Nolofinwëans. Macalaurë managed to look indifferent, but Maitimo was the one who had taught him how to don a mask of indifference when he felt the opposite, and even after all this time he could see through it easily. The way to the gate stretched out indefinitely, and the relentless pain in his underused muscles was not the worst part of it. Maitimo was soon sweating despite the frosty air with the effort of clinging to his brothers. It would not do to fall now.

When they had finally reached the palisade and the Fëanorians were handed their weapons again (Maitimo took a brief moment of guilty amusement from watching them try to fasten their swords to their belts without letting go of him), he bid them turn so he could face his uncle's family again.
First he addressed Nolofinwë, inclining his head as he did so. "I thank you again for your generosity and kindness, dear Uncle. I am aware that it must have been a difficult decision to take me in, considering what my house did to yours, and I am most grateful that you had the honour not to repay me in kind." He spoke so loud that all the folk gathered could hear him. This time there was no murmuring; some even looked away as if ashamed.
"To Istimë the healer," Maitimo went on, "and all those who helped her to restore me to my current state of health, I likewise give my thanks. Again, I appreciate that you could forget personal grievances long enough to help me." This was not, perhaps, true for all of them, but he figured he could be generous with his thanks if he had nothing else to give. Istimë, at the very least, smiled in reply.
At last Maitimo turned to Findekáno. "As for you, most beloved and truest of friends, words fail me. I cannot say how grateful I am, foolish though you were. I owe you everything, and I cannot hope ever to repay you."
"And you don't need to," said Findekáno and embraced him, using the chance to whisper in Maitimo's ear, "Get going before I start to cry."
Maitimo sighed. When Findekáno had released him, he spoke again, saying, "To all of you, farewell. May the House of Nolofinwë gain nothing but good from these deeds." He nodded to his brothers, and slowly they left the camp.
"We've brought Roccalaurë for you," whispered Ambarussa as they made their way to the horses.
"Oh my," was all Maitimo could think of saying, his inspiration leaving him after the speeches. It was not too surprising that they had chosen this horse over others, he supposed; Roccalaurë had been his father's steed, and it was fair enough that the next in line should take him. He was a good horse, too, but it took a man of strong will to ride him, and Maitimo was uncertain whether he had that strength of mind just now. In fact he wasn't even sure whether he'd be able to keep himself on even the tamest horse's back. He said so, adding, "I'd rather ride with one of you, so you can keep me from falling off if my strength fails."
They exchanged another glance underneath his chin (for despite his sad state he was towering above them). "You can go on Carnillo with Ambarussa, I guess," said Macalaurë, trying to sound cheerful. "He's a more capable rider than I am, and less likely to fall off alongside you – if your strength fails."

Getting him into the saddle was no small feat, and as they knew they were being watched, their clumsy attempts were especially humiliating. Once or twice Maitimo could barely swallow a scream, and more than once he was sorely tempted to call the whole thing off and return to curl up on his bed in Findekáno's chamber. When he finally sat on Carnillo's back, he was out of breath and shaking with suppressed pain. He could feel the fabric of his shirts beginning to stick to his back and knew that he must be bleeding again. He tried to ignore it, grateful now for the red colour of his tunic.
Ambarussa swung onto the horse effortlessly, and Macalaurë mounted without trouble as well; and off they went, trotting at a moderate pace away into the forest with its leafless trees. As soon as they were out of sight, they rode faster, almost as though they were fleeing.

At first Maitimo managed to notice the cleanness of the air and the fading warmth of the sun on his face, the sounds and smells of the forest and above all the overpowering feeling of freedom; it was as if he only now remembered how wide the world was, and he rejoiced in the feeling. Soon, however, the jolting and shaking of their gallop dispelled his joy, and it took all his determination not to let his brothers notice his agony. The ride seemed to last forever; unused to riding, he soon felt sick and dizzy, his head aching again, his leg and shoulder sending sharp jabs of pain through his weakening body. When darkness began to fall and they were still underway, he could no longer keep his back straight and slumped forward.
"We are almost there," said Ambarussa, noticing his exhaustion. "Just around that bend there." He pointed ahead, and indeed Maitimo could see that the walls of the forest were opening, making space for real walls of wood and stone. They were harder and more lavish than those he had seen around Nolofinwë's camp. His father's proud banner hung above the gate, its colours darkened but still recognisable in the early dusk. As they rode out of the woods, horns and trumpets sounded triumphantly. The gates opened and revealed yet another throng of people, their faces eager, not reproachful. The brothers rode to the gate to the crowd's cheering, and through his exhaustion and pain, Maitimo told himself that he was coming home.