The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part II, Chapter VIII

In which Maglor apologises, and in which Maedhros shocks, delights and surprises his brothers.

Macalaurë awoke with a strange feeling of anxiety. He was alone, and first he thought he had slept long, which would have explained Ambarussa's absence. Yet when he opened the curtains, he found that day was barely breaking. Under his window, the world glittered frostily in the pale dawn; only few people were going about their duties, and of Ambarussa there was no trace.
He frowned, still driven by the strange unrest at the back of his mind; then suddenly things shifted into place, and he dressed hastily and hurried to his old room.

Most of his younger brothers had thought along the same lines, he discovered. Tyelkormo and Ambarussa had taken the window-seats despite the cold air rushing in through the open window, although they huddled into their cloaks. Carnistir occupied a chair right next to the bed, and he, too was wrapped against the cold.
They raised their heads and looked at him glumly as Macalaurë opened the door. He couldn't help staring back.
"If you're cold, I'd suggest you close the window, you know," he said as he walked into the room. Underneath Carnistir's two cloaks he could see the thin fabric of a night-shirt, and he shook his head, slightly bemused.
"Moryo wants it open," said Tyelkormo, at which point Carnistir pursed his lips and said, softly but firmly, "Nelyo asked that it be open."

Macalaurë frowned and stepped closer, finally looking at his eldest brother. Curled up on the large bed as Maitimo was, he looked surprisingly small and terribly vulnerable. His brow was furrowed even in sleep, and his one hand clutched the pillow as though his life depended on it. Occasionally he twitched and whimpered, and the brothers winced at the sound.
"He spoke to you then?" Macalaurë said with a nervous swallow.
"Yes," said Carnistir. Macalaurë waited, but Carnistir apparently did not mean to add anything more.
"So he was awake?"
"Yes," Carnistir said again. This time, Macalaurë knew better than to hope that his brother would elaborate on his own.
"Was he all right?"
"No," Carnistir said, and now he looked Macalaurë in the eye. "He was sick. And he said that he was melting."
"It's not nearly hot enough for that," came a voice from the door, and Curufinwë came marching in. "In fact, our kind doesn't melt. We b-"
"Yes," Macalaurë cut him off sharply, with a glare to match. "We know that."

He carefully sat on the bed, hoping not to wake Maitimo, but the movement apparently did disturb his brother: he groaned and curled up smaller. "Nelyo," Macalaurë whispered, reaching out for his shoulder, "are you awake?"
With a start, Maitimo opened his eyes to stare at his brothers, breath coming flat and fast as if he had been running. For a while, he did not seem to recognise them. Finally he relaxed and fell back, grimacing. "Now I am," he said hoarsely. His eyes wandered from one brother to the next while his breath returned to its normal gait. Then he shifted, disentangling his left arm from the blankets, and reached to the side. Macalaurë followed his eyes to the tea-cup on the bedside table, and hastily pushed it into Maitimo's hand. "Moryo just told us that you did not feel well this night," he said while his brother was drinking. "Are you better now?"
Maitimo shrugged, and grimaced again. "Just very heavy. Worn out."
Macalaurë bit his lip. "Is there anything we can do for you? Are you hungry?"
His brother shuddered. "Not right now." From the corner of his eye, Macalaurë could see Carnistir sink deeper into his chair, and he frowned in confusion. "What can we do then?"

Maitimo sat up. It was obviously quite an effort, but when Macalaurë leaned forward to help him, Maitimo shook his head. "No, let me," he said, slowly working himself into an upright position. "There, better." He smiled, but it was obviously forced, and it did not drive the shadow from his eyes.
Macalaurë looked at the ground, then looked up again; he felt he should reassure Maitimo, not distress him further. "What can we do for you?" he asked again.
“Just keep me company, if you have the time,” Maitimo said softly. “Tell me what you’ve done while I was... away.” He indicated the lovingly decorated room. “I can see you’ve been busy -”
Macalaurë winced and grasped Maitimo's hand. "We should have come to rescue you, I know, we should have tried somehow! Instead we wasted our time here..." He felt Tyelkormo's eyes on him and knew that there would be triumph in them, but he did not turn to look. Instead he looked at Maitimo imploringly. "I am so sorry. I – "
Maitimo stopped him. "That is not what I meant." He leaned back, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with slow, laboured movements. "Please, just tell me things. Something cheerful. Tyelko, how are the hunting grounds around here?"
Tyelkormo blinked in surprise, but after exchanging glances with the others, he shrugged, and soon Maitimo could relax to the descriptions of the forests and mountains that grew more enthusiastic as Tyelkormo found into his stride. Macalaurë, too, relaxed slightly. The nagging unease, however, was back, and he could not push it away.

By mid-day Maitimo cautiously said that he might be ready to have lunch. Servants were sent for at once, and soon he was brought a bowl of strong broth. Macalaurë made ready to feed him, but again Maitimo stopped him. "I can do that on my own," he said, and this time Macalaurë looked away so Maitimo wouldn't see the hurt in his eyes.
Maitimo ate slowly, the lack of one hand making it a complicated process, and more than once the other brothers offered to help him, but he remained adamant in his refusal.
When the bowl was empty in the end, Maitimo set it aside with exaggerated care. Then he looked around. "Are you not hungry? I'm not going to disappear if you have a brief lunch, you know." They didn't even move, staring at him as though he was the most fascinating thing they had every seen. Then finally Curufinwë cleared his throat. "Actually, if you do not mind, I should like to return to my forge." He looked around and said, as if to forestall criticism, "I have a lot of work to do. Only if you do not mind, of course."
"By all means," said Maitimo. "Please don't feel compelled to wait on me all day. I wouldn't want to be stuck in here all day if I could help it." Curufinwë frowned as if wondering whether he was sincere, but Maitimo gestured invitingly, and eventually Curufinwë nodded and, with a somewhat lopsided smile and a rather too formal bow, left.
"That goes for all of you," Maitimo said. "I am glad of your company, but I don't want to be a chore. Those of you who have better things to do, go right ahead."

Macalaurë looked around at the others. They did not seem to have the slightest intention of leaving. Biting his lips, he came to a decision. "Nelyo is right," he said without actually looking at Maitimo. "You should go and have lunch. I am sure you must be hungry. And perhaps you should get dressed, Moryo...?"
Carnistir gave him a blank look. "I do not need to go anywhere today."
Ambarussa rolled his eyes, but he proved cooperative. "Come, Moryo, let us see whether the guards have recovered from last night's drinking." He tugged at the other's sleeve, and eventually Carnistir allowed him to drag him outside, although he was not enthusiastic. Tyelkormo stood but gave Macalaurë a challenging look.
"Please," Macalaurë said, looking back sternly, and to his relief Tyelkormo left after a moment of deliberation.

Maitimo watched the proceedings, and Macalaurë thought he detected something akin to amusement in his face. His heart lurched violently at such a sign of hope; but he dared not say anything. For a moment, there was silence.
Eventually, Maitimo broke it. "Well. What's the big secret, then?"
Macalaurë blinked. "What secret?"
"You have sent the others away, and it was obviously not because you were concerned for their appetites or their attire. So I gather you have something you wish to discuss with me – alone." The corners of his mouth were twitching with a suppressed smile.
"Yes," said Macalaurë, and then he fell to his knees, clutching Maitimo's hand. "Yes, I do. Nelyo, it is kind of you to brush it aside whenever it is mentioned, but we need to settle this. I understand full well that we have abandoned you to – to suffer terrible things. And it was I who decided it: Everything you've suffered, and everything-" he swallowed, trying not to cry, "everything you've lost is my responsibility, and I want you to know that I understand if you are angry with me. I understand if you hate me, for I deserve no better, and I will bear whatever punishment you think right.” He looked up, and now his eyes had filled with tears. "I will do whatever is in my power to make amends, Nelyo; just tell me what to do."
"First of all, get up. Up, I say! You heard what I said about kneeling yesterday; my opinion has not changed." Maitimo said, and the laughter had left his face. He paused for breath while Macalaurë got to his feet.

"Second, understand this: I was never so proud of you as I was when Moringotto told me that you would not bargain for my freedom. You heard me right: I was proud. There, I thought, my brothers are strong and wise: They will not fall into the same trap I ran into, no matter what they're promised. They will stand fast and succeed." He took a deep breath. "Oh, Moringotto thought the news would break me, I am certain. But they didn't. They didn't."
There was a raw quality to his voice that made Macalaurë shiver, but before he could say anything, Maitimo was speaking on. How he managed to sound so firm now, Macalaurë could not guess. "You know, he said the same things you said now: That I must surely hate you. That you no longer deserved my love. He offered me to join him, that day: to end my torment, to let me have relief and revenge if I but promised to serve him." He laughed grimly, peering up at Macalaurë's lowered face with a hard glint in his eyes. "And I said no. I could have ended the pain on that day if I had agreed to serve him, to fight against you, and I said no. So you see, it is my own fault as much as it is yours. If anything, your decision gave me hope. So you can stop apologising."
Macalaurë did not know what to say. This was a brief glimpse of his brother as he remembered him, proud and determined: If not for the haggard face and sunken eyes, Macalaurë might have been able to pretend that this was a normal morning, Maitimo soliloquising on some philosophical issue or laying out the plans for the day. Yet he did not dare to believe him.
Maitimo sighed. "Come closer, my silly little brother." Macalaurë obeyed hesitantly only to find himself wrapped in a hug. It lacked strength, but it was nonetheless comforting. His breath quickened with the thrill of having his brother back, and apparently being forgiven. For a while he simply hung on. Then he thought how shameful it was that Maitimo had to console him when it should be the other way around. He sat in the chair Carnistir had abandoned, silent for a while.
"Was that why he took your hand?" he asked eventually, caressing Maitimo's left. Maitimo frowned, and Macalaurë was afraid he had offended him again; but he went on anyway. "Because you would not work for him?"
Maitimo's eyebrows lifted slightly, and his thoughts seemed to be far away. Eventually he took a deep breath as though he had made a difficult decision, and nodded.
"Yes. That is why."*
Macalaurë racked his brain for something consoling to say, but there was nothing to be found but numb horror. Silence settled again, and when it was broken in the end, it was Maitimo who found the words.

"Well," he said. "Now that's settled, will you do me a favour?"
"I told you. Anything," Macalaurë said.
"Sing me a song. Something fair and joyful. So I'll know I've truly returned to you."
Macalaurë blinked, laughing a little uncertainly. "That'll be a bit of a shock to this house. I don't think I've sung anything joyful inside these walls, ever."
"It's about time you did, isn't it, then? And pray let the others in again. I daresay you'll find them in the corridor when you go to fetch your harp." Maitimo raised his voice slightly for the last part, and sure enough they could hear some uneasy shuffling at the door. Macalaurë gave him a bemused stare. One moment he had been terrified by his brother's frailness, in the next all the long years had seemed to fall away, and now he was being bossed around. It was confusing to say the least, and Macalaurë knew it would take him a while to get used to it. But there would be time for that, he told himself. Not right now, because everything was too fresh and too painful, but there would be time. He'd just have to be patient.

He rose with a smile and stepped outside. Tyelkormo, Carnistir and Ambarussa were standing at one of the windows going out to the courtyard, pretending to be extremely interested in the weather.
Macalaurë raised a challenging eyebrow, and they gave him their most innocent looks.
"A week at most before it snows," Tyelkormo ventured.
"Right," said Macalaurë drily. "You are behaving like children." Ambarussa had the grace to look a little guilty, and Macalaurë almost laughed then. How quickly they had fallen back into their old roles!
Even as he marched off, he heard Ambarussa say, "How did you know? We made no sound!"
"My dear Telvo," came Maitimo's voice in reply, sounding just the tiniest bit strained and extremely reproachful, "I may be a wreck, but I am not a fool."

Chapter End Notes

*In some of the earlier drafts of the Silmarillion backstory, there is no mention of Maedhros' rescue by Fingon; instead, Maedhros is unspecifically maimed by Morgoth. As I'm a fan of bringing contradictory versions together, I figured that Maedhros himself might have spread or at any rate encouraged the legend that Morgoth took his hand; after all, his brothers haven't exactly proven to understand much about Angband, and as Maedhros cannot yet be certain how his brothers would react towards Fingon if they knew the truth, blaming Morgoth is probably not the worst idea for the time being.
Similar happenings can be found elsewhere in Tolkien's writings: Bilbo doesn't immediately tell the true story about how he got to own that lovely ring, after all...