The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part II, Chapter X

In which Maedhros is visited by old friends, old ghosts, and the new generation.

On the appointed day, Maitimo felt almost childishly excited. After his breakfast (by now he had recovered a taste for what his brothers called 'real food'), while Varnacanyo was cleaning and dressing him, Macalaurë explained how they had organised the audiences.
"We've let them draw lots so nobody gets to complain about people being preferred. There are five – well, four people and one family – on the list today. But of course-" he made the mistake of looking at Maitimo's temporarily bare back, and looked away swiftly, interrupting himself. "Nelyo, are you certain that you want to... to lean on that?"
Maitimo craned his neck to see what he was talking about, and then shrugged. "It's used to it. No, really, stop worrying." He nodded to Varnacanyo to continue the ablutions. The squire appeared no longer to be shocked by Maitimo's injuries; although he was extremely cautious, he did not flinch from the task at hand.
Macalaurë swallowed and went on. "Well, if you do find that you are exhausted and rather wouldn't see anyone else at any time, please let Varnacanyo know. Everyone has been informed that you are not fully recovered, and they've agreed that they don't want to put a strain on you. So do send them home if you're too tired, do you hear me? There's no use in wearing yourself out."
"Yes, yes," Maitimo said, muffled by the fabric of the undershirt Varnacanyo was now helping him into. "Are you certain this was mine?"
"Perfectly certain," Varnacanyo said with a sigh. Maitimo raised his arms to demonstrate how much too wide the shirt was, and grunted in annoyance.
"Have you been listening?" Macalaurë insisted.
"Yes, Cáno, I have. No wearing myself out, let Varnacanyo know, send people home. As you say," he shot Macalaurë a sly upwards glance, "my king."
Macalaurë pursed his lips, not sure whether he should be annoyed or not, and decided to let the matter rest.

When Maitimo had been dressed, again bemused by the many layers of fabric upon his skin, Macalaurë and Varnacanyo carried him downstairs.
"You have gained weight," was the first thing Macalaurë said, delightedly.
"Well," Maitimo pointed out, "it's not like there was anything to loose." He was taking his surroundings in with wide eyes. When he had been brought here, he'd been too exhausted to think of anything but his own sorry state, but now he had the leisure to notice the care that had gone into the construction and decoration of the house. He admired the high windows of coloured glass, the carved pillars and murals; his brothers truly had made themselves at home here.
The hall where they brought him now took up most of the ground floor, and it was easily the most impressive part of the building. The high ceiling was born by white pillars; in contrast, the polished and oiled wood of the floor was of a dark wood with a reddish tint. Except for the western wall, where a single suit of armour stood underneath the great banner of the House of Fëanáro, and where one of the corners held Macalaurë's grand harp, it was unadorned as if to underline its sheer size. The only furniture consisted of a huge table surrounded by six chairs, upon a dais; but there was room for many more tables, and Maitimo expected that at times of high feasts a great part of their people could gather here.
One of the chairs had been cushioned generously with pillows and furs, and that was where they carried him. He was brought additional blankets, and the healers had the fire in the great fireplace stoked until they expressed themselves satisfied and took their leave. Macalaurë, too, made ready to depart, leaving Varnacanyo to take care of Maitimo's needs.

"Just one thing," Macalaurë softly said while Maitimo matter-of-factly removed half the blankets that the healers had piled upon him. "Please be patient with your guests. If you snap at me, I know how to handle it, but they didn't do you any harm. So please try to control your temper."
Maitimo hadn't meant to be anything less than patient and indulgent, and he found it insulting that Macalaurë thought he had to reprimand him. He wasn't stupid, after all. So he gave Macalaurë a rather gruff nod and said, "I'll try."
His brother looked about to say more, but then he just nodded in return, and left for his duties.

"Is there anything I can get you before asking your first visitors in?" Varnacanyo asked, seemingly unperturbed, when they were alone. He appeared pleased to be back in his old role.
"Some tea would be good, I think," said Maitimo, "and something for yourself, too. So, who's going to see me first?"
"Tánalindo and his family, my lord," the squire replied.
"Oh my," said Maitimo. The name sounded familiar. "That would be the son of Tánarámë?"
"That's the one."
"Oh my," Maitimo repeated. Tánarámë had been the one of the warriors who had accompanied him to that fateful parley. He was, of course, dead. Maitimo felt rather uncomfortable at the idea of having to face his son. For a moment he considered asking Varnacanyo to send the man away; then he thought better of it. There were many children who had lost their fathers on that day, many wives who had lost their husbands, and sooner or later he would have to look them in the eye. He might as well begin now. But he was not at all certain that he was up to it yet. He sighed.
"Very well. Will you show them in once they're arrived?"
"I will," Varnacanyo said, "although I suspect they may be waiting already."
Maitimo sighed again. "Right. I suppose we shouldn't keep them waiting any longer then."

If Tánalindo intended to attack Maitimo for the loss of his father, he masked it well. He entered and bowed somewhat nervously. Maitimo was surprised to see how he had grown - the Tánalindo he remembered had been as young as Tyelperinquar was now. Now the same young man was accompanied by a fair wife and two children. The youngest still had to be carried, but the older had already grown up to her mother's thighs, although she was still young enough to hide behind her mother's skirts. The mother was, Maitimo realised with a start, Amallë, the daughter of a carpenter who had frequented their house in Formenos. He remembered Amallë as a cheerful, somewhat mischievous youth who loved to play pranks. The sight of these older versions of people he had known gave him a bit of a sting; he kept forgetting just how much time had passed until he saw it made flesh in the people around him.

His feelings must have registered on his face, for Tánalindo looked even more uncomfortable, and Amallë bit her lips nervously, clutching the little girl in her arms tightly to her chest.
Maitimo forced himself to smile.
Tánalindo bowed again. "It is a relief to see you... well," he said. The last word sounded a little uncertain. "You have been missed."
"Thank you. I am quite well indeed, under the circumstances. And I am glad to see you again. Come closer, please? I cannot rise to meet you, but you are welcome nonetheless."
The family stepped closer. Maitimo gestured at his brothers' empty chairs, but Tánalindo shook his head. "We do not wish to importune you, my lord. I only hoped to speak with you briefly."
Somehow, Maitimo thought, that sounded ominous. He grimaced, but he said, "As you wish."

Tánalindo finally smiled, albeit weakly. "Firstly we have brought you some gifts..." He produced two corked bottles that he had kept hidden behind his back. They were beautiful works of pottery, pale grey glazed with dabs of a darker grey and green. Maitimo commented on the fine making.
Amallë looked pleased. "I made them myself, my lord. Although you probably don't want to know how many failed attempts it took to produce these." She chuckled, then covered her lips with her hands. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"
Maitimo raised his eyebrows. "I don't see why not, unless of course you want me to believe that you are a perfect craftswoman who always succeeds at first try, in which case I shall pretend not to have heard your comment. But if you are worried about formality – there is no need for that."
This eased the mood, at least a little. "Actually, despite the fine making the bottles are merely vessels. As so often, the contents are more important," Amallë said.
"Oh?" said Maitimo, tilting his head. "What would these contents be, then?"
"This one," said Tánalindo, raising the bottle in his left hand, "contains wine. Nothing as good as what we've had in Valinor, but the best vintage we have been able to produce here so far, so I hope you may derive at least a little pleasure from it. And this one," raising the other, "contains a fine ointment Amallë made. We find it rather helpful when our muscles ache after a long day's work, so we thought..." Suddenly his words faltered.

"I am sure I can use it well," said Maitimo as Tánalindo fell silent. "Thank you for your kindness. This is really not necessary, but I have learned to treasure gifts as they come, so I shall forego the usual game of refusing and insisting if it's all the same to you."
"Of course," said Tánalindo, frowning. "At any rate, there is another matter..."
Amallë shifted uneasily, and Maitimo earlier apprehension returned. "Ah. I thought there might be," he said, trying to appear nonchalant. Tánalindo stepped forward while Amallë tried to soothe the infant in her arm, who had begun to whimper as if feeling the change in the mood.
"First of all," said Tánalindo, "I want you to know that I am not here to reproach you. I do not blame you."
Maitimo let out a slow breath. "That is good of you, and I am relieved to hear it," he said, and he was. "Although I do blame myself, and I would understand your anger."
"I am no longer angry. I was, though not truly at you, or your father, but more at everything that happened. And I was heartbroken for a while; but somehow life went on, didn't it? I have a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughters, and we are healthy and safe. That matters. I do miss Father, but blaming or raging doesn't bring him back. I just can't help having questions."

Maitimo was spared from replying at once, for the baby began to bawl now, causing her sister to run from her hide-out behind her mother's skirts. The parents apologised profusely while trying to comfort both the fussing baby and the startled child with little success, but Maitimo smiled. "No, no, it's all right. No, you don't have to go outside, it's freezing there, or so I am told. Is she all right? If she's hungry, you can feed her here, or Varnacanyo can point you to some secluded corner if you' prefer that, I am sure."
"I think she's just angry because she's woken up," Amallë said embarrassedly. "I am very sorry, I should have found someone to watch her while we came to visit..."
"It is perfectly fine," said Maitimo. "It would take a lot more to distress me than a crying child. Just see to stop her distress." He held his left hand out to the older girl. "And what is your name? We have quite neglected our introductions, haven't we."
The child looked at his hand curiously, then placed her own little hand in it sombrely. "I'm Pelalassë. But I already know who you are."
Maitimo gave her a lopsided smile. "So you have the advantage. And your sister's name?"
"Anarórë," the little girl said. "Because she was born just after the Sun rose."
"I see. It is a pleasure to meet you, Pelalassë. And Anarórë, too."
"She is crying all the time," said Pelalassë. "Amil says that's because she can't talk."
Maitimo nodded, matching the child's grave tone. "Yes, they do that when they're small. Even I did that. And you did, too."
She pouted. "I didn't! Did I, Amil?" She turned back to her mother, her brows creasing. Amallë, rocking Anarórë in her arms, chuckled. "I'm afraid you did, love."
"How does he know?" the child demanded, turning back to Maitimo with an almost accusatory look. "How did you know?!"
Now Maitimo could not help but laugh. "I grew up with six younger brothers, Pelalassë. I had a lot of opportunity to learn about children." The baby, hearing the laughter, ceased her crying and stared at him wide-eyed; then the corners of her mouth moved into a smile that looked almost astonished, as if she hadn't yet grown familiar with this ability. The parents were able to settle down again, Amallë keeping the baby occupied while Pelalassë climbed into one of the chairs where she sat down, cross-legged, and watched Maitimo earnestly even though he did nothing more exciting than drink some more tea.

When he put his cup down again, he nodded to Tánalindo. "I will try to answer your questions, if I can."
"Thank you," Tánalindo answered, but his smile had faded. "I have been asking myself these questions for a long time, so I appreciate your answers, whatever they may be." He paused as if to give Maitimo a chance to say something, warning or encouragement. Maitimo simply nodded.
Tánalindo looked down. Then, bracing himself, he said, "Was my father captured as well?"
Maitimo bit his lip, wondering how to put this. Finally he replied, "No. All but I were slain at once."
"Do you know that for certain?" Tánalindo raised his head, and his eyes met Maitimo's. There was grief in them, but also strength, and a deep underlying peace that took Maitimo by surprise. "Yes," he said. Unlike Tánalindo, he felt neither strength nor peace, and he swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. "I saw him die."
The other's eyes closed briefly, but he nodded. "I suppose this is a dreadful thing to say, but I am relieved to hear it. Was it a painful death?"
Maitimo had to frown at this; what kind of question was that while a young child was listening? Then he wondered whether it wasn't unreasonable to keep such things secret from children. He had grown up with the knowledge of his grandmother's untimely demise as well, after all.
"I obviously cannot judge it for certain, and my definition of 'painful' is very likely different from yours, but if I remember correctly, it was swift. I do not think he suffered."
The young man nodded. He was unable to speak for a while. His lips trembled, and he had to wipe away tears. Maitimo waited in silence, watched Pelalassë jump from her seat to hug her father. Fortunately the baby did not start to cry again despite the tangible sadness, instead making curious gurgling sounds while Amallë whispered to her.
Perhaps it was the distraction by his daughters that made Tánalindo regain his balance. Or perhaps it was because he had in truth come to terms with his father's death long ago, and this was no fresh pain, but rather old grief remembered. At any rate he managed a shaky smile, and holding his child close, he said, "Thank you."
"You are very welcome," said Maitimo, "though I wish I could have helped in a more cheerful matter."

"That opportunity may yet come," Amallë threw in. "For now, it would be more fitting for us to help you. Is there anything we can do for you before we leave?"
Maitimo blinked. "I cannot think of anything for the moment, Amallë. Unless, of course, you know some kind of magic healing that might restore my strength."
"None but patience, I'm afraid."
He grimaced. "Which is the hardest part. But I am trying. Well; then I thank you for your visit. It has given me quite a bit to think about. It was good to see you again, and to learn that you are well. And it's been especially nice to meet your children." He smiled at Pelalassë, but she did not leave her father's side again, though she smiled back shyly. "And of course I also thank you for your generous gifts."
The family left with their best wishes for his further recovery.
Maitimo gyrated his tea-cup, staring at the swirling liquid inside. He felt Varnacanyo stand by his elbow and looked up at him with a crooked smile. "Well, that was interesting, wasn't it? Life goes on. Somehow it always goes on."
Varnacanyo smiled in return. "Yes, my lord. It does."
Maitimo emptied the cup. "Well. Who's next then?"
"Master Encaitar, a silk weaver, calling in his function as head of the Weavers' and Tailors' Guild."
"There are guilds? Since when do we have guilds in these lands?"
"Well, my lord-- " Varnacanyo began, but Maitimo waved his hand. "No, don't tell me. I've been away a long time. Very well. Ask him in."