Long live the King by Aprilertuile

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the offer

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After his recovery, Tyelkormo was put back to handling the hunters and food rotation, and their defences and welcoming the local elves when they joined them.

Of course, Makalaurë had made a beautiful discourse about the honour and responsibility of this duty.

It seemed to appease all their people, making them seemingly forget the not so cordial disagreement that had shaken the brothers since Maitimo had been taken.

However, Tyelkormo had no illusion on the matter. He knew his brother far too well for that:

Seeing him at death’s door had been enough to calm Makalaurë’s desires to start a fight, had stopped him altogether from finding all the possible ways to call him a coward, but nevertheless, Makalaurë couldn’t forget that it was him who first opposed his decision to go after Maitimo.

Tyelkormo could understand that. He hadn’t forgotten either. His dreams punished him often enough regarding that very matter.

The duties piled on to him were just silent acknowledgement from his brother that abandoning their elder brother had been Tyelkormo’s plan and not his own.

That their brothers had preferred to follow his counsel and not Makalaurë’s own desires.

A petty bit of: ‘you took control then, you can keep control now’. 

Or perhaps he was reading too much into things and it was just Makalaurë’s way of admitting that he indeed knew less than himself of those matters. 

Who knew?  

But if it was indeed done with a hint of malice… Well he could take it. He’d take the silent accusation. He’d take his brother’s pettiness with glee.

Yes, he’d take it all because it meant that his brother was free to do so. He was still alive, and he was finally acknowledging that he had recovered enough.

It was more than time.

If his brother had kept on trying to treat him like a baby who needed his strong older brother to so much as get dressed in the morning, Tyelkormo would have had to bite him as he did once upon a time as a child. Yes, Tyelkormo’s patience with being coddled was gone. Disappeared. Went to settle in the void.

And for now at least things were well enough and back to normal:

Makalaurë was back trying to pretend he was a good king and not at all writing laments about their father and elder brother during the day and treating all the files and information they gave him during the evening and half the night.

Seriously, why was it their MINSTREL brother who was king? At this rhythm Makalaurë was going to kill himself through exhaustion, and that’s all it was going to do.

Carnistir was elated to focus again on trying to set up a proper trade in and outside the camp, with whoever willing to discuss trade with him at all, which was always deeply interesting to see as, in his tactics to set up and discuss trades, Tyelkormo often recognized manners from both their parents, Makalaurë’s gift with words, and even some of his own ways to circle and lead a prey exactly where he wanted it to be.

Curufinwë was back with his son to create wonders of weapons and defences. And thanks the Valar for small mercies because there was only so much talk of blacksmithing that Tyelkormo could tolerate without crying for mercy, and he had alas reached his limit within one hour the first day of suffering enjoying his brother’s company after his injury.

And the Ambarussa were both surprisingly efficient at talking with the sindar-speaking elves they met and unsurprisingly efficient at leading hunts as well on Tyelkormo’s command. 

The Oath seemed to be… Dormant. Patient. Quiet for the moment, leaving them to pick up the pieces of their lives until such a time it’d rear up its ugly head again.

Finally, that day, Tyelkormo found himself surprised that Makalaurë summoned him to what served as his office outside of their scheduled daily meetings. 

By the time he joined his brother in the room, their other siblings were with Makalaurë already.

“You summoned me?” Tyelkormo asked Makalaurë with a drawl.

Hey, they were in private and even if Makalaurë was technically their king, he remained his brother, Tyelkormo knew him too well to bother respecting the crown above annoying his brother.

Priorities.

“Moringotto sent us a message. He says that he holds Maitimo hostage and will not release him unless we leave far from Beleriand and abandon our war.”

“I beg you, tell me you don’t actually believe he’ll ever willingly release our brother?”

Makalaurë, Maglor as he started to call himself, using the Sindarin version of his name, hesitated but shook his head.

“I too have heard the stories of the elves that are teaching us Sindarin, brother. I just…”

Tyelkormo nodded, bitterness in his heart. Maglor didn’t want the whole responsibility of dooming their brother to endless torments to fall on his shoulders alone and just passed along the hot coal.

He would remember that.

“You know my answer.”

“I’d rather hear it anyway.”

Coward. Coward. Coward. Makalaurë Kanafinwë Maglor… No matter what name he used was a coward parading with a golden crown that suited him not at all.

Makalaurë looked at him with a clear challenge on his face and Tyelkormo sneered at him.

Oh he knew it worried the rest of their brothers, the idea that this argument would grow between them again.

He got it.

But he had difficulties to respect an elf so unable to take his responsibilities, and he knew that Makalaurë had difficulties to accept the necessity of not fighting for their brother now.  

“If we give in now, we’re lost, and for nothing: Morgoth will never release our brother. I don’t know how much plainer I can make it. I don’t know how many times I must repeat it for it to make sense to you, Maglor.” Tyelkormo said sharply.

And that was assuming that the dark Vala was even truthful when he claimed that their brother was still alive... And Tyelkormo was quite skeptical on that point. 

He dearly hoped for the sake of his brother that he was dead and not still suffering what torment Morgoth could devise in that fortress. 

“I’m just… Making sure you didn’t change your mind.” Maglor answered him. 

“Kano… We’re all chess pieces on a game board that is already rigged against us. Either you learn strategy, or you’ll kill us all, and our people with us, for nothing, doing nothing, and dooming us. He says he holds Nelyo hostage and if we give in to his demand, he’ll use that forever to make us dance to his tune. What do you want to be Makalaurë? A free elf, obeying our father’s oath and gaining our freedom from it all, or a thrall of Morgoth chained to his will by the captivity of our sibling? What would Nelyo do, do you think?”

“Don’t worry, Tyelko. I have a good memory, as you know. I’ll always remember everything you say.”

“Then at least act like it.”

Tyelkormo was starting to get fed up with his brother. If he wasn’t to the point of contemplating active murder, it was starting to reach the point where he was contemplating the merits of undermining him in public until he either stepped up to his role or passed up the crown.

Yes, it was petty. Yes he had enough. No, he wasn’t above humiliating his brother and taking the crown if that continued.

It wasn’t even like his brother even wanted the damn thing and if he had to be the one who constantly made that hard decision, then he could as well do the rest, and spare Maglor the burden of being able to doom all of them in a fit of stupidity. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been taught as well as Makalaurë had been anyway.

Tyelkormo’s eyes fell on Curufinwë who was looking at him thoughtfully and he shook his head.

Better not think that too loud, his crafty sibling might well try to help him by actually making it happen.