The Heat From The Ashes 2

The Heat From The Ashes

Part 2

Posted: September 19, 2008

*****

Fingon tried to hold down his cousin as he screamed in pain. They had arrived in Mithrim a week ago. Only Turgon had the courage to come forward to take his cousin’s tortured body from his brother’s weary hands. Artanis and Aredhel had screamed in fright. Fingolfin had gasped in horror. Maedhros’s brothers rode from their castle in haste and demanded that they be allowed to convey him to their palace. But Fingolfin would not hear of moving his nephew until his condition turned stable, for Maedhros had reached the end of elvin endurance and hovered between life and death. He had never gained consciousness as his soul walked through the void and the darkness, reliving his torments.

“Never had I dreamt of this, that my brother would be reduced to this misery," Maglor, who was tending to his brother’s wounds, said sadly, “Morgoth should pay!”

Fingon nodded, then said firmly, “You have taken neither food nor rest in days. Go and rest yourself. I will watch over him tonight.”

Maglor opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged saying, “If you wish so, I know I leave him in the best of hands.”

Fingon looked at his shivering cousin. Maedhros looked more peaceful in the moonlight. But the scars especially the one around his pale, long neck caused by the iron collar, reminded Fingon of all that had passed in Angband. He shuddered, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, he found himself staring into the pewter grey eyes of his cousin.

Fingon smiled and kissed his cousin’s brow lightly murmuring, “I am glad that you have finally awoken.”

Maedhros said hoarsely, “You saved me.”

Fingon shook his head, “I had to save you to save myself, cousin mine. Would you not have done the same for me?”

Maedhros smiled sleepily before whispering, “I am afraid, will you stay with me?”

“It was never my intention to leave you, Maitimo," Fingon caressed the bald head of his cousin, he continued to himself, “Macalaurë is right, Morgoth, you shall pay twice over for what you have wreaked on my cousin.”

Maglor decided to move his brother to the castle of Himring. While both Fingon and Fingolfin were against this, Maglor was adamant, saying that his brother would be humiliated beyond imagination if he lay helpless in his uncle’s camps. Maglor had a caravan brought to his brother’s tent.

Fingon lifted Maedhros slowly taking care not to accidentally disturb the bandages that covered his cousin’s body. A gasp of pain arose from the deeply sedated Maedhros’s lips as Fingon’s arms lifted his mutilated body. Fingon rested Maedhros against his chest, and looked down on his cousin’s face. There was still a weary pride on those features. Fingon bent to press a chaste kiss to his cousin’s lips. To his amazement, the dry, cracked lips were warm and inviting. A strange feeling arose in his heart. Outside, Maglor hailed him again,

Fingon whispered to the sleeping form, “Get well soon, my cousin.”

Maedhros opened his eyes slowly at the sound of a melodious voice singing softly. There was a cold sensation on his body. He shuddered.

“Maitimo," the voice hailed him happily as it broke off the song, raven black hair surrounded his face as his younger brother kissed him on the forehead.

“Macalaurë," Maedhros whispered disbelievingly as he tried to raise himself on one hand to see his brother better.

“Yes," Maglor frowned, and pushed him back gently onto the bed, “You stay still now," he brandished the wet cloth he had in his hand, “I was hoping to restore my brother to his former glory.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes as Maglor began scrubbing hard at the now fading scars on his body. His right hand, or where his hand had once been, did not cause him much discomfort.

Maedhros winced as Maglor cursed Morgoth loudly before laying the cloth aside and resting his head on his elder brother’s chest murmuring, “Get well soon, brother.”

Maedhros could feel the wetness of his brother’s tears on his stomach. He sighed and ran his hand through Maglor’s hair, whispering, “Yes, Macalaurë, for you.”

Maedhros knew that his brother needed him to be strong again, Maglor was not made for leading their people. Yet he had taken charge unwillingly during his brother’s absence because no other of Feanor’s sons were fit to rule over the Noldor. More than that, Maedhros burned to show everyone that the eldest grandson of the house of Feanor had not become a wretch, confined to his bed, dependant on his brother’s charity for the least of his needs.

Fingon watched his sister outride Turgon as they raced into the camp. A smile broke on his features as he took in their good spirits.

“What news?” he asked his sister as she dismounted.

She laughed before turning her horse towards the stables. Turgon approached him and said happily, “He walks unaided, sups and cares for himself unaided. He even has begun practicing to write and duel with his left. Indeed, he leads all the councils of the court now.”

Fingon noticed a flicker of unease cross his brother’s visage. He demanded, “What are you not telling me?”

“He does not smile, his eyes are cold as if they still gaze over the darkness of the Enemy," Turgon hesitated, “He is changed.”

Maedhros walked slowly through the dark corridors. He could hear Celegorm’s loud voice raised in a raucous cry as the hunting party rode into the courtyard. His brothers had returned.

A swish of robes behind him and a soft, “Maitimo?” heralded Maglor’s presence.

“Come," Maedhros stood to let his brother catch up with him, “We should go welcome our brothers.”

Maglor said crossly, “Brothers who prefer pleasure over sharing their kin’s pain.”

Maedhros sighed, he had silently reproached his five youngest brothers a long time for their lack of concern. But then, he knew that they had not known concern because Nerdanel and Feanor had started arguing shortly after Maglor’s majority. So only the two eldest siblings had had a happy childhood. So he really had no right to reproach them.

Caranthir and Celegorm rushed forward to meet their brothers saying at the same time, “It is good to be home again.”

Not one word did they utter to ask of Maedhros’s welfare. Maglor smiled tightly before taking his leave abruptly. Maedhros waited until he had greeted all his siblings and enquired about their hunt, which they were quite eager to recount. After they had all retired complaining of tiredness, Maedhros sighed and went to his chamber.

Fingon rode at a breakneck speed up the steep paths to the castle. It had been two years. He had heard reports of his cousin’s almost complete revival. Both Fingolfin and Turgon had visited Maedhros more than three times and they had returned in good cheer. Now Maglor had summoned him.

He met Maglor in the courtyard. There was a tiredness on those handsome features as he greeted Fingon in his melodious voice.

“Where is he?” Fingon demanded.

Maglor smiled as he led Fingon into the castle remarking, “It is not yet dawn, cousin. You are truly impatient. He is not up yet probably. It is a surprise.”

Fingon blushed, he was eager and yet afraid to see his cousin, “Is he well?”

Maglor was silent a moment before replying, “The shadows haunt him, Fingon, and I fear they shall haunt him ever," he continued more happily, “But I will not dampen your arrival with all that. Come, let us go to his room. He will be happy to see you for he has asked much of you these two years.”

Maglor left Fingon at the door to his brother’s chamber murmuring, “I will see you at breakfast, cousin.”

Fingon knocked once and his cousin’s melodical voice answered, “Come in, Macalaurë, since when have you knocked?”

Fingon opened the door and gasped, for Maedhros had changed. This was not the proud, fey prince who had been his playmate in the lands of Aman, this was not the broken, marred soul whom he had rescued from Angband. Before him stood a handsome yet maimed person, those grey eyes shone with pride, restraint and infinite sadness. There was an extreme beauty in Maedhros as he stood against the window, his tall, slender form, wrapped in long grey silken robes, encased by the red rays of the dawn. His coppery red hair was bound back into a long braid that reached his hips. Fingon drank in his cousin’s beauty and sighed, long dormant feelings stirred in his mind.

“Cousin," Maedhros walked towards him, a welcoming smile on his lips, “It is unexpected.”

“It was a surprise arranged by me and Maglor," Fingon walked to him and embraced him tightly, his heart beating faster as the warmth of his cousin’s body seeped onto him. Maedhros stiffened for an instant before returning his embrace.

“You took a long time coming," Maedhros murmured as he led Fingon to a chair by the fire and then returned with two goblets in his hand, he placed them on a table by the chair, and then moved again to fetch a bottle of wine and settled in a chair opposite Fingon.

He handed the bottle to Fingon saying, his eyes averted, as he said, “You will have to do the honours, cousin.”

Fingon said quietly, “You are well, cousin?”

“Indeed," Maedhros took the proffered goblet and ran a finger over its rim slowly, “Maglor has not spared anything to make sure that I am well," he smiled lazily, “Sometimes I wonder who is the elder brother amongst us.”

Fingon smiled, “Then I am glad, for you look much better for his efforts, cousin.”

Maedhros set his goblet on his lap softly, murmuring, “I have taken to riding again," insecurity and vulnerability flashed in his eyes as he continued hesitantly, “I asked for you when I woke first, cousin, and they told me you were not there. Since then not a day has passed that I have not hoped to see you. Then I gave up that you would come, for both Turgon and Finrod have come more than once, yet you did not come," he held his hand to halt Fingon’s words, “let me finish, cousin, I thought that you stayed away because you despised me for what I had been, for the weakness I had shown on the Thangorodrim, for my tears and my screams," his voice shook, “I had persuaded Maglor to let me ride for your camp, though he refused steadily.”

*****

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