Summary: Achilles regards his honor as sacred, but he is not the first to do so. Sequel to "Weakness" and "Strength." Features the same major Greek and Elven characters, plus two new faces. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Sorry, I still don't own them, and I still am not making any money off of them. But that's okay – I love them to death anyway.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone, and thanks as always for your patience with this fic. This was yet another chapter (of many) where I had the bulk of it written or figured out, but adding in filler and connecting the dots, etc. just took me forever. Thank you's also to those of you who have favorited or added this story to your alerts, and special kudos to Angeline and Trollmelafor their encouraging reviews on the last chapter. So now here is Chapter 10 for your literary enjoyment, or so I at least hope. Until next time, my friends!
Chapter 10
"The oath of Feanor and the evil deeds that it had wrought did injury to the design of Maedhros, and he had less aid than should have been…But in the west Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros, took counsel with Himring, and in Hithlum the Noldor and the Men of the house of Hador prepared for war."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Silmarillion"
In time, even Achilles was finally cleansed of the encounter with the giant spiders, and the discussion then turned to their latest predicament. For although they were still on the borders of the dark-infested forest, the imminent thunderstorm was far too near to consider moving their camp farther along to the north. The trees themselves might have offered some protection from the elements, but there was still too much risk associated with entering the woods. Better by far to face the fury of the storm than those monsters descended of ancient Darkness.
And furious it was. Despite all the storms that had assailed the rugged coasts of their home in Phthia over the years, Patroclus couldn't recall the last time he had actually trembled before the wrath of one. Until now. Never before had he felt so exposed and vulnerable before the violence of a tempest! He had always been inside a shelter of some sort, even if it was nothing more than a tent made of animal skins.
A mere four years ago, Achilles doubtless would have taken extra pains to ensure his cousin's meager comfort against the gale; but this time he did no such thing. In part, the tactful neglect assured Patroclus that his guardian was coming to accept him more and more as an able-bodied man; yet there was still just enough of a child in him to miss those concerned attentions which had been part of his life for over a decade.
As it was, the travelers sat enveloped in their cloaks and huddled together in a tight circle, with their horses gathered on one side and a cluster of large boulders on the other, standing as a barrier between them and the tumultuous Sea.
But Maedhros was not with them. Despite the danger, he had still left on foot before the breaking of the storm to search for Maglor. Only Fingon had tried in vain to gently dissuade him from such madness.
"Please, Maitimo," he had reasoned, "searching now cannot avail you, for surely even your brother must seek shelter on a night like this!"
Yet Maedhros, as resolute as ever in his so-far hopeless quest, had merely responded, "I agree. That is why I must look for him in places of shelter."
And so the eldest son of Feanor battled all night through the thrashing winds and the driving rain. With streams of water running unheeded down his pale face, Maedhros felt another twinge of guilt pluck at his heart, and he hardened his soul against it. Such was his way now in response to those unwanted and unhelpful sentiments. For while some might call it selfish of him to expose Fingon, and perhaps even the others, to greater dangers than they would have otherwise encountered traveling by ship, Maedhros personally could not find it within himself to regret the decision.
A sea voyage also would have remarkably shortened the amount of time Fingon had to wait to be reunited with his son; but on the other hand, if they had not come by land, what chance could there be of Maedhros' own reunion with Maglor? He simply had no choice but to press on. Just as Fingon had not forsaken him on that sheer mountainside all those millennia ago, he could not and would not abandon the only brother who'd been by his side until the bitter end.
So determined that Maglor must have taken refuge from the storm if he chanced to be nearby, Maedhros thoroughly investigated every hidden cave and secluded alcove in which a grown Elf might have sought out shelter. He was so intent in his searching that it seemed only a moment before the feel of coming dawn enticed him as it always did to turn around and rejoin the others.
But this time he did not turn back.
The maelstrom was naught but a memory when morning finally arrived, and the sky at last was clearing to reveal rosy fingers of light poking up over the eastern horizon. A host of long, thin clouds stretched out high above the travelers, their shadowed undersides reminding Patroclus of how a fleet of ships must look to a swimmer underwater.
Collectively, the four Greeks could scarcely be concerned by Maedhros' continued absence when he had already proven himself wont to vanish and reappear with little or no warning. Rather, the true surprise came when Fingon mounted his horse and suggested with little ado that they leave the camp without waiting for Maedhros to return.
"My cousin will be to the north," he explained succinctly. "We can bring his horse with us and find him along the way as we travel."
Nevertheless, they still rode at a good pace for over an hour before finally catching up to the stubborn red-headed Elf in question. Maedhros marked their approach from afar and mounted his returned steed without a word when they had drawn near. Then, refusing to so much as glance either to the right or to the left, he immediately pulled out in front to lead the party, as though he were already anxious for them to reach their next stop so he could resume his search. The relentless determination with which he urged his horse, and therefore those behind him, to greater speeds than usual also suggested that he had little interest in the journey itself.
But Fingon lingered behind him and watched his cousin's back as they rode, looking uncommonly sad.
Twilight hung suspended in the western sky as the travelers settled into their next camp, but Maedhros stood apart, tall and silent, with his face to the Sea. At any moment he would leave to begin his nightly searching, and Achilles knew he must move quickly if he wished to take advantage of this opportunity. While many would not have called the act particularly wise, the son of Peleus firmly believed it to be necessary. So he wordlessly drew up alongside the Elf and looked straight on ahead, following the other's level gaze out over the waters.
It was not long before he spoke, though he could not even be certain he would receive an answer. "For what glory did you fight, all those years ago?"
"Glory?" Maedhros' reply resonated with disgust. "I have never fought for that."
"Surely for honor, then?"
The Elf snorted softly, and suddenly he seemed as one swallowed up in the depths of memory, or lost on the path of forgotten dreams. "It is difficult to fight for honor when you have none left to defend."
Achilles thought back to the conversation of his first encounter with Hector, Prince of Troy.
"Another great warrior once told me that only children and fools fight for honor – that he was somehow the nobler in fighting to defend his country. I respected him, yet his words have done little to change my mind on that account." He glanced sideways at his tall companion. "So why did you fight, then?"
Maedhros' eyes grew cold. "For revenge." His voice was low and menacing, and Achilles shuddered to hear it, like an icy tendril from the past slowly creeping up and down his battle-hardened limbs.
"We made war against the gods themselves…and bitterly did we pay for our folly. Pride, I suppose, was at stake there, and of necessity we defended fiercely our lands, our homes, our kin. But deep at heart, it was ever a war of vengeance and hatred for our Enemy, a battle to reclaim what we had lost."
His voice grew even softer. "Some forgot that, and dearly were they reminded of it."
But what that "reminder" had been Maedhros would not say, and Achilles did not think it was his place to ask. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know.
The Elf went on. "We may have much in common, Achilles, but you remind me more of one of my own brothers, whom we called 'The Fair'."
"And is that supposed to be a compliment?"
A wry smile twisted the former prince's handsome features. "Not at all."
Achilles chuckled in an attempt to keep the mood from becoming too oppressive. "He was a troublemaker, then?"
"Hmph." Maedhros shook his fiery head. "It would have been bad enough if he were content simply to disrupt matters within our own household; unfortunately, he and some of the others had a distinct talent for stirring up dissension everywhere they went. I can tell you their habits were of little help to me later on when I sought to secure alliances with the other Elven kingdoms of our day."
There stretched a quiet pause after that, until Achilles broached a new subject. "I never did learn what really happened when you and Patroclus disappeared during that first battle in the south."
It wasn't a direct question, yet Maedhros still humored him with an enigmatic answer. "If your cousin has not seen fit to tell you the truth of that day, then I see no reason why I should."
"Then won't you at least tell me if I owe you thanks for saving his life, or merely his pride?"
An indifferent shrug answered. "Both, I imagine. But truly, Achilles, I have ended enough lives in my time that the saving of one hardly merits any gratitude."
A puzzled frown creased the Myrmidon Lord's brow. "I think it does. Whatever your motives may have been, such an act is certainly more than I would have expected of you when we first set off on this adventure."
"Please, do not dwell on it too much, for I would not have you think too well or too ill of me. I have seen, and played, enough facades over the years that now I am content to simply be Maedhros, for better or for worse." The Elf sighed. "But if you really do wish to thank me, I will ask only this: let your cousin keep the dignity I have preserved for him, and do not tell him of this conversation."
"As you wish." Achilles slowly bowed his head to acknowledge the request, but when he looked up again, Maedhros was already gone.
Later that same night, while Fingon was off tending the horses, the Greek warriors again sat together reflecting on the day's events. And on their guests.
"Do you notice they never really ask for our help?" Patroclus asked the question of no one in particular, but it was the Ithacan on his right who answered him.
"If they do not ask for our assistance, then we can well assume that they don't need it. At this point, I suppose all they truly need is each other."
Eudorus then commented, "Fingon's loyalty is remarkable. He follows his cousin without question, and I don't know whether he should be commended or condemned for it."
"There have been many in support of both arguments over the years." Odysseus paused, contemplating, and slowly turned his head. "Would you have followed him, Achilles?"
The Myrmidon's golden head jerked upward from where he had been staring off into the fire's dancing flames. "You mean Maedhros? I am no Elf, nor was I there in the days of his leadership, so it's difficult to say. Yet he is such a compelling leader that one can't help but feel drawn to follow him…"
Even as his previous thought trailed off, Achilles carefully regarded Patroclus out of the corner of his eye and suddenly inquired, "Does Maedhros frighten you, cousin?"
The youth offered a nervous chuckle before replying. "Not usually – at least, not as long as I know he isn't angry with me."
The response was not nearly as direct as Achilles had been hoping for, but all the same, he was content enough to let it be. After all, he could not fault Patroclus for wanting to internalize what he deemed to be his own fears and struggles; Achilles likely had his own influence over the boy to thank for that.
"It's curious," Odysseus remarked abruptly, prodding the fire into a flare of sparks with a spare log. "As I learned about them when I was younger, I was always given the impression that Fingon was the more impetuous of the two – almost recklessly so. And now that I've met them, that perception has not been entirely disappointed…but after observing them, I do rather wonder if Maedhros is not as impulsive as his cousin in many ways. I would not have guessed it of him."
Eudorus shrugged, not bothering to look up from the uneven ground as he next spoke. "Maybe caution is not so necessary because he has less to lose now than he ever did before."
An oppressive, pensive silence was the only answer to his remark.