Disclaimer: I do not make any money off of the story or the characters.
Ch 11: Prognosis: broken beyond repair
The news of Makalaurë's awakening quickly spread around the camps. The sons of Fëanor descended on the healing tent like a flock of vultures. Nelyo was the first to arrive, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was glad Makalaurë was calmer, though secretly he was a little disappointed he wasn't there when Makalaurë woke the second time. Pityo arrived shortly after. The next day haled the arrival of the rest of the brothers.
The reunion was not as joyous as it should have been. Guilt and weariness still hung heavy in the air and permeated their body language. It was evident in the deep shadows around Nelyo's eyes and the unsteadiness of his hands, in the way Moryo grimaced when he looked at Makalaurë's injuries and in the way Pityo was constantly turning to the others for reassurance that everything would be fine. Curvo tried to remain aloof and distant, but found that his emotionless mask slipped a little lower every time he look at any of his brothers. In contrast, Teylko was agitated. He would pace around before settling on the edge of one of the chairs for a few minutes then he was back to pacing.
Makalaurë watched his brothers with mounting worry. He knew why they were acting like they were. It was his fault his brothers were so stressed. Tears slowly dripped down Makalaurë's cheeks.
"Maka? Are you alright?" Moryo asked upon spying his brother's tears. Makalaurë grey eyes were swimming with grief at he slightly shook his head. This caught the attention of the other Fëanorions.
"Are you in pain?" Moryo's face was creased with worry. Makalaurë shook his head once more. The tears were coming faster now. His brothers sat there in shock, unsure of what was causing Makalaurë's break down. Nelyo reached out a hand, but then he hesitated, remembering what happened last time he touched his brother.
Curvo, not noticing Nelyo's reservations, reached out and put a comforting hand on Makalaurë shoulder. As soon as he made contact, Makalaurë jerked away from the touch so violently that he fell off the opposite side of cot and on the floor. He quickly curled in on himself, his maimed arm cradled protectively against his chest while his other arm covered his head. They could all see that he was trembling violently, though whether it was from the silent, gut-wrenching sobs that he choked out or from the wild fear glinting in his eye was hard to tell.
Curvo looked like he was going to be sick where he stood frozen by the bedside. He had only been trying to help. He hadn't expected Makalaurë to react like that. Tyelko was by his side in a flash, pulling his unresisting brother over to another cot. Curvo sat with a thump, never talking his eyes off of Makalaurë.
"I didn't mean to, didn't mean to," he mumbled, hands twisting in his lap, "I was just trying to help. I didn't mean to."
His finally tore his eyes off the shaking Elf on the floor, turning them up to meet Tyelko's gaze. Tyelko saw they were bright with unshed tears. Though Curvo would never admit it, even under torture, he dearly loved his brothers. To be the cause of more suffering, however accidental, was like a knife to his heart. Tyelko briefly squeezed Curvo's shoulder and gave him a halfhearted smile before turning back to the sobbing Elf on the floor. Pityo quickly took Tyelko's place next to Curvo, though instead of a comforting hand, he enveloped his brother in a hug, pressing his whole body close to the smith.
It took the combined strength of Nelyo, Moryo and Teylko to get Makalaurë back on the bed. Makalaurë barely survived being manhandled. Unaware of where he was, he struggled blindly against their hands. His face lost all the color and his breaths came in frantic gasps as he hyperventilated in panic.
"Calm down Makalaurë," Nelyo gently coached as they repositioned Makalaurë on the cot, "You need to breath or you'll pass out."
Makalaurë blinked as Nelyo's gentle tone drew him out of his panic. It took a little while, but Makalaurë did calm down. As he watched his brother's still trembling form, Moryo tried to push down a worrying suspicion. Praying he was wrong, he tested his theory by trying to brush some of Makalaurë's cropped hair out of his face. Makalaurë shied away every time he reached out. Moryo resisted the urge to cluck in disapproval as his fears were confirmed.
"What did Morgoth do to you?" the dark Elf murmured, finally pulling away after the fifth failed attempt. Makalaurë shook his head and looked down at his lap.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable as the brothers struggled to come to terms with this latest development. Makalaurë didn't want to be touched. After the twins, he was the most touchy-feely of the sons of Fëanor, taking every excuse to hug, cuddle or be in physical contact with someone. For him to fear physical contact was a blow to their spirits and yet another reminder of how much they had failed Makalaurë. He was so changed, so broken. They all knew with out having to say it that their beloved brother would never be the same again.
Though no words were said, Makalaurë picked up on their pity and the way now they handled him even more like glass. He was ashamed of his reaction to touch, so Makalaurë forced himself to sit still when the healers touched him. Despite his best efforts, changing his bandages left him quivering with pent up fear and anxiety. The healers noticed, but said nothing, simply working a bit faster than they normally would have.
Under the bandages, some wounds healed quicker than others. The burns and cuts on his chest had closed over, turning into angry looking scars. The cracked ribs and bruised abdominal area were still tender to the touch, but looking much better. His back was stiff with shiny, sensitive skin and thick ropey scars where the deeper gashes had been. His left hand was still healing, but he had regained some mobility with it.
His right arm, however, still caused the healers concern. His shoulder had suffered so much abuse for so long that it quickly be came apparent that Makalaurë would never regain full use of the limb. The healers had procured a wooden brace to immobilize his shoulder and force it into the correct position so that what little healing could occur there would be in the right place.
The gash on his throat healed nicely, though it left an ugly scar that stood out boldly on his pale neck. Makalaurë's voice, something he had always prided himself over, was gone. Nelyo found that he was unable to look at his brother without seeing what was missing from the withdrawn, fearful shell of the Elf he once knew. Though he optimistically hoped that, somewhere under all the scars and pain was the old Makalaurë, but deep down he knew that was only a fool's hope.
Quenyan names:
Nelyo/Nelyafinwë/Maitimo/Russandol = Maedhros
Makaluarë/Kano/Kanafinwë = Maglor
Tyelko/Teylkormo/Turkafinwë = Celegorm
Carnister/Moryo/Morifinwë = Caranthir
Curvo = Curufin
Pityo/Pitafinwë = Amras