Chapter 3: Deliverance from Evil
Findekáno had spent many days seeking for life in Thangorodrim untainted by the evil of Morgoth, venturing nigh to the great Iron Prison Angband, cloaked by the very shade of mists and darkness Morgoth had cast over the land in victory. He had passed arduously through Hithlum, going always in secret. To the north and east he traveled, passing unhindered over Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow. Then, he came to the lands of Dor Daedeloth, and that was an evil crossing. Morgoth's beasts prowled the land, and many of them were crazed with hunger, unable to find sustenance in the barren plain, and they readily attacked him. This he survived with many trials, but he was undaunted still. At last, the Great Gate of Angband began to grow upon the horizon. After arriving in Middle-earth, he had stood at these gates, Morgoth's host having retreated behind them. Now, he entered the mountains of Thangorodrim to the west of that gate, and sought out a labyrinthine pathway, which would at length lead him into the heart of the mountains, and into Angband.
Though Findekáno wearied swiftly in the shadow of the Dark Vala, he continued to search desperately for any faint glimmer of light within the gloom that might shine from the spirit of Maitimo, his kinsman and friend of old. In the chill of Thangorodrim's deep valleys he sought for the heat of the fire that had once burnt within Fëanáro, that now burnt within his sons. But of Maitimo he found no trace in such places as he could come to. At times so weary of his hunt was he that he would enter reverie even as he walked in the deepest shadows of the great darkness which Morgoth had brought forth from the pits of his stronghold, and he would do so unwillingly, for his visions healed him not of the aching of his limbs and heart. Instead, he heard, as if from a great distance, the cries of Elves, of the Noldor, his kin, but he could not hope to reach them. He was lost within the mountains, and knew not the way to his kinsman, nor the way back to Hithlum.
Then, as his search became hopeless with the passage of time, the eldest son of Fingolfin despaired in the gloom. But, in defiance of the power of Morgoth, he drew from his light satchel a fair silver harp, wrought by the Noldor in Tirion, when the light of Telperion and Laurelin shone still, and playing upon it he sang tearfully. He sang praise for Manwë, and it seemed to him that a fair breeze passed between the sharp pinnacles of the black mountains, and he praised Varda, the Star-kindler, and even in that dimness the unsullied light of a single star shone in the heavens through the mists. And yet with more passion he praised Ulmo of the Water, who had ever been a friend to the Eldar and as great even as Manwë, most learned in the music of the Valar. Then, he perceived that, in the distance, his song was taken up. Tortured and fair the music became, and Findekáno rose in amazement. But the song fell and died out, leaving only an echo amidst the mountains of Thangorodrim.
So it was that, following this weakened, breaking voice, Findekáno found at last his cousin, though the sheerness of the precipice wall to which Maitimo was bound lay between them. Findekáno's sharp eyes could barely perceive the form of Maitimo, for it had become faint and wraithlike, and had wasted sadly in Angband's dungeons.
"Maitimo!" he cried with all the force he could muster. No answer came. "Maitimo!"
Maitimo could hear the voice from far below, and knew it, through a heavy mist, to be Findekáno, his friend of old. Many times he called out, each time finding that his words had been imagined, and that he was only just returning to consciousness. Then, he mastered himself by recalling the pain that gripped his body, and it brought him to wakefulness. "Findekáno," he said, but all that would come from his parched mouth was a hoarse whisper. "Findekáno! I am here!" he called as loudly as he could. He feared that Findekáno would not hear him.
Findekáno did hear him though, and frantically he began to search for a way up the sheer wall. He found none. "Do you know of a way up?" he shouted, and for a moment Maitimo made no reply.
"There is none, but it is good to see you, all the same." said Maitimo, weeping to see his kinsman had come for him. As he wept, he let his desperate request spill forth. "Give me peace!"
Findekáno backed away from the precipice, his heart torn by his cousin's cry.
"Please!" Maitimo wept, his pain only increasing as he became more aware. "Release me! Take my life. I cannot..." Indeed, Maitimo had been reduced to no more than a lame animal, without hope or will to survive. It was best for those animals to be delivered from the evil which life had become.
"No," Findekáno whispered.
"Deliver me," Maitimo said softly, and, somehow, Findekáno heard him.
"Please, no," said Findekáno, feeling a sob of rage building within him, but even as he did this he drew forth his bow and an arrow, and took deadly aim, so that all would end swiftly.
Maitimo saw this, and was at peace. He raised his head toward the heavens and uttered a final, silent prayer, then shut his eyes, waiting with a smile lingering upon his lips.
But Findekáno son of Fingolfin had prayed as well, even as he bent the bow, and his prayer was heard the louder, and as he loosed his arrow there came a great wind, and the new Sun was blocked from view by a great eagle. Thorondor this was, the Lord of all Eagles and servant of Manwë, and within his talons he caught the shaft effortlessly, then wheeled about and landed before Findekáno.
"The Noldor have long had the pity of the Valar," said the great bird. "What do you wish of me?"
"Only that you bear me to my kinsman, Maitimo, son of Fëanáro, that I might free him from the device of Morgoth." Findekáno bowed low as he pleaded this.
"The Valar ask a price of you for this deed," said Thorondor. "We ask that you do all you might to heal the Noldor. Loving this son of Fëanáro is enough." And then Thorondor bowed his head, and let Findekáno ride upon his feathered back to the higher face of the precipice, where Maitimo hung.
From Thorondor's back Findekáno could not reach his cousin. In a brave feat, he leapt from the bird and caught one hand onto a small protruding ledge only inches below the reach of Maitimo's feet, and he pulled himself up until he could stand upon this ledge, barely able to balance. He steadied himself against the rock, and then looked upon what was Maitimo. Old blood stained the Elf's body, and scars unnumbered marred the white skin. Nearly every bone in Maitimo's body was made visible from many months of starvation. The entire area between his thighs was maimed, and the right hand seemed lifeless, and for these things Findekáno could see there would be little hope of healing.
Findekáno reached for the iron band around his cousin's wrist, finding himself barely tall enough to reach it, for Maitimo was long-limbed and of an impressive height, but there was no lock upon it to pick. He laid his hand upon Maitimo's chest, and watched as he came back to wakefulness.
"Findekáno," he breathed. "How did you come here?"
"I prayed," Findekáno smiled sadly. He wrapped his arm around Maitimo so that he would not fall, and then removed his cloak. Very carefully, he draped the heavy garment around his cousin's gaunt, naked body, and then he drew forth a dagger. Seeing this, Maitimo sighed.
"Thank you," he wept, thinking Findekáno would slay him.
"Do not be so quick to give me your thanks, Maitimo," Findekáno panted as he laboured away at the iron band, holding Maitimo tightly in his arms. When the device showed no sign of coming free, he tried to chip away at the rock around it, into which it was deeply set, but this only served to notch his blade, and he deemed it useless. An hour passed, and then another, but the manacle would not give way, and Findekáno realised that some dark spell of Morgoth's own make was upon it. Maitimo was in great pain from Findekáno's attempts to free him, for as Findekáno had held him close his body no longer hung by his wrist, and feeling had come back to his hand. The wrist and several other bones were grossly out of place, and the imprint of the band was drawn in blood upon his bruised skin. There was no hope of removing it.
"The cuff will not be broken," he said, and cursed, feverishly kissing Maitimo's cold brow.
"Then end it here," said Maitimo. "I am weary…I wish not to suffer longer." Outwardly, he seemed calm and composed, but Findekáno could see plainly the wildness and cold fear within Maitimo's jade eyes.
Findekáno held his cousin closer still, and clasped his free hand tightly, and brought it to his lips to kiss. His voice rose with passion as he spoke, and he took his kinsman's pale face in his hand, forcing their gazes to meet. "Miracles have brought me to you this day, Maitimo! Once already have I been blind to the blessings of the Valar, and I have paid dearly for it. I shall not let you forsake your life, Russandol, for I love you." He reached up and tenderly stroked Maitimo's copper hair, and brushed a stray tear away from his cheek. "I am going to take your hand. I am sorry, but my will is set."
Quickly, he drew Maitimo's head down to his shoulder, where his eyes were hidden that he might not see himself maimed. He could feel Maitimo's heart begin to race within his breast as he drew him closer. Maitimo wrapped his free arm about Findekáno, clutching him desperately. But Findekáno could do nothing to ease the pain. He feared that the beleaguered Elf would die despite his efforts from blood loss, unless the Valar blessed them with yet another miracle.
He tore a long strip from his shirt, and bound it tightly about Maitimo's arm, just above his elbow. He knew in his heart that such a crude tourniquet could never save Maitimo should he botch the cut itself. He pinned the frail arm against the stone, should Maitimo struggle, then pressed the blade of his dagger lightly against the white skin of Maitimo's wrist.
His knife was dulled from long hours of working away at the stone of the mountainside, and so a quick cut would be very difficult, yet it would not do for slow precision either. With a final prayer, he began to whisper quiet, soothing words, slowing his cousin's heart before cutting him, and he sang softly an old Quenya lullaby; a warm reminder of Nerdanel.
"I love you as well, Findekáno," Maitimo whispered, his voice trembling violently, and yet he relaxed and entrusted what remained of his beaten body to Findekáno.
Pressing down with all his might, Findekáno drew his blade across Maitimo's wrist. Blood spilled forth, and Maitimo screamed brokenly amid his tears. Yet still, the hand was attached by a thick stretch of skin, and this Findekáno sliced through as well, stubborn bone splintering at last. Maitimo was calling out rapidly now, as he had when they had tortured him in Angband, praying frantically, his Quenya incoherent.
The remains of his arm slipped easily from the tight band, slicked by his fast-flowing blood, and he fell heavily into Findekáno, who set him on the back of Thorondor, then mounted behind him. Like a child he held the weeping Maitimo to his chest, cradled in his cloak, which he soaked in the remaining contents of his water-skin and placed over the bleeding stump pressing hard to stem the flow. Swifter than the wind, they were born back toward Hithlum.
Findekáno spoke constantly to Maitimo throughout the journey, trying to keep him conscious. This did not seem difficult at all, for Maitimo was completely aware, despite his loss of blood. "Such torture," Findekáno heard him whisper once. Thinking that he spoke of the loss off his hand, Findekáno's very soul was wrenched. "Forgive me, Maitimo," he wept.
"It is over now that I have seen you." When Findekáno looked questioningly toward his cousin, Maitimo answered, trembling. "Upon that mountain, I dreamed every night that you were dead, friend."
When they arrived back at the Noldor's encampment night had fallen, and all was illuminated in the light of moon and stars. Thorondor gave a great triumphant call and landed in the midst of the camp as all rose from sleep to see what bird cried so freely in the night.
One figure stopped abruptly as he came nearer to Thorondor, and, trembling slightly, he said, "Maitimo?"
Maitimo opened his eyes, which he had closed while trying to breathe through his pain. They met with Findekáno's, and Findekáno smiled slightly, seeing new intensity in them, and then he watched as Maitimo mustered what strength he had left to him and answered. "I am here, brother!" Findekáno perceived then that, being free from Angband and the band of steel which Morgoth had made, some part of Maitimo's spirit was set free, and now fought death with such intensity that he would draw strength from the steadying pain in his wrist, rather than seek to escape it. "I am here," he whispered. The flame within him was rekindled at last.
Makalaurë reached out and took Maitimo's light body into his arms as Findekáno lowered him with care, and, seeing his bleeding wrist, called for healers to make ready a bed and gather their supplies. "Valar and Eru bless you, Findekáno!" Makalaurë said, and then hastened away, bearing Maitimo with him. Ever after, Findekáno would wonder at how the two elder sons of Fëanáro had praised the Valar in desperate times, though their father had never seen past their kinship to Morgoth.
Findekáno slid from Thorondor's back, but he fell to the ground as he landed, as if all the weariness that had gone unnoticed in his search for Maitimo had suddenly come upon him now that his task was fulfilled. He rose to his hands and knees, and then the perilous beak of Thorondor nudged him gently to his feet.
"Valar grant you strength," Thorondor seemed to smile, and the prayer alone seemed to revitalise Findekáno. "But forget not your debt. Your place is at his side."
Findekáno nodded in compliance, and bowed respectfully. "My thanks, Lord of Eagles, and give my thanks also to the Valar, for any of less goodness would have long ago forsaken the Noldor."
"Go to him! He needs you most now." Thorondor said as he spread his gargantuan wings. He took flight, and then was gone, merging at length into the Western horizon.