Maedhros was not unaware of the scowls, the whispers, the sneers around him, or the way parents hurried their children away. He walked on steadily, shoulders down, back straight, chin up, face neutral. He was a scion of the House of Finwë and he would not be intimidated by those too afraid to follow their rightful King in the Noldor's darkest hour. He was accustomed to being hated and scorned and feared, and as being rebodied had not modified the general attitude towards him, so it would not modify his royal disregard of the reactions he garnered. (And if he was lonely, and tired of being shunned, and longed for companionship once again, well, no one need ever know.) So on he walked, through the streets of Tirion.
Something caught his eye – a little Elf-maid, only about twenty years old, stood watching him, wide-eyed but unafraid. His gaze devoured her face greedily, noting the soft curve of her baby-fat cheeks, the solemnity in her large bright eyes, the baby-softness of her hair. How long had it been, since last he had seen an Elfling, well and happy? (Twin peredhil, cautious and crying, rose in his mind and heart. He ruthlessly shoved the memory back down – they were both lost to him, now.)
He reached out, plucking a flower from a shrub as he passed it. A few small steps and he went to one knee in front of her, right arm draped casually across his other leg, hand dangling, as he presented the flower to her with a small warm smile. "For you, pretty maid."
She considered him very seriously before accepting the flower with due gravitas. She sniffed it delicately before dropping him a pretty little curtsy of thanks. He smiled again and, resisting the urge to lay his hand on her head, stood up backwards away from her, aware of her terrified mother in his periphery, some several yards away.
He had barely made it another dozen steps before a very dear, long-lost voice cut through the silence in a tone so incredulous it was practically solid. "Timo?!"
Swallowing hard twice – which did exactly nothing for the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat – he turned around, croaking out "Finno?"
The very next moment he had an armful of cousin, face buried in familiar gold-ribboned dark hair, and finally, finally, something was right with the world again.
