Chapter XVI
Alcarino's visits became scarce and while Maedhros had nothing against the healer himself, the longer he didn't have to see him, the more pleased he was. After that fall on the yard Alcarino kept watching him more closely, but stopped once he made sure the broken rib was healing nicely. However, there was still one issue Maedhros would rather not go back to.
The arm. The healer left him in peace for two weeks after the wounded told him to drop the examination, but the issue was bound to return sooner or later. Alcarino came in the late afternoon, when the eldest son of Feanor was alone in his room. He asked if he should call one of Maedhros's brothers to accompany them.
"No. I trust you," replied Maedhros shortly. His bothers assisted him in almost everything, so there was no need to ask one of them to be present at Alcarino's examinations.
"Alright, sit down. I want you to undress."
Maedhros nodded reluctantly. This visit was visibly different from the previous ones and he felt he was not going to like it. Nevertheless, he sat on the bed and unbuttoned his loose robe. The healer neither rushed him nor tried to help and Maedhros was grateful for that.
For some time Alcarino just watched the pink scars on the back and sides of the younger elf. Maedhros stared blankly at the wall, trying to pretend he was not seeing that gaze, not feeling the fingers tracing his scars.
"Breathe as deep as you can," ordered the healer. "If you feel any difficulties or pain, don't force it. And?"
"No difficulties..." Maedhros hesitated for a moment, then admitted with a hint of surprise. "It's better than it was before." For the last days the tight dressing had kept the ribs immobilized and even when they had removed it, he had been breathing shallowly as not to hurt his ribs. Anyway, he was so used to the limitations that the lack of them left him astonished.
"It was badly reset earlier," explained Alcarino. "I'm afraid such problems may occur later."
"Mmm..." Maedhros muttered grimly and reached for the robe. "May I?" He felt too exposed, even in Alcarino's presence.
"Not yet. I want to see your shoulder finally." The elder elf stopped him.
"Alcarino, no..."
"We cannot delay it forever, Nelyafinwe," said the healer firmly. "You need to exercise your arm and rebuilt the muscles. I didn't want to start while you had problems with ribs, but it's high time to do it. Massages are not enough."
"What do you expect of me?" asked Maedhros shortly, ceasing his objections. "What would you have me do?"
"We'll see. First let me see your shoulder."
Feanor's firstborn clenched his teeth and nodded. Alcarino elevated his right arm and rested it on the top of Maedhros's head. He held it with one hand, while Maedhros could feel the fingers of the other on his shoulder.
Wind blew through the open window and Maedhros shivered with disgust, though the air was warm. His shoulder hurt, the pain radiating up and up and the healer's fingers seemed to dig deep into his thin skin, into every space between the bones. 'Alcarino, it's Alcarino,' he repeated silently, but the healer was standing almost out of his sight. The next blow of the wind felt cool and his heart raced. He clenched his fingers on his robe; soft, still warm. Rich, delicate, soft, only with rough lines of embroidery. His arm moved, just like he had dangled then... The wind was cold up there, merciless; this one is warm. Porridge, he ate porridge, sweet, with apples, there was a pip inside... His shoulder burns, the next blow will tear the joint... Perhaps he will finally fall down...
Alcarino put more pressure and the sick elf jerked away, his arm swinging abruptly down. A moment later Maedhros held his arm closely to his chest, clutching it along with the robe he still had in grasp.
"Enough!" He growled, barely noticing the healer. He shivered, this time in surprise, as Alcarino tossed a light blanket on his back.
"I won't do that anymore, I know what I needed to," promised the healer.
Maedhros nodded reluctantly and grabbed the ends of the blanket, pulling it tightly around himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the nice, warm sensation. The aching in his shoulder slowly subdued.
"Which shirt would you like?" Asked Alcarino freely as he went to the wardrobe. "I need something where I will be able to roll up the sleeves."
"W-what?" Maedhros raised his head and glanced at the healer unconsciously. "Doesn't matter, really."
He didn't really know what Alcarino was up to, but he reluctantly let the blanket slid and allowed him to put on a shirt and roll up the sleeves. He breathed slowly and the healer did not go out of his sight.
"Give me your arm. I want to see how it works."
The healer removed the bandages and uncovered the stump. Maedhros got used to having his arm covered under thick layers of dressings; he usually turned his gaze away when Alcarino redressed them. This time he looked at the elder elf, trying to ignore his fingers.
"Do you really have to?" he muttered without looking down.
"Let the skin breathe. It is healing nicely." Alcarino moved his fingers down to the stump and Maedhros couldn't help but shiver. "But that's not it. I want you to repeat my movements as much as you are able."
Maedhros reluctantly stretched out his arms and mimicked the healer's gestures step by step, but his gaze ran down to the place where his wrist once was. Alcarino kept talking to him calmly, explaining the next commands, but Maedhros could not focus. His arm drew his attention and repelled him at the same time. His, not his, bones and dry skin. Bend, straighten, bend... His fingers clenched subconsciously, his arm shook in effort. 'Focus...'
"I've had enough," he hissed finally and backed away. He reached and pulled the sleeve back down; the bony stump disappeared in the folds of fabric. The shirt rubbed against the tender ending, but at least covered it to some extent.
Alcarino nodded in agreement and didn't push him further to have the arm on sight. He waited a moment and then reached encouragingly. Maedhros sighed and went back to exercising.
xxx
After the exercises Maedhros was left unsettled enough to stay awake for most of the night, but he admitted that only in the morning. Nonetheless, he insisted on going to the lake and Amras accompanied him eagerly, knowing his sick brother was more likely to rest peacefully at the lakeshore; there was more air in there and the surroundings were far more quiet than the yard. Just like he expected, they walked a bit along the shore in the shallow water, but then Maedhros lied down on the grass and fell asleep.
This was how Fingon found them, as he came to visit and was pointed to seek for them by the water. He was pleased to see his friend outside the house, visibly at ease, and as he did not intend to disturb his rest, he chatted with Amras loosely.
Less than a quarter later Maedhros abruptly sat up with a cry of dismay, making them both jerk. Amras saw his brother frantically shaking off the ants walking on him and he snorted, but the laughter died in his throat as he met the unseeing eyes of the wounded.
"Get up, Maitimo," he suggested, trying to stay calm and reaching his hand to help him, but Maedhros acted as if he didn't hear him. His breath quickened, his forehead covered with sweat.
Fingon embraced the wounded and dragged him to his feet. Along with Amras they led him a few steps away from the feral anthill. Maedhros let them, though barely.
"Easy, Maitimo, it's just ants," Amras tried to reassure him, shaking the insects off. "They are not dangerous."
Maedhros didn't look like he had heard him. He half hung in Fingon's grasp and shivered. Amras exchanged helpless glances with his cousin, then bent and splashed some water into Maedhros's face, splashing also Fingon.
The eldest son of Feanor shivered, at first surprised, but then understanding showed in his eyes.
"Are you with us, Maitimo?" Asked Amras, crouching beside his brother and embracing him from the other side.
"I am, Ambarussa, I am." Maedhros was panting as if he had just finished running. "Fin?" he asked as he saw who was embracing him.
"Yes," Fingon smiled." Shall we sit? There is nothing in here," he suggested, because Maedhros was barely standing.
They sat on Fingon's cloak. Maedhros pulled up his legs, embraced them with his arm and rested his head in his knees. Amras sat right next to him, with his hand still on his brother's back, waiting for him to calm is breath.
"What happened?" Asked Fingon cautiously when Maedhros collected himself a bit and raised his head.
"Vermin." The eldest son of Feanor shivered with disgust. "There was a lot of them. There, in the dungeons..." he specified as he saw his brother's questioning look. "They were walking on me as I could not move... They had beaten me almost to death... Or that's what I thought then," he laughed bitterly at his own naivety.
"And you had to choose to sleep on an anthill," snorted Amras, trying to lighten the mood. "Perhaps Kano lectures me rightly for not taking even a blanket."
"As if a blanket would stop them." Maedhros caught the topic and smiled mockingly. "But Findekano," he turned towards his cousin with interest. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. What brings you here?"
"I came with my brother," explained Fingon. "They have gone today with Morifinwe to meet Moriquendi, just like we agreed."
"Ah, right..." Maedhros leaned more comfortably against his brother. Then it struck him what his cousin had said and he moaned in despair. "Moryo. And Turukano. Went together. And you are just sitting here?" He asked, glaring sceptically at his friend.
"Easy, Findarato has gone with them," Fingon reassured him and smiled merrily. "Besides, we cannot watch our younger brothers forever, can we?"
Amras snorted at this remark, but didn't move away from Maedhros.
"Who went from our side, Amras?" asked his brother weakly.
"No one, as far as I know." Amras shrugged, sharing Fingon's amusement in that matter. "I mean, Moryo took ten of our elves, but if you're asking whether Makalaure has gone with them, the answer is no. Besides," he grinned at his brother. "From what I know, Kanafinwe was the last person who has fallen out with Turukano, so maybe it's for the best."
Fingon seemed disturbed, but Maedhros took no notice of this remark, still more worried about Caranthir and Turgon surviving the trip.
"Findarato will manage them," repeated Fingon.
"Mmm..." murmured Maedhros, but he shook his head in doubt. "Shall we go back, Telvo?"
"Yes, of course." Amras was back on his feet at once, helping his brother get up.
Fingon shook his cloak and went to the horse with visible interest.
"I wouldn't do that," the youngest son of Feanor warned him. "Rimpalote tends to be moody around strangers."
"And you use him for Maitimo?" Fingon quirked an eyebrow.
This time it was Maedhros who smiled.
"He won't touch a redhead."
xxx
Despite his brothers' and cousin's efforts, Maedhros remained tensed and waited nervously for Caranthir. Fingon accompanied him for the most of the day, aside for an hour Maedhros spent exercising with Alcarino. At this time Feanor's firstborn stated firmly he wished to be alone with the healer.
"They're coming back." Maglor popped quietly into his brother's room quite a while after Alcarino had left. Maedhros wanted to rest a bit after the exercises, but he wished to be informed.
"Help me," asked the sick elf firmly. The healer made him change again, deciding that unbuttoning the robe was a great way o warm up fingers in his left hand. Right now he didn't have enough time to dress on his own in something more appropriate than a wrinkly shirt.
"Leave the shirt," Maglor stopped him as he glanced into the wardrobe. He fished out a dark green outer tunic and helped him put it on. The tunic was only slightly darker than the sleeves of the shirt and they almost mingled into one, but the silver star on the front contrasted all the better.
Maedhros smiled in approval. He had nothing against clean, rich clothes; a little bit of luxury reminding him he could change and he had something to choose from. Besides, Maglor chose less troublesome option than the robe with countless buttons.
"Wait a moment," said the singer before they left and he combed his brother's hair. "That's better," he smiled.
They joined Fingon outside, but before Maedhros had a chance to sit down, lone rider came to the yard. The fair hair of the elf drew attention, his blue eyes smiling. He jumped off his saddle and smiled friendly.
"Findarato," Maglor greeted him, ignoring the fact that Maedhros dug his fingers into his arm.
Cousin. Just cousin. Just Finrod. Maedhros stood, frozen, staring at him. Finrod seemed equally surprised at first.
"Maitimo! I can barely believe my eyes!" He laughed merrily and reached for his cousin, almost ran towards him.
The instinct was stronger. Maedhros stepped back and Maglor hissed warningly, also because his brother's nails dug deep into his arm as he tightened his grip.
Finrod froze for a moment, then composed himself and gave up his attempt to hug his cousin. He marked his surprise with a smile, reached more slowly, friendly. Maedhros was staring at him narrowly.
"Nelyo," muttered Maglor quietly, trying to loosen his brother's fingers. Maedhros shivered and let go of his arm. He reached uncertainly for Finrod's hand.
"Findarato. It is good to see you."
"Not as good as you." Finrod apparently decided he got the permission, because he grabbed Maedhros's hand and then closed him in careful hug, the smile never leaving his lips.
"Where is my brother?" interrupted Fingon. "And Morifinwe?"
"Turukano has gone straight back," explained Finrod, letting go of Maedhros, but still smiling. "Morifinwe should be here in the moment, he's dealing with his guests."
"See?" Fingon sent his friend a meaningful look. "Seems they both survived."
Maedhros nodded and grabbed Maglor's arm again, just to be sure. Finrod's presence, especially so unexpected, unsettled him, but at the same time he was reassured the trip went well. If he could judge anything from Finrod's enthusiasm, the talks were successful.
"And I see you survived with them," smiled Maglor.
"Trusting me as always, I see," snorted Caranthir suddenly. Maedhros, focused on Finrod, missed the moment when his brother joined them. He turned around and abruptly sucked air.
Caranthir was not alone. Two elves stood by his side, almost as tall as him. They wore brown, practical travelling clothes made of some fabric Maedhros could not recognize. He focused on the details, on chestnut, not overly long hair of the elf and the elleth's silver braid; anything but their stares. The strangers froze as well.
"Nelyafinwe," Caranthir spoke officially, breaking the silence. "Allow me to introduce Dillothel and Gilorn, our friends."
The elleth was first to recover, she stopped staring at Maedhros and bowed. Her companion followed her a moment later. Maedhros nodded back, trying to understand what Caranthir had in mind, bringing strangers like this, with no forewarning. But his younger brother was not done with formalities, he just changed the language.
"You are standing before Nelyafinwe Feanarion, the High King of Noldor, who had much..." The rest Maedhros did not understand; he had grasped only some words from the language of Middle-Earth elves in captivity, but his titles were used as mockery in every possible language.
Caranthir spoke probably about the tortures and captivity, for the strangers looked embarrassed and turned their gazes away. Then Caranthir told them about his saving when he introduced Fingon. Surprising how well-mannered he could be when it came to trading contacts, mused Maedhros, trying not to remember where he had heard this language last time and what pleas had come out among moaning. There was pride in his brother's voice, love and respect, perhaps a hint of superiority towards the guests, but though he spoke in foreign language, it was still Caranthir speaking, not anyone else. When he finished, Maedhros collected himself enough to ask the guests inside and offer a meal; he did not let go of Maglor's arm even for a moment.
xxx
The supper was pleasant. Caranthir took care of his guests, visibly dumbstruck in Maedhros's presence, leaving his cousins to his brothers. Maedhros praised the wine bought from the Sindar and voiced his approval to their trading contacts, but then he backed off from the discussion, letting Caranthir lead the conversation. He sat comfortably in his armchair, ignoring his plate, though Maglor had given him only food that could be dealt with using only one hand. He barely touched his meal, he gave up quickly and occasionally reached only for his goblet with wine. At first Maglor translated the most important things from the talk, but then he engaged himself in conversation with Fingon.
At some point the Sindar went quiet and Dillothel, who was sitting next to Caranthir, leaned towards him and finally braced herself to ask about their king's captivity. She kept glancing at Maedhros, which quickly got his attention. Caranthir answered her shortly and coldly, but Gilorn joined as well.
They were both interested in the fact that they were sitting with an elf who had survived being captured by the Enemy and managed to break free. They glanced at the eldest son of Feanor with respect and coyness, but also with hope that he might know something about their folk. They did not dare to disturb the miraculously rescued elf, so they were trying to get an answer from Caranthir, mentioning the names of their missing elves. Maglor was just wondering how to kick his brother under the table to make him change the subject, when Maedhros spoke out loud.
"They live," he said in Quenya and then, seeing the questioning looks of their guests, he switched into Sindarin, surprising his brothers. "Much... live. There... death best..." His voice was raspy, he spoke slowly, searching for some words he knew.
The language of the Middle-Earth elves sounded harsh in his mouth, almost obscene. Maglor felt his cheeks flush as soon as he thought that. Who knew where Maedhros had learned the language? And from who?
"So the rumours are true?" Gilorn leaned over the table. "Those lost... What happens to them?" The question was quiet, as if he was afraid to get an answer.
Maedhros must have understood, for he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled deeply, as if forcing himself to remain calm. And then he stared back at his interlocutor so intently he turned his gaze away.
"Labour. Dungeons. Much... Death," he spat singular words, and as he spoke, his breath broke and quickened. "Tortures. Pain... Humiliation. They... work. Dark. No star. Never." Maedhros's fingers turned white, clenched on the armrest, his whole thin body shaking. "No... No out. Never. Lotuialdis. Was. Orthor. Tortures." He enlisted two of the names mentioned before in the talk with Caranthir.
Maglor covered his shaking hand with his own, but he didn't know if he could interrupt. Next to them, their cousins listened in horror, because even if they did not understand, they certainly grasped the meaning of Maedhros's words.
"But you succeeded." Dillothel was staring intently, catching his every misspelled word. "You managed to escape."
"No... alone... Not... dungeons..." With each word it was harder for Maedhros to speak, but he did so anyway, looking at their guests; he seemed to be almost shining, his eyes burning with anger, disgust and hatred. "They... never... I..." He choked, stopped, his shining eyes fell on Maglor and he switched back to Quenya. "I don't know what is it about them now... My news are... old..." There was fear close to panic in his eyes. "How... long... did I..."
"I don't know." Maglor shook his head, fighting the urge to embrace his brother. He knew Maedhros would not wish it before so many witnesses; not when he was doing everything not to show his weakness.
"Before the sun rose," whispered Feanor's firstborn. "How long...?"
At his right, Finrod almost choked and Maglor felt the supper rise up in his throat when he realised what his brother had said. What kind of the Enemy's curses had kept him alive so long? Caranthir was explaining something nervously, but Maglor didn't listen. Next to him, Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment, but then opened them and looked around vigilantly, seeking for his brothers.
"Later, Nelyo," spoke Maglor quietly. "Look at me. You are here, with me, with us. Nelyo, Nelyo, Russo," he whispered, drawing circles on the top of his brother's hand. Maedhros was looking at his hands, but he was still shaking.
"Kano... Can't... breathe..." Maedhros was close to panic, but did everything he could not to lose it in front of the strangers. He tried to reach for his goblet, but his hand shook too much.
Gilorn broke the terror and rushed to apologise, but Maedhros reacted to his words as if he had been hit. Caranthir ordered him to stop and the elf silenced. Maglor decided it would be best to take his brother out.
"Come, Maitimo," he said calmly. "On the corridor, outside, wherever you want. It won't be so stuffy."
Maedhros muttered something in agreement and rose with his help. Seeing he was still shivering, Maglor was ready to support him, but his brother straightened and moved away. He bowed slightly to their guests and went unsteadily to the doors. He held his head up and did not cringe.
The last thing Maglor saw was the sheer admiration in the wide open eyes of their guests. When he closed the door and supported his collapsing brother, he was sure the Sindar would soon sing about the unbroken king of Noldor.