6An incident on a patrol makes Maedhros discuss certain matters with Finarfin. Written for Tolkien Gen Week, Day 6 – group relations, because I think the Amanian elves and the elves who managed to survive over 500 years in Beleriand would differ a lot.
"That wasn't necessary," Maglor muttered quietly as his brother leaned heavily on him, no longer quite able to hold himself upright.
"Leave it, Kano."
Maglor sighed. The council had lasted too long. His brother could mask himself well, but even he had his limits. The majority of the Vanyar officers, he knew, had not even been aware that something was wrong. Their uncle had seen right through Maedhros's pretence, of course he had. But Finarfin had said nothing and had let the council go on as if everything was fine. A part of Maglor was grateful for that, for sparing Maedhros pity and attention on his wounds when there were important matters to discuss and decisions to be made at once.
The other was furious at the sheer stupidity of this farce, yet he knew better than to argue with his stubborn brother. Not when he was this close to collapsing in the middle of the encampment. They had left the King's tent as soon as the council was over, Maedhros first, straight as usual and perfectly calm, as if he had been at their grandfather's court. Maglor followed, he always did. But half-way through, his brother swayed and it became obvious he needed help.
They somehow made it to their tent and as soon as they came inside, Maedhros sank down with a muffled grunt, not even bothering to reach his bed. His eyes were shut, his white face covered with sweat as he shivered and heaved, even though his stomach had been long since empty. He sucked air in pained gasps and almost cried out when Maglor gently put his hand on his shoulder to steady him, lest he lost balance.
"Let me see, or shall I just fetch Alcarino?" Maglor asked, though he already knew the answer. There was no point in trying to fix the problem himself, when they had the luxury of calling a healer, one that he knew would come no matter what.
"Give. me. A. Moment," Maedhros managed to hiss through his gritted teeth.
"Not here." Careful not to touch his back again, Maglor grasped his brother by the arms and lifted him. "Come on, Nelyo. Just a few more steps."
"No, wai-" Maedhros bit back a cry, but managed to get up. Hand locked in a crushing grasp on Maglor's arm, he made a few wobbly steps and nearly fell face flat on his bed. It was as usual Maedhros's will that had kept him collect through the meeting, but now gone was that composure, leaving him shaking and exhausted.
"Alright. Just lie down, I'll be back in a moment." Maglor slipped through the half open entrance to the fire before the tent, where Dinessel had been repairing a torn jacket. Having heard them, she was already waiting in alarm. Without further delay, he sent her to bring Alcarino as soon as possible, not having believed for a moment that this was something to deal between the two of them.
Maedhros had not moved, still lying the way he had slumped. The fresh jacket he had put on when he had returned from the patrol masked the extent of the injuries well enough, but Maglor had seen what was left of the old one, as well as the bloodied rugs of his brother's shirt. Now he wondered just how wrong he had been not insisting to have someone take a look before leaving for the council.
"Sit up for a moment, would you?" Maglor sat at the edge of the bed. "I'll help you undress."
Maedhros tried to push himself up. He bit back another cry and after a few raspy breaths, managed to hiss, "I've had enough skin ripped and torn today, you don't need to worsen it."
Maglor froze, concern gnawing on him. "I haven't touched your back yet. It's only your jacket I'm trying to get off. Unless you want me to cut it?"
Maedhros flinched. "I ruined one today already." Hissing, he shifted his arms behind and with his brother's help slipped the garment from his back. "My head's spinning," he muttered and shut his eyes.
"You've soaked through," Maglor sighed as he brushed his fingers against the sorry remains of Maedhros's shirt. "Alcarino will be here in a moment, it's best we wait for him."
XXX
Alcarino was not thrilled to learn that he was being summoned only after Maedhros almost collapsed from blood loss. He was even less pleased when, after the painful process of removing the soaked bandages, he uncovered long gashes crossing on his back, running from the right shoulder blade down to the waist. The wounds were deep and the skin around them puffy and swollen after long hours of being tightly covered with damp clothes. Some of the cuts were still oozing, while others started bleeding again once the clots had been torn with the bandages.
"Wargs?" Maglor growled more than asked.
"Mmmhm." Maedhros tensed, his fingers gripping the side of the bed, while the healer gently wiped the blood, then pressed a clean cloth to dry his back.
"How much did you take?" There was no reproach in Alcarino's voice. He placed his free hand on Maedhros's shoulder to keep him steady as he worked on a particularly deep gash.
"Enough," the reply came as a moan and the wounded buried his face in his pillow, shaking. "But. It's. Not. Working. Anymore."
Maglor didn't even comment. He knew of course that his brother carried with him very strong pain relieving herbs to use in emergencies like this, just so he could be tended to without any unwanted incidents or return to a safer place. The medicine could make wonders, but once the effects had worn off, it left the wounded even more drained and exhausted. Alcarino was always reluctant to use them at all, but in Maedhros's case, they were sometimes necessary.
"I know." Alcarino sighed and touched his forehead. "But you know well that if you are bad enough to take it, you need to come to me as soon as possible."
"There were more important matters." Maedhros muttered into his pillow, not even bothering to turn towards the healer. "The wargs were too near the camp, we needed to come back and warn the oth- Argh!"
Maglor didn't comment that either. He shared Maedhros's opinion when it came to the usefulness of the Vanyar soldiers in the matters of assessing the danger and choosing the right course of action. Still, he wished he hadn't had to watch his brother being stitched and patched up while lying and shaking, hadn't had to see the water in the basin turn red with the blood of his only remaining kin.
Alcarino closed some of the wounds with neat lines of stitches after giving Maedhros a generous portion of herbs mixed with mulled wine. This proved to be troublesome as the wounded was drained and dizzy and objected to any suggestion of moving. In the end Maglor made him drink through a straw and held him steady during the whole unpleasant process.
Finally Alcarino put some ointment on the wounds and left them uncovered to let them dry and breathe. He urged Maedhros to try and eat something before retiring for the night, but didn't push him, allowing him to rest first. The wounded muttered incoherently in agreement. Seeing Alcarino's meaningful look, Maglor only nodded. He would send for him if necessary.
The healer left, but the heavy scent of blood and herbs remained. Maglor considered letting some air in, but Maedhros shook occasionally, so there was little point in inviting the evening chill inside. He laid unmoving, not yet asleep, but too worn to sit and fill his stomach. He seemed to calm, though, so Maglor didn't welcome a motion outside by the entrance.
"What is it now?" he snapped. Seeing that it was only Dinessel, his expression softened. "Come in."
"The king wishes to speak with you, my lord," she said formally after slipping inside, though she often skipped the titles when they were alone.
"Whoever is asking, send him back with reply that it is currently impossible," Maglor waved her off. His hands were still bearing trails of his brother's blood; he was not going anywhere.
But Dinessel shook her head and whispered, "He's here."
That explained her nervousness. "Very well," Maglor sighed and rose. "Go get some warm food for my brother," he told her and followed her outside.
Finarfin was indeed there, waiting by their fire with two guards nearby. He regarded with polite interest whatever else Dinessel had been doing by the fire, whereas his companions kept their expressions completely blank. Had they been alone, there would have been scorn instead of indifference on their features.
"Sire," Maglor inclined his head stiffly, careful to let the curtain slip behind him.
"I wished to have a word with you and your brother in private," clearly no longer at duty, Finarfin wore much simpler clothes. Gone was the heavy robe he had been wearing earlier at the council, yet his garments still looked overly decorative and absurdly improper in a war encampment.
It was a detail that still amused Maglor. Once they too had cared more about the looks at the official meetings and during councils. In Himring Maedhros would wear a copper circlet, one made by their grandfather Mahtan, and the robes of a lord. But now? They were long since past caring about such trivia in the world where surviving was a struggle.
Which could not be said about the army of Valinor.
"Kanafinwe?" Finarfin's voice broke his trail of thoughts.
"Pardon me. Now is not the best time."
"Do come in," Maedhros called from the inside before his brother evaluated his decline.
"As you wish." Maglor shrugged and flipped the curtain to the side, letting Finarfin in. He half expected that Maedhros had used the time he was given to sit and make himself a little bit more presentable, or at least cover himself with a sheet, but as he turned, he found that his brother had not moved.
Finarfin followed, only to halt as the stench of blood and herbs hit him. Eyes widened in alarm, he looked around the tent and gasped as he saw Maedhros lying flat on the bed, his mutilated back uncovered.
"Forgive me if I do not rise," Maedhros said dryly.
"Sweet stars, Nelyafinwe!" Finarfin didn't quite manage to hide his horror. He stared openly and made a move as if to retreat.
"I warned you," Maglor pointed his uncle a seat. Perplexed, Finarfin sank down, still at loss of words.
"That's what warg claws can do to an elf," Maedhros explained, turning his head towards their guest. Exhaling, he added, "If you wish to know when I could be of service to you, Alcarino said a week."
"A week off from any duties," Maglor muttered under his breath. His brother all but ignored him.
"I should be able to mount a horse by then, though I'm afraid I will not be in my best fighting abilities," he added matter-of-factly, his expression blank.
Finarfin shook his head and sighed, having recovered from the initial shock. "That was not why I came here. I felt something was amiss and simply wanted to inquire about your health, as a kinsman would," he said and the concern in his voice seemed genuine. Had the time not taught Maglor to be wary and suspicious, he would have thought it was really their uncle and not the High King of the Noldor from Valinor sitting there.
Maedhros made a move as if to shrug, then thought better of it. "I've had worse," he simply answered. Seeing the look Finarfin gave him, he evaluated, "Do not think I underestimate the enemy, or overestimate my strength, I am far from that. But trust me to know my limits. I should be fine soon, unless the wounds get inflamed. Or, as my brother so nicely put it, unless I let myself bleed to the point of collapsing."
Finarfin didn't look convinced and kept glancing at the wounds. His grey eyes were clouded, as if some disturbing thoughts or memories burdened his thoughts. Maglor found himself too irritated by his presence to bother asking.
But Maedhros noticed it as well. "My looks bother you, I can see."
"It saddens me to see you like this, yes," admitted Finarfin. "I wish not to see you suffer and I wish you said something earlier."
"I passed all the information about the numbers and the place of the ambush, and the suggested course of action. Now you have a full view and, I hope, can act accordingly. And," the eldest son of Feanor glanced sideways at his brother, "I can get some rest."
"I would have got that from my men too," Finarfin pointed out.
Maedhros huffed. "They lack experience. You have the numbers, uncle, but your people need to learn and quickly if we want to stand a chance against Morgoth."
Maglor dearly wished his brother would think before speaking so bluntly, but he knew that the herbs he had taken were to be blamed for the loosening of his tongue. There was little he could do to now.
Dinessel chose that moment to slip into the tent unannounced, a bowl in her hand. Seeing the king, she tried to back off and glanced helplessly at Maedhros.
"Do not be alarmed by my presence," Finarfin offered her a kind smile. "Tend to your lord."
Maglor realised what she was seeing. Him, wearing his normal, practical clothes, with a Feanorian brooch at his chest as an only visible jewel, and Maedhros - lying half naked, still in his bloodied pants he hadn't had the strength to take off. And then there was Finarfin - a foreign king from the land from stories, in all his fairness and glory, in bejewelled clothes befitting a hero from stories - sitting in their tent on a storage box they sometimes used as a stool.
"Just leave it there," Maglor waved at the narrow table. "Thank you."
There was hardly any space there, but Dinessel piled up the documents on one side. She left the bowl and all but fled, taking the basin with bloodied water with her. With her gone, Finarfin turned back to Maedhros. "I inquired about your state. None would speak a word about you. Not to me, nor to any of of my men. But what I heard was disturbing, hence I came to get the whole picture," his eyes wandered to Maedhros's back and he flinched at the wording.
"You have us followed?" Maglor wasn't overly surprised, but neither was he pleased.
"I have the situation watched at all times, to avoid... Incidents." Finarfin held his gaze. Maglor nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The last thing any of them needed now was some disagreement between the elves from Valinor and the Feanorians.
Maedhros pushed himself to sit. "My men will answer to me only and you have agreed to that. Do not expect them to reveal anything about me or my brother. Even at your direct order," he said coldly, then groaned and swayed, eyes shut. He managed to support himself before he fell forwards, but couldn't hide pain tightening his features. "I'm fine, Kano," he rasped, the king momentarily forgotten.
Maglor put a steadying hand on his shoulder while Maedhros tried to regain composure. Though neither of the brothers said a word, Finarfin needed none. "l shall not disturb you any further. Rest, Nelyafinwe," he rose and motioned Maglor to remain by his brother. "We will talk tomorrow if your state allows it."
xxx
The following day was a busy one, with messengers flying back and forth, bringing news from scouting parties. New patrols were arranged, the guards around the camp reinforced and before Finarfin knew it, it was already past midday when he finally found some time to return to his tent and catch up with the most recent letters he had received two days ago and hadn't had a chance to read.
Wrapped up in his work, Finarfin snapped mid-sentence from the letter at hearing something falling outside. Since he didn't hear any of his guards reacting, he rose from his chair to check what had happened.
"What is the meaning of this?!" exclaimed Finarfin as he noticed the familiar silhouette of his older nephew lying motionless in dust, and the two Noldor whom he kept close at his disposal leaning over him, but otherwise not helping.
"He just fell, my king," one of them replied, not even bothering to check on the unconscious elf.
Finarfin rushed past him. He knelt by Maedhros and rolled him to the side, searching for traces of blood on his back; luckily he found none. Placing his hand at his neck, he felt unhealthy warmness, but the pulse was steady.
"Don't trouble yourself with the kinslayer, my king. I will fetch a healer if that is your request," offered the guard stiffly, not even hiding his displeasure at the thought.
"Nonsense," Finarfin snapped, his irritation growing. "Help me get him inside." He knew he shouldn't expect much of them. Those who served him had little love for the sons of Feanor. Yet Finarfin couldn't help the anger at their unintended cruelty. Not when he had seen his nephew the previous evening.
Before they moved him, though, Maedhros stirred and moaned. "No need," he muttered, his eyes blinking. Having noticed Finarfin kneeling by his side and the two other elves standing awkwardly over them, his expression went blank and he pushed himself to a sitting position. A muffled hiss was the only indication that something was amiss.
"Easy," Finarfin warned him, then looked up. "Help him get off the sun. My tent."
"But Sire..."
"Now." Finarfin stood up to make them some space.
The guards dared not question him, but they were far from gentle. Grabbing Maedhros by the arms, they pulled him up and steadied. The motion was too much and the son of Feanor swayed, so the guards held him firmly as they followed Finarfin inside and led him to the chair the king pointed.
"Fetch him some water," said Finarfin, but seeing the guards' reluctance as they looked around in search of a cup, he grasped his own goblet from his desk, still half full, and passed it to his nephew. "There."
"Thank you," Maedhros rasped and took a generous sip. Then he realised someone was still holding him and tensed. For a glimpse, there was a flash of something wild in his eyes before he locked his gaze with his uncle.
"Bring more," Finarfin ordered and motioned the guards to leave. "For me and for my guest," he added pointedly. He didn't like their look of contempt at Maedhros drinking from his goblet. But more importantly, he did not like the madness and terror lurking from under the calm pretence of his nephew. He hoped he was the only one who had seen it.
Sensing the warning in his voice, the guards let go of Maedhros's arms and left. Finarfin followed them and sent one for water and for some refreshments, appointing the other to stay close by, lest there was a need of a healer after all. Setting his mind to talk with both of them later, he slipped back inside.
As he entered, Maedhros rose carefully. His face was no longer so ashen grey, only pale, but the unhealthy flush did not leave his cheeks. Two upper buttons, now unfastened, were the only liberty he had allowed himself.
"I thought I said we would talk when you are well enough?" Finarfin looked pointedly at his nephew. "For goodness sake, sit down before you fall," he couldn't quite hide exasperation. "I didn't expect to see you today nor in the next few days."
"I can walk, so I am well enough to talk to you" Maedhros shrugged it off. He crooked his head and a shadow of grim smile appeared on his thin lips. "Unless you keep me up and waiting all day," he snorted. He took the offer and very slowly lowered himself on the chair. His shoulders slumped a bit and he leaned forwards to place his elbows on his knees.
Finarfin frowned. "I have not been informed of your presence here."
"This is partly the reason I came to speak with you," Maedhros sighed.
"I shall be at your disposal in a moment," Finarfin went to his desk and bent to pick a sheet of paper that fell, tossed by the breeze coming from the outside. Turning back again to his guest and sitting, he added quietly, "Take off that coat if it is bothering you." He didn't miss that the long jacket Maedhros wore seemed a little tight on him, doubtless because of the dressings hidden underneath. He was surprised to see him at all, let alone fully dressed in formal clothes. But perhaps he shouldn't have.
When he was among his people only, Maedhros bore himself more casually, always armed and ready. But when he attended councils or other meetings with Finarfin or Ingwion, he retreated to the protocols of old Finarfin remembered from his father's court. He had thought he had in time abandoned some of the formalities as he rebuilt his own court, but seeing how his nephews acted around their people, he had to revise that view.
Maedhros didn't move. "I won't be able to take it off on my own," he admitted dryly. "Nor will I put it back on later, for that matter."
Finarfin winced inwardly, but didn't press on, since Maedhros clearly wished him to drop it. Before he could say anything, the guard returned with requested refreshments. He left them on the desk and retreated outside.
"Your guards would not bat an eyelid if I died at their feet, so I doubt they deemed it necessary to notify you immediately of my presence." There was no contempt in Maedhros's voice as he returned to Finarfin's earlier statement. He used the same even tone like when he offered his counsel at the meetings.
Finarfin hesitated. He didn't like the image emerging from the offhand remarks. "What happened yesterday?" he asked carefully, his voice low. There was little he could do to keep a conversation truly private in a tent with walls of thick fabric and little else providing that privacy, since osanwe was out of options.
Maedhros rubbed his forehead in a tired gesture and reached for water. "My patience is thin today and I believe we can save ourselves needless talk, uncle," he said and straightened.
It was the first time since their arrival that Maedhros called Finarfin that way. It was also the first time they met alone, save for the brief talk the previous evening. He knew there would be displeasure among his councillors, but as the king he needed to get information from all sides.
"Before you ask, no, I do not come to accuse anyone of anything, for I experienced no ill will. If they wished me dead, they would have left without us."`
That was an idea Finarfin liked even less and hoped it was but a theoretical example. He waited until Maedhros emptied his glass and continued.
"You asked about yesterday. I'm not going to repeat myself, since we discussed it already at the council," Maedhros started. "Eccesindo is a skillful and promising captain. But when the attack came, there were two parties and two leaders instead of one, for he would not heed my advice at once. I can be a guide and despite what you may think, I can bear following orders, but I will not stand by and see ill commandment cost my people their lives. And sometimes a second of hesitation is all that it takes for things to go awry. We got separated for long enough to allow the wargs to attack both groups and it cost us needless blood to get back together."
"I see." Finarfin wasn't really surprised. He expected trouble and clashes, but if they were to pay for them with blood or life, some actions had to be taken. "You seem to have come to me with some ideas formed already," Finarfin leaned back on his chair. "I would like to hear them." Only a fool would ignore Maedhros's experience.
But the eldest son of Feanor shook his head. "I am not as blind as to think that I am in a position to make demands," he answered with brutal honesty. "I gave up the crown once to ensure that our people would stand as one. But you have that already and I have nothing to offer you save for my sword and my hatred towards the enemy." The burning eyes of his nephew lit up with passion despite his weariness. "For the first time in decades I look around, I see an army and I have hope, more hope than ever, that we stand a chance against Morgoth. And I will anything to see him destroyed, even if it takes the very last drop of my blood, for all the pain he has caused us all."
For a briefest moment Finarfin saw his eldest brother and he realised that had Maedhros not been so destroyed already by his oath and by his wrongdoings, he could have swayed the people and convinced them to follow his lead, like Feanor had. His spirit burned just as brightly, but the inner fire was tamed and channelled with determination and steadiness that could only come from Nerdanel. Yet his deeds cast a long shadow and no skill could cover them.
"I doubt not your hatred," Finarfin answered finally. In these lands, the grief in his heart for his fallen family awakened again. "Nor your desire for revenge. Yet I cannot leave you in charge, if that is what you suggest."
Maedhros only nodded. "I know. Your people have little cause to love any of us and my people are a mere drop in your army. But what I said yesterday is no less true, even though you may find my words harsh. And if you would hear me, perhaps it would be wiser for us to take patrols that go farthest north, with a few of your men to show them what we know. When it is possible to move in smaller groups, of course."
"I will consider it," replied Finarfin. What Maedhros proposed would give him much more liberty, but also could dissolve the problem of two larger groups in one party, who would follow their leaders in dire situations. If it was to work, he would have to pick soldiers willing to accompany the Feanorians with them as the commanders. But this was something to be discussed with Ingwion and their counsellors in the nearest future.
Maedhros nodded and stood up slowly, retreating back to his formal bearing. "Thank you. I will not take more of your time."
"We will talk about it on the next meeting," Finarfin rose as well. Though the air of familiarity was gone, he allowed himself one last remark. "I expect you to be back on duty only when you are fully healed, Nelyafinwe."
There was a hint of amusement in Maedhros's eyes as he nodded again and left.
