Maps by grey_gazania

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Chapter 8: Fingolfin

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Carnistir once again refused to return to his own settlement; he seemed determined not to leave Maitimo's side, for reasons that he kept to himself.

 

"We aren't going to hurt him, you know," I told him that evening, after Makalaurë and Tyelkormo had come and gone.

 

"I know," he said quietly. "But I need to stay with him."

 

"Very well," I said. At least if Carnistir stayed, Findekáno could get some rest.

 

It turned out to be a good decision, for Maitimo had terrible dreams that night, and it took the combined efforts of Carnistir, Almarë, and myself to keep him from injuring himself in his sleep. He woke with a harsh cry, lashing out with a surprising burst of strength.

 

Catching Maitimo's arms before he could strike anyone, Carnistir made a soft, soothing noise in the back of his throat. "Maitimo, you're safe," he said quietly. "You're safe. I swear it."

 

Maitimo stopped struggling, and something unspoken passed between them. I'd never truly understood Carnistir's relationships with his brothers, but whatever it was that Maitimo saw, it seemed to reassure him, and he went limp on the bed. "I'm sorry," he rasped, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

 

I was familiar with nightmares, for Turukáno and Itarillë both had often woken calling out for Elenwë in the months after her death. It hurt to see yet another one of my kin suffering so. "You have nothing to apologize for," I said gently. "The blame for this rests on Moringotto alone."

 

"Debatable," he said. "But I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle."

 

Uncle. It had been a long, long time since any of Fëanáro's sons had called me by that title. It gave me hope that Findekáno was right. Perhaps we really could reunite our peoples.

 

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The rest of the night passed without incident. "They're both asleep," Almarë told me the next morning. At my request, she kept me constantly apprised of Maitimo's condition.

 

I peeked in the room and saw that it was true; Maitimo had the steady breathing of one deep in slumber, and Carnistir was slumped over with his head resting on the foot of Maitimo's bed. Findekáno, too, was still asleep in his own room, which pleased me. It had been several days since he'd had a good night's rest.

 

When Maitimo woke, after Almarë had tended to him and gotten a little more food into him, I went to speak with him alone. Carnistir clearly did not want to leave us, but when Maitimo insisted, he obeyed.

 

"How are you feeling?" I asked, sitting down beside him.

 

He gave me a wan smile, an expression that was not altogether comforting on his skull-like face. "Infinitely better than I have these past…however many years. Thank you for your hospitality, Uncle. I would not have held it against you if you had insisted that my brothers take me."

 

"You would not have survived the trip around the lake, from what Almarë tells me," I said. "You're still far too frail to travel. But I see that Findekáno hasn't left you entirely in the dark about our situation. What has he told you?"

 

"That you came here by crossing the Helcaraxë. That Elenwë perished, along with many others. That Arakáno was slain in battle when you first arrived here. And that you've had little to no meaningful contact with my brothers and our people." He paused. "For what it is worth," he said softly, "I deeply regret all of that."

 

I shook my head. "I appreciate that, Maitimo, but I hold you responsible for none of it. Findekáno and Carnistir both tell me that you argued with Fëanáro."

 

"I did," he said. "But it seems to me that it counts for little. I was naive enough to think that he would keep his word and send the boats back, and when he did otherwise I wasn't able to stop him."

 

"But you tried," I said. "That's enough for me. You have much of your mother in you, Maitimo."

 

"Ammë would have succeeded."

 

"Would she have?" I said, my voice skeptical.

 

He was silent. "No," he finally admitted, and I saw that it pained him to say it. "Probably not. Atto has— had been beyond reason for a long time."

 

I reached over and gently squeezed his fragile, bony fingers. "So you see why I'm not angry with you," I said.

 

"You must be angry with my brothers," he said sadly. "I was angry with them, too, but now… I've been away from them too long to hold on to it."

 

"I am," I said, for I owed him the truth. "I'm very angry, at many people."

 

"Thank you for letting Carnistir stay regardless," he said. "Káno tells me that he deceived you about Káno's purpose. That was wrong of him."

 

"He seems to have felt it was necessary," I said dryly. "I must confess, I've never understood him."

 

"Few do," he said, his voice half fond and half sad. "But thank you for letting him stay. It is a great comfort to have him near."

 

"Of course. I hope— I believe that your return will mean a change for the better among the Noldor."

 

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I wouldn't count on it, Uncle," he said. "I can't even sit up without assistance. And I suspect many of my people are unhappy with me. My plan was foolish, and their fathers and sons died for it." He seemed to be looking at something far, far away from our little room when he said, "Moringotto's servants killed everyone. Everyone but me."

 

It seemed overly harsh for him to blame himself, so I said, "I think you have suffered more than enough for whatever crimes you feel that you've committed. And if there is anything else I can do to help you recover, you need only name it." Taking his hand again, I said, "You're my kin, Maitimo, and my friend."

 

"Thank you for that, Uncle," he said quietly. "From the bottom of my heart."