Mind Your Back and Don’t Look Behind by Adoraincerta

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1

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Middle Earth was still new and full of wonders, though not all of which were harmless. It was his third time going on a trip aiming at collecting and recording any different and potentially useful plants in Middle Earth, and Elrond still found his exploration more enlightening than he expected.

Gil-galad had insisted on him bringing a group of retinue or assistants, but never mentioned it since he stubbornly refused twice with an unsaid side target. Orcs were not rare but within his ability to cope, flexible weathers and waves could cause minor colds but nothing severe for his health, and nearby residents had only been hospitable.

Long roads had been tread and what he faced was only a third of his plan left. Not by coincidence but calculations and speculations did Elrond predict most rashes of orcs, always heeding for slopes and bushes suitable for him or the orcs to hide and wait, circumventing suspicious caves and swamps, taking advantage of better observations and senses. It had become a second instinct of him throughout the years, though distributing a quite few parts of his attention to distantly remembering those who taught him and Elros some of the most practical tactics to survive an era of war, from a small clearing nearby the citadel to a faraway camp to wave farewell.

Too many factors influenced how the live decided their move to specify a single reason, however, noticing the abnormal lack of orcs’ traces did not require the most experienced warrior. He went along a stable and modest path, seeing no significant geographical or climatic change, while encountering much fewer threats to fight to within a day, quite sharp a decline. Air cleared out of foul fogs, spices rare to the local environment made unexpected appearances, and wind flattened and slowed to nearly a soft breeze. With prudence, Elrond paused at the edge of this artificial peaceful circle and took out the map. All features fitted in and no annotations besides rough painting of curving leaves, showing he was in the middle of a normal wood.

A detour might be safer, though if this seemingly friendly circle deserved a much longer journey was doubtful. He stepped in and out several times to determine the exact border, during which feeling no malice at all. Considering the foreseeable delay to return to Lindon if he did detour, such risk needed no further hesitation to take, and even him sometimes was willing to bet on dying because of orcs instead of a bunch of outstandingly tenacious herbs.

If he had not been spending too much time indulging himself on scripts and shattered books on local tales, Elrond would not have recognized any repeating patterns. For one thing he was sure, that those minor circles within the big one, made up by either mushrooms or rotted leaves, resembled not naturally grown herbs but the ones left by fairies after dance, according to widely distributed peasants and hunters. With a shorter life span, it was common understanding that most humans view those as preternatural omens, though Elrond had another theory. Many elves who fought and were killed rejected the call of Mandos, in fear of an undetermined period of division with their families. What he faced now was still a particular one, judging by the trace clearer than usual, which indicated a more powerful, or several, spiritual remnants.

He guarded his mental shield, emanating a most friendly message at the same time, in case anyone irrelevant still lingered. Let those who survived Beleriand face the ones who didn’t, and if his bloodline could cause any trouble, no defenseless secondborn should be involved.

Rather than hostility, ethereality was closer to what he first conceived once tread deep into the wood. Herbal scent mixed with spiritual nurture might escape lesser sense, but Elrond could recognize it with ease as his elven features had strengthened since turning down the gift of mankind.

As mysterious as a complicated, well-designed maze could be, Elrond actually found himself enjoying picking the right ramification to walk inside the huge circle made up by trunks, at least exceeding the amount of pleasure he should feel, if only before the nearby terrain became even more confusing and clearly aimed at trapping anyone passing by.

Not until the surrounding fog took a more intimidating shape did he paused with caution and stayed motionless vigilantly. Though soft mud after a rain was shaking underneath his feet, Elrond kept his voice as calm as holding a daily meeting, well acknowledged from both tales and experiences that either fear or provocation might further intrigue or irritate the Houseless.

He swallowed and took a tentative step, only retreating within seconds, appalled by the dropping temperature. Only powerful and insistent Houseless could cause physical influence on air, and these ones - they seemed even more taunting than loremasters would like to suggest.

“I’ve fought the Enemy, and I believe you did as well. It’s unlikely that we have anything personal, and I only wish to go through this forest peacefully.”

People outside would be surprised within how little time the Houseless were able to siege a field with a diameter of miles, and whoever inside would mistaken it for a fast and cloudy sunset.

A pity nothing in his luggage would help the current situation, thought Elrond with self-mockery. It was time to move quickly but steadfastly, and when luck permitted, he could at least determine whose territory the forest belonged to. The Houseless camped near their death scenes more often than not, though by searching his blurred memory Elrond found no significant battle happened here, although other possibilities could not be excluded, and spiritual belongings was not something he had abundant knowledge of.

An obstacle slowed his pace and he only touched the hard object with a piece of fabric wrapping his palm, already intending to avoid more risks. Cold and solid, half his height, a stone with regular shape - a tomb. Elrond swallowed, yet suspects he preferred to bury surfaced, and by only a glance and a touch names on the tomb were revealed, confirming his guess.

Seven names in a row with familiar spellings, no further speculation required. Until this day, some people, regardless of humans or elves, remembered the Feanorians who once stood between them and the Enemy and built them, maybe in memory, a cenotaph. It was definitely the closest thing to a death scene that could attract ghosts with nowhere else to resort to.

Now in all time, Elrond calmed down promptly, shocking even to himself. Knowing who would trap him to death certainly wasn’t helpful to get out of it, still through awareness came with inner peace. At this moment, his view had been completely hindered, blocked by merely distinguishable shadows, all of whom bleak and abysmal. Almost all colors had been extracted from their once bodies, with only skeleton-like contour left. Floating above the ground, they seemed all of the same height, and with dim natural lights only those who were most familiar with them could catch a chance to recognize a specific one. But he knew. He witnessed too many times how the bright red hair was tainted by blood stains and dust, how entangled hair ends could only be combed with patience, and how curly and soft they were, though only occasionally so in a warm chamber.

He predicted the circling speed these faceless Houseless currently at, and took a step forward before the right one rotated to the direction in front of him.

“Who you are or why you refuse Mando’s call, I do not care.”

“Maedhros.”

The faint shadow abruptly became motionless, almost colliding with the next on his left. His shape static but shaking, his features were clearer and closer to the one Elrond once knew and deared. His curly hair only brushed on his shoulders, if a Houseless could feel that way. Now Elrond dared to take another step and raise his head to observe his long lost family member. It only lasted a short moment, though, before Maedhros’s sanity was drained by stronger call from departing with his hroä. Like a rusty wheel, seven souls turned around and around, creating only an impenetrable misty wall in front of him.

Fatigue engulfed him as waves pushing through a melting beach time and again, with Elrond trying to catch a glimpse of light to stabilize himself on the ground. Everything shaked and whirled and caused more dizziness, ripping him out of consciousness, reminding him of ancient tales about corpses of innocent people being occupied, only to be dumped shortly after.

In his illusion, a scent of rosemary spreaded wide around him, which could easily be deemed as a sign for the call of Mandos. Spices so strong could only be due to carefully grinded mix, including a small portion of other common or rare herbs - cedar, juniper and basil, at least thus far he could distinguish.

In such qualm his wrist was grabbed firmly without any premonition, and not until that moment did Elrond see the mysterious hand. Bones protruding that they could thrust into his skin, knuckles white, palm coarse with scars and open wounds, it was a hand he dreamed of and would never mistaken. With only one harsh syllable, the Feanorians calmed down greatly and his suspicion was verified, that only family could provide such a firm connection between the Houseless and the reality. He held the hand by his free hand in turn, facing toward where Maedhros rotated to, muttering with a low voice as if confident all could hear him.

“I miss you and Maglor so much.”

A warm, bright light traversed overlapping twigs and leaves kindly reminded them of the arrival of sunrise,with morning fog waning in a blink. The uninvited guests so silently drifted back, and Elrond attempted in vain to catch up with Maedhros’s half transparent figure, left hand still in Maglor’s grasp.

When sunlight fully filled every corner of his view, dizziness backfired and he supported himself on the ground only because of Maglor. The moment stability came back, Maglor released his hand but was held in turn.

“Please - don’t leave me so fast.”

A mix of anxiety and fear stirred his stomach, while all Maglor did was staring into the mud, immobile and mouth shut.

“At least now you owe me an explanation.”

To his relief, Maglor conceded in obvious frustration and walked him to a nearby clearing, back facing him and feet trapped. He sounded like a lump blocked his throat.

“I should have come earlier - to ease their pain and prevent anyone from being involved.”

Maglor fidgeted his fingers so a desire to run away out of shame did not overcome him. He formed some words and tore them apart inside, uttered shattered pieces of phrases like it wasn’t him that was once called the golden tongue.

“I was tripped by some - emergencies elsewhere, and did not expect it would be you to - be the first to be trapped.”

Behind his back, a tender palm was placed on his stiff shoulder, pushed mildly so he had the courage to stop shivering. The comforting touch only proceeded then, with his acquiescence, eased his deepest unspoken fear, and showed that the owner of this hand was intact.

“It is a true blessing for me to be able to meet you and Maedhros again at the same time. A far too fortunate occurrence I couldn’t even dream of.”

Slowly they turned around and wrapped each other in a tight and emotional hug. Still spreading the scent of rosemary, Maglor’s fingers trembled on Elrond’s spine. It would be his worst nightmare, if of all others it was Elrond to be the first victim of his unstable and unconscious family members, though it stretched the definition of family to count the Houseless in.

“I calm them according to a schedule just frequent enough to keep them from hunting anyone. I couldn’t bear to destroy the tomb, though it had been here way before I discovered it. I should try again.”

He murmured as if sobbing, but it would be too embarrassing to cry in front of someone he once raised and protected, though he certainly had no right to claim so. Elrond interrupted him.

“If only you counted me as a help. A regular trip wouldn’t be much of a burden, and we could decrease the risk to half its original.”

“I can require no such thing. It’s too consuming for anyone- ”

“Not as consuming as seeing you in such shape.”

He took a long moment to contemplate the meaning of this heavy-weighted sentence, soaked in cold sweat of bitterness, and swallowed his last excuse that Elrond shouldn’t and wouldn’t worry about his health, for how a notorious culprit deserved kindness?

Elrond took advantage of the rare moment of Maglor’s blankness, grabbing the wrist covered only by rag fabric and equally worn skin with gentle force, just enough to pull Maglor toward the direction he came from.
Elrond shrugged off the worrying glance he received and further lowered his voice.

“There’s nothing too risky, and many people ensured that, including Gil-Galad.” He pretended to sigh, only to gain another stern look from Maglor.

“You know how well you taught us to be, and I’ll be careful if just to come here again and ease your burden of this - exorcism.”

Icy dew dripped from the remaining rosemaries. Maglor snapped a third and pushed them beside Elrond.

“Of course you’re fully capable of wielding spices to keep the Houseless at peace. You’re always better at healing instead of lesser functions of herbs.”

A list of potential useful ingredients formed in his mind, after which Maglor stood up. Panic rose only for a moment and his heart raced, though more soured emotions were still buried. Elrond stood as well, holding Maglor and absorbing the icy temperature from him.

“You really should eat more, or I’ll have to come more frequently to check on you.”

Safe water and food provided and cloak folded as mat, they quietly kept unsaid words untouched and resorted to harmless topics. With peaceful brushes moving back and forth on his nape, Maglor never realized how long it was since he could leave even a small portion of burden behind.

“It’s some kind of exploration - I guess. Middle earth is different, new, and unknown plants may be of use.”