May you live in interesting times by 0ur_Ouroboros

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A Rest

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Maedhros is brought a pitcher of fresh goat milk and a slab of salted pork. “S’all we have in the storeroom, m’lord,” says the kitchen attendant, backing away with a polite bow.

Maedhros scoffs and directs his attention again to the little one. He is nearly exactly the size of Elrond and Elros when Maglor found them. He thinks of Maglor, imagining that the same feelings stir in his own heart now. He reels at the thought of his sword nearly plunging into those children, their children.

He remembers their little bodies huddled together trembling, Elrond’s arm raised up in defense. How Maglor begged him.

He has long suspected he is mad. What he does not expect is the freedom which accompanies the recognition. He is beyond caring, beyond reproach.

He intuits the orc-child before him as doomed as he, and he moves to preserve them both. At some point, the only way is forward , he thinks. So with amusement he notes the disgust of his staff at his new ward.

It is only an afterthought that he considers someone might actually harm his little one, and dismisses them all from his chambers with a wave. He will not trust the boy’s welfare to a guest room tonight, or ever.

He watches as the boy greedily slurps the milk and all but inhales the dried meat. He looks up at him again.

“ Lisää ,” he whispers.

“What says the boy?” Elrond asks from a dark corner of the chamber, and Maedhros realizes he did not hear him enter.

It occurs to Maedhros that Elrond is the only other who considers the little one a boy, rather than an orc.

“He asks for more,” Maedhros responds. “Go to the kitchen.”

Several plates later, the orcling belches and goes silent, black eyes heavy with sleep.

Gently Maedhros places the child on his own bed, and helps him maneuver under the furs. He returns to the sitting-room. Elrond looks at him.

“What now?” Elrond asks.

But Maedhros offers no answer, only gazes at the sky. In the distance, a bright star blazes.

After some time Maglor joins, and Elros too. “We came to see it, we came to see the orcling!” Elros giggles as he enters Maedhros’ sitting-room accompanied by others. He recognizes them as sons of his commanders.

“ Get out ,” he snarls. Only Elrond stays.

When the orcling awakens, the sun is high. Elrond stares. Maedhros stirs in a chair.

“ Missä on moavhas?” the boy asks. The little voice is gravelly for its high-pitch inflection at the end.

“Can you understand him?” Elrond asks.

“It wants its mother,” Maedhros notes.

“And I suppose the mother is dead,” Elrond says, and Maedhros nods. “Think you should tell him?”

“No,” Maedhros says. “I am not good at that.”

“We should ask him where they were going,” Elrond pushes, and Maedhros can’t deny the logic. It was rare for a clan of orc-kin to be spotted at all, and this far south was nearly unprecedented.

“ Minne olit matkalla ,” Maedhros asks the child. Where were you heading?

“ Kaukana rautaporteista,” it answers, eyes darting to Elrond and back to Maedhros.

“He says they were going away,” Maedhros looks at Elrond. “Away from the iron gates, I think.”

“ Angband ?”

“What other iron gates do you know an orc to come from?”

Elrond feels naive and very young. Still, he is too curious and invested to leave. “Ask his name.”

“ Miksi he sinua kutsuvat? ” Maedhros inquires.

“Cizrakh,” he replies.

“ Onko se äitisi vai isäsi nimi ?” Maedhros probes further, keen to see how alike they were. “I asked him whether it was his Amilessë or father-name.”

“ Minulla on vain yksi nimi, ” the child replies.

“And?” Elrond asks.

“He has but one name,” replies Maedhros. “ Cizrakh .”

“It sounds like Quenya, a little, when he speaks,” Elrond wrinkles his nose.

“Know you the origin of orcs?” Maedhros turns his head and stares at Elrond now. His gaze is piercing.

Elrond offers a sober nod. “As well as anyone, I suppose. Do you know more?” Elrond knows it is a daring thing to ask this question. Discussion of Maedhros’ time in the Enemy’s claws is verboten.

“Aye, I do.” Maedhros rocks back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his neck.

“And? What more?” Elrond cannot hide his interest.

“Some look like me, after I was released. Twisted and scarred,” he said, his voice distant. “But most of them look like you and your brother, little half-breeds,” he adds and smiles at the Peredhel .

Elrond has the thought he cannot recall Maedhros making a joke. Elrond throws a pillow at him, laughing. Maedhros catches it and throws it back, with a little more force behind it.

Cizrakh stands with a chirp. Before either can stop him, the boy pisses on Maedhros’ bed.