May you live in interesting times by 0ur_Ouroboros

A Hurt

Maedhros laughs as the house staff change the sheets. “Little one,” he says to the boy in what he hopes is his own language, “There are many things to teach you. First, relieve yourself in the proper location,” gesturing to the chamber pot. Cizrakh looks at him with understanding and no small amount of shame.

Elrond attends to the orcling frequently. He starts to learn his language. He grows fond of Maedhros’ boy.

Maedhros rarely leaves him alone, and only in Elrond’s presence.

Cizrakh gestures to his calf, where his skin is broken. He must have scratched it in the brambles, thinks Maedhros. It looks minor. Elrond is eager to put his skills to use, and gathers herbs to apply there.

Yet the next day, the wound becomes red and angry-appearing. Dark brown fluid leaks around Elrond’s poultice. Maedhros calls the more experienced healers. He dare not leave the boy with them, alone, and beckons Elrond to stay.

“This wound, it should heal soon,” they remark.  “It is nothing,” they say. They apply no more poultices or herbs. Elrond trails after them, asking why. They cannot give a response that satisfies him.

Desperate, Elrond goes to the hills in search of rarer herbs. Still, Maedhros stays behind with Cizrakh. He starts to rigor. Maedhros folds him in his robes to keep him warm.

“It hurts,” the boy tells Maedhros when he accidentally brushes against the wound.

“Shh,” Maedhros hushes. He rocks him in his arms, and sings to him the only song he remembers from his childhood. Hearing his brother’s lost singing-voice, Maglor looks inside, but remains at the threshold. He only watches the larger man and tears spring to his eyes. The boy sickens.

Elrond returns, a small quantity of herbs with him.  “I don’t know if this will help,” he says.

“Thank you,” Maedhros looks at him and Elrond thinks it is for the first time he feels seen. Maedhros kisses the top of the boy’s head. The three of them remain with him through the night into the next day.