A Hundred Miles Through the Desert by StarSpray  

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Seventy

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Somehow, Maedhros found himself visiting his father in his workshop more and more often. When he had been young he had always liked to watch Fëanor at work, and had liked learning from him even more. There wasn’t much Maedhros could really do in a forge or a workshop like Fëanor’s or Curufin’s these days—nearly all of it required at least two hands, and he didn’t have any real desire to find a way to craft metal or gems with only one. He could still ask questions, though, and listen to Fëanor’s answers as he idly sketched or just sat and watched. Fëanor was always willing to explain what he was doing—and he was better than Curufin at remembering that he was speaking to someone who didn’t already know what all the various terms and names of things were.

Since Maedhros had given Fëanor the painting of Finwë and Míriel, they had avoided talking of the past. Instead Maedhros tried to follow Fingon’s advice and example—to get to know one another as they were in the present. Fëanor was not so terribly different from what he had been before Morgoth’s lies had started to spread, though he was quieter and more thoughtful; and working in close proximity to so many who had lived much longer in Middle-earth and its wars, he had grown more mindful of sudden movements and loud noises. But he still worked metal as deftly as Nerdanel worked stone, and he could be talking of one thing while doing another and thinking of yet a third thing all at once without making a single mistake, and the way that his eyes lit up at the prospect of something new to learn or to make reminded Maedhros of the Fëanor of his childhood—both achingly familiar and marvelously strange at once.

This afternoon, Fëanor was busy stringing together many small diamonds into what would eventually be an intricate and dazzling necklace—more than a necklace, for it would drape over the shoulders of the wearer and twine around the arms too, to connect to bracelets of mithril set with opals. Fëanor said it was for Lalwen, to wear when she danced. The gems caught the sunlight through the window and shone like stars, and Maedhros couldn’t quite tell if that was natural or if Fëanor had also put light into them. Without looking up, Fëanor said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Only—do not take it as a sign of disapproval, because it isn’t.”

Maedhros had been sketching his father at work; he stilled his pencil and glanced up, feeling wary. “All right.”

“Why did you abdicate?” Fëanor did not pause his work but his gaze flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “Was it only because I would not have?”

“Did the histories not record what I said at the time? Every word was true.”

“They did, but is there not more to it than that?”

“Not really. We needed to make peace with each other,” Maedhros said, looking back down at his sketch. “Maglor could barely keep our brothers in line in my absence—he couldn’t rule all the Noldor, not once Fingolfin’s host arrived off the ice, still furious. Still expecting you, and not even finding me. Our friendship was not the only reason that Fingon came to try to find me—or even the most important one.” Maedhros had never asked, and Fingon had always claimed—and the histories all recorded—that he told no one of his plans before he’d left Mithrim, but it would not have surprised Maedhros at all if Fingon had done it with Maglor’s unspoken blessing.

“Did he ask it of you?”

“Fingon? No. We did not speak of it—but as I started to regain my strength I learned what had been happening, and it seemed obvious to me what I should do. I did not know then whether I would make as full a recovery as I did, and the Noldor needed someone hale, someone strong. Fingolfin was older, more experienced than I was, he had the loyalty of the vast majority of our people, he had plans—and he had no other oaths binding him.” Fingolfin had not brought up the idea either, but he had been the first person Maedhros had spoken to of it, and it had been clear that the thought had been in his mind too, in the relief that showed briefly in his eyes when Maedhros suggested it—relief that it was not something he would have to demand. It had been decided long before Maedhros had been well enough to stand on his own feet and formally relinquish the crown. Maedhros did lift his gaze then, to meet Fëanor’s. “I could not rule the Noldor and fulfill the Oath. One would demand sacrifices the other could not afford to make.” He had known by then how tightly he was bound to the Oath, though it had slept for a time after he’d given up the crown and departed for the east—one of Morgoth’s favorite torments in the early years of his captivity had been to bring the Silmarils before him and then to take them away, leaving him in impenetrable darkness, reminding him over and over just how close they were and just how helpless he was to fulfill the words he had sworn before all of Tirion. “It had nothing to do with you, really. I knew you would have hated every choice I made in the wake of my rescue, but you weren’t there, so…it didn’t matter anymore.”

“It isn’t what I would have done,” Fëanor said after a few seconds of silence, “but it was the right choice, Maedhros. Nolofinwë has always been better suited to ruling than me—though you would have been a good king yourself, if I had not already bound you to other things.”

“I didn’t want to be,” Maedhros said. “I never wanted to be—all the jostling and jockeying for positions in Tirion hadn’t really felt real, because—because Grandfather was the king and there was no reason to think he ever wouldn’t be. I did the best I could with what I had, and I think I did a good job leading our people in the east at least up until the Dagor Bragollach, but—”

“You should not have had to,” Fëanor said, looking back down at his own work and picking up another diamond. “I’m sorry.”

“Out of everything you might apologize for, I don’t think that needs to be one of them. You didn’t die on purpose.”

“No, but I don’t think I was trying very hard to live, either.” Fëanor slipped the diamond into place and picked up the next.

They had already spoken of that, and Maedhros did not want to make Fëanor do it again. Instead he asked, “Why did you not press your own claim, when you returned to life?”

“I was warned against it before I left Mandos,” Fëanor said, though he sounded far less upset by that than Maedhros would have thought. “But as I said, Nolofinwë has always been better suited to it—he has more patience for the day-to-day administration, and enjoys the kind of problem solving that comes with it more than I ever have. I also knew I would not have any support even if I did want to try—and it wasn’t why I asked to be released, anyway.”

“You just wanted to see us,” Maedhros said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we—”

“You don’t have to be. I didn’t really expect any of you to be happy to see me,” Fëanor said. “I hoped, but that’s not the same thing. And of course I went about it all wrong, though it really was just chance that brought me to the riverbank when you were there—I never intended to take any of you by surprise. I just—if you didn’t want anything to do with me I wanted to hear it from you. Listening to the words of others was how it all went wrong in the first place.” He finished with the string of diamonds and laid it out across the bench before picking up the next. “I can’t really regret how it went, though, knowing it brought all of you to the same place in the end.”

“That was mostly thanks to Mithrandir,” said Maedhros. “He made a point of telling all of us how nice Ekkaia was at that time of year, and then Huan pushed Maglor on until he came there in time to meet us.” He set his pencil down to push his hair out of his face. “Did you look for any of that?”

“Curvo let slip that something alarming had happened—so yes, I did.”

“Oh, you mean the River Incident.”

“Is that what you call it?” Fëanor’s lips twitched as he tried not to smile. “That makes it sound as trivial as me getting knocked into Elrond’s fishpond.”

“It could have been worse,” said Maedhros. “And if you’re going to scold me for it, you’re fifty years too late, and I doubt you have anything to say that Curvo and Moryo haven’t already said at length.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would make more of an impression than a wild cat’s teeth.”

“Moryo would say those teeth didn’t make enough of an impression.” Maedhros shrugged when Fëanor glanced at him. “It was just—several unlucky things happened all at the same time. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and I didn’t do anything the rest of them wouldn’t have done. I have some new scars, but I don’t mind them. Better me than Cáno.”

Fëanor dropped his gaze again and seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he said, “I think—I think Cáno would not have been quite so upset and frightened if it had been one of the others. I saw in the palantír the look on his face as you went into the water, and it was a look I had seen before. When you—” He dropped a diamond and had to duck under the table to find it.

Maedhros hadn't seen Maglor’s face when he had first been knocked into the river—and he had, of course, not seen it in those last moments in Beleriand either. When Fëanor had retrieved the diamond Maedhros said quietly, “We had it out with each other in Lórien—many times. About—about the river and about the fire, and all the rest of it.”

“Is that still something you do not regret? The fire?”

“Yes and no.”

Fëanor didn’t ask further, and after a while he set his diamonds aside and they went to join Fingolfin and Anairë for lunch. In less than a week they would all depart for the feast in the west—both Tirion and Alqualondë would empty, as well as Eressëa, and the Noldor and the Teleri would travel together. Already many of those from Avallónë had come to Tirion. Idril and Tuor joined them for lunch alongside Finduilas. Elrond and Celebrían were also there, though not their sons—they had gone to join the great hunt underway in preparation for the feasting. Idril and Finduilas had never known one another in Middle-earth, for Finduilas had been born after Turgon had removed his people to Gondolin, but they were fast friends now—they and Celebrían forming a merry trio—and Maedhros was glad to see it. As they sat down Elrond glanced briefly between Maedhros and Fëanor; whatever he saw seemed to please him.

After lunch Maedhros returned to Curufin’s house, finding Náriel and Calissë in the midst of a spat and Rundamírë looking uncharacteristically frazzled. “Can you take—one of them? Somewhere?” she asked over the sound of a door slamming upstairs. “Náriel, I suppose, since Calissë has just taken herself to her room.”

“Yes, of course. Where have Ambarussa and Tyelkormo gone?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea—oh, there it is.” Rundamírë sighed as three more voices joined the chorus, the babies woken up by the commotion and very unhappy about it. “I think Curufinwë is in his workshop, and he won’t have heard. Can you also ask him to come speak to Calissë, please?”

“Of course.” Maedhros paused to press a kiss to her cheek. “Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Russandol.”

Maedhros found Náriel hiding behind a sofa, curled up in a ball. “Come on, sweetheart—I need to take Aechen out to the park, and I wouldn’t like to go alone.”

“Don’t wanna,” Náriel mumbled into her arms without lifting her head. Her dark curls were all in a tangle, and she had dust on the hems of her skirts.

“What about going to see what your atya is doing in the workshop?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Maedhros sat back on his heels, and looked around. Aechen trundled over to sniff at him; Maedhros nudged him behind the sofa toward Náriel, and then went to find Curufin in his forge.

“What, again?” Curufin sighed as he plunged the metal into the cooling bucket. Steam billowed around him with a hiss. “That’s the third time this week. I did not expect them to fight so much with each other after the babies were born.”

“Náriel won’t come out from behind the sofa now,” said Maedhros.

“That’s her new favorite hiding place. Usually it’s Calissë that can convince her to come out.”

“Is that a knife?” Maedhros asked, finally seeing what Curufin was working on as he laid it across the anvil. He had seen Curufin make many things since their return, but not a single one of them had been a blade.

Curufin made a face. “A hunting knife,” he said, a little sourly. “The third I need to finish—Ingwë asked me, particularly, to make them from crucible steel as prizes to be given out for some competition or other this summer. I couldn’t exactly refuse the High King of the Eldalië, could I?”

“Is that why Rundamírë seems annoyed with you?”

“I have been putting it off, and now isn’t a good time for forging. I’m nearly done with this—I can finish tonight after the girls are in bed. Ambarussa already made the handles for me.”

Maedhros looked from the blade to Curufin’s face. He looked tired, which was to be expected with three infants and two young children in the house, but Maedhros couldn’t quite tell if that was all it was. “Are you all right, Curvo?”

“I’ve made a few knives like this since I returned,” Curufin said, which wasn’t an answer. “I made them for the twins and one for Tyelko, though I don’t know if he ever even got it—it was when we weren’t speaking and I meant it to be a peace offering of sorts. It’s probably in a box somewhere at Ammë’s house; I should dig it out and give it to Irissë instead. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be in. Is it Náriel or Calissë I’m needed for?”

“Calissë. I’m to take charge of Náriel—so don’t worry about her. I have plenty of practice dealing with a sulky child.” Maedhros grinned at Curufin, hoping to cheer him up by teasing. “She’s very much her father’s daughter.”

It worked. Curufin rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Back inside, Maedhros sat down on the floor beside the sofa, leaning back against the wall where he could see Náriel and she could see him. After a few minutes Curufin came inside, and went upstairs. Maedhros heard a few sharp words exchanged between him and Rundamírë. Náriel heard them too, and started crying again. “Come here, sweetheart,” Maedhros said softly, and this time she scrambled over onto his lap. “It’s all right. You’re all right. Come on, let’s go somewhere a little less dusty.”

It took a bit of juggling until Maedhros had Náriel settled in his arms and Aechen safe in hers. Once he was sure no one was going to get dropped he took them out of the house and to the nearby park to sit in the blooming clover while Aechen sniffed around for grubs. Usually Náriel would have run after him, or gone to look for interesting flowers or insects, but that afternoon she stayed with Maedhros, arms around his neck and unusually quiet.

When Caranthir had been small and upset, he had never wanted to talk about it. He was more willing these days, but not by much. Likewise, Curufin had rarely wanted to confide in anyone when he was troubled—or at least he hadn’t wanted to confide in Maedhros. Celegorm had been his favorite from his earliest years. Now, Maedhros adjusted his grip on Náriel a little and asked, not quite sure whether she would take after her father or uncle in this, “Do you want to tell me what you and your sister were fighting about?”

“Calissë was being mean,” Náriel said. “She didn’t want to play and then she said she never wanted to play with me—”

“That’s certainly not true.”

“She said I’m no fun because I don’t want to pretend at adventures all the time, and that she likes her friends from Taur-en-Gellam more than me. And—and she’s gonna go off and play with them all this summer and I don’t have any friends like that because all my friends are her friends and I’m gonna be all alone and—” Náriel burst into tears again and buried her face in Maedhros’ shoulder.

He rubbed her back as she cried herself out. A few passersby glanced their way, looks of sympathy on their faces. Once Náriel calmed a little, Maedhros said, “Calissë is going to spend a lot of time with her own friends, both this summer and as you get older. But I think you’ll find it much easier than you fear to make friends of your own, and you’ll find that you don’t want to always be in your sister’s company either. That’s just growing up, sweetheart.”

“But she’s being mean.”

“Which is wrong, of course, but she’s going to feel awful about it by the time we get back, and she’ll apologize, and all will be well. You’ll see. However many other friends each of you make, you’ll still be each other’s best friend.”

“But Ammë and Atya were fighting too and it’s my fault and—”

“That was not your fault, Náriel, and that wasn’t even a real fight. Preparing to leave for the feast is a lot of work, especially with three young babies who don’t like to sleep when they should. Your parents are just tired and that makes them a little snappish.”

“Why do we have to go? Can’t we just stay home?”

“Everyone is going,” Maedhros said. “It’s going to be a lot of fun once we get there, you’ll see, and it’s also very important.”

“Why?”

“You know how there’s us, the Noldor, and there’s the Teleri in Alqualondë, and the Sindar in Taur-en-Gellam, and the Vanyar in Valmar, and lots of others in between and scattered about?”

“Yes?” Náriel sat up to wipe her face on her sleeve, distracted from her own woes for the moment.

“We’re all still Elves,” Maedhros said. “Once, there weren’t so many different groups—or any different groups at all. We were just the Quendi, long ago before any of us left Cuiviénen. High King Ingwë wants to bring us all together again to remind us of that, because it’s been so long. No matter what’s happened or how we have wronged one another, or how far even our languages have diverged, we’re still one people, and we always will be.” He poked Náriel’s nose gently. “Just like you and Calissë are always going to be sisters, however much you fight with each other. Did you know your Uncle Tyelko and your atya went years without speaking to each other, before you were born?”

“That’s not true,” Náriel protested.

“It is true. Cáno and me, too.”

“But why?”

“It doesn’t always matter how much you love someone—you’re going to do things that hurt them. I hurt Cáno very badly a long time ago, and he was, rightfully, very upset about it. But we figured it out in the end, while we were in Lórien. You and Calissë will, too.”

“Náriel!” Celebrimbor and Maeglin came walking down the path then, returning home from wherever the morning had taken them. Náriel brightened immediately upon hearing her brother’s voice, and abandoned Maedhros to run over to him. He picked her up and tossed her into the air before catching her and pressing kisses all over her cheeks.

Maeglin left them to greet Maedhros as he got to his feet. “What’s the matter with Náriel?” he asked.

“A fight with her sister. They’ll make up before the evening—but everyone’s a little tense, juggling the children and all the packing. Are you all right?” Maedhros asked. Maeglin also looked a little tense, in a way he hadn’t in some time.

He tried to smile but it wavered quickly. “Idril and Tuor are in town,” he said.

“Yes, I had lunch with them. Have you not yet spoken?”

“I’m not going to seek them out,” Maeglin said. “We’ll have to speak sometime soon, but, well…I can’t pretend to be in any great hurry.” He glanced back toward Celebrimbor and Náriel, who were speaking quietly together, Celebrimbor with a serious expression on his face. “I have been too much my father’s son,” Maeglin said, turning back to Maedhros, “and I am still learning how not to be.”

“I know the feeling,” Maedhros said. “What will you do when he comes from Mandos?”

“Oh, he won’t. He never made it there to begin with.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Maeglin shrugged. There was neither grief nor regret in him. “He never answered the call. Others have done it too, I’ve been told—choosing to remain houseless, refusing to leave Middle-earth. I don’t know what they become, but I’ve been imagining my father returning to haunt the shadows of Nan Elmoth. What happened when it all broke and sank into the Sea, I can’t guess.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Turgon didn’t believe me either. But I asked Námo himself not long after I arrived there, and he told me that Eöl had never come to his Halls. I do not think he was ever ensnared by the Enemy, either. His will was stronger than that—he would remain answerable only to himself, dead or alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m not.” Maeglin did smile then, small and a little hard. “Still too much his son, I suppose.”

Celebrimbor brought Náriel back to rejoin them then, and Maeglin’s expression softened in an instant when he turned toward them. “Are things truly as dire at home as Náriel seems to think?” Celebrimbor asked.

“No,” said Maedhros.

“That’s what I thought. It’ll be better once we’ve actually started traveling. My mother always hates the preparations beforehand, and the babies just make it all that much harder.” Celebrimbor looked at Náriel, adjusting his grip as he shifted her weight on his hip. “How about we go to the bakery? We can get everyone’s favorites, and see Míraen and Súriellë. Would you like to come, Lómion?”

“I should be getting back to my own packing,” said Maeglin, “and one or two things my grandfather has asked of me. I’ll see you tomorrow perhaps.”

“I’ll tell Curvo where you’ve gone,” Maedhros said to Celebrimbor as Maeglin walked off with a wave over his shoulder. He put his hand on Náriel’s back. “Tell Míraen and Súriellë hello for me, sweetheart?”

“I will,” Náriel said, already sounding happier.

Maedhros returned with Aechen to find things calmer, though not exactly cheerful. “Where’s Náriel?” Curufin asked sharply before Maedhros could do more than step inside.

“With Tyelpë. They’ve gone to visit Míraen and Súriellë. Do you know what all the fuss was about?”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “Calissë’s choosing now of all times to decide she’s too old for all the games Náriel still likes to play.”

“Náriel told me Calissë wants to play at adventures.”

“Yes, she does. I don’t know that it was a mistake, exactly, letting her travel with Cáno and Daeron, but—”

“It’ll work out, Curvo.”

“I know that, but it’s not worked out yet. Calissë’s to stay in her room until dinner. I don’t know what’s gotten in to her, to speak as she did to Náriel.”

“What, you never said nasty things to Ambarussa when you couldn’t agree on what games to play?”

Curufin shrugged. “Not as children. They were always off on their own anyway—if anything I was the one feeling left out, but I don’t remember being all that bothered because I was more interested in following Atya around than in digging in the dirt or climbing trees like them.”

Well, that was something. “You should’ve heard the fights Maglor and Celegorm got into when we were small. This is nothing compared to that. Do you want me to speak to Calissë?”

“No. If this keeps up I might ask Cáno when we get to where the feast is being held, if he isn’t too busy. I think he and Daeron are her favorite uncles at the moment, so maybe she’ll listen to them if she won’t listen to me or Arimeldë.”

“Are you and Rundamírë all right?”

“Oh, we’re fine. She hates that I’m making blades, and that I put it off until now, and she’s not wrong.”

“In the future, Curvo,” Maedhros said, “you can refuse, even if it’s Ingwë doing the asking.”

“Hunting knives aren’t swords, and I know he only asked me because I’m one of the best, even now. If it weren’t for an occasion as big as this I think I would have said no. I shouldn’t have put it off—once they’re done and packed away I’ll be able to focus on more important things.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“No.” Curufin shook his head and sighed. “Just—be my big brother, that’s all. Like you keep saying to me.”

Maedhros wrapped his arm around Curufin and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that I wasn’t for so long.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being in pain, Nelyo. And it wasn’t like any of us were trying very hard then, was it? You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

When Celebrimbor brought Náriel home later, alongside the last of Míraen’s baked goods made before she closed everything up, Calissë emerged from her room contrite and puffy-eyed from her own tears. She and Náriel made up exactly as Maedhros had predicted they would, and Celebrimbor took both of them to the workshop to help him with some simple project that kept them occupied and out from underfoot as Rundamírë and Curufin and Maluwendë continued the packing. Maedhros had already packed all of his things—he had very little to take, even counting his fine clothes and jewels—and so he just retreated to his room with Aechen to read and keep out of everyone’s way.

The next time he saw his father was when he came to dinner the next evening. The girls had entirely forgotten their fight, and everyone was cheerful. As the preparations were finished, there was more room to be excited about the coming journey. Before he left, Fëanor handed Maedhros a wooden case—one for keeping some kind of jewelry inside. “You’ll need this, come summer,” he said, and left before Maedhros could so much as thank him.

He didn’t open it until he had retreated to his bedroom. Inside, nestled on pale green velvet, was a circlet: copper, formed in an intricate braided design shot through with thin wires of mithril that caught the lamplight and gleamed. It was beautiful, and Maedhros would need it for all the formal and ceremonial occasions at the feast, which he had been trying not to think much about. He did not own any other circlets or even that much jewelry anymore—when he had gone to the banquet at Midwinter more than half of the jewels he’d worn had been borrowed from Finrod. It felt too much like a child playing dress-up with a parent’s clothes, these days. He’d found that he couldn’t look into a mirror and see Prince Maitimo’s face looking back without wanting to break something. It had been something of a surprise when that feeling first surfaced—at Midwinter, when Finrod had finished weaving emeralds and opals into his hair and turned him toward the mirror, and Maedhros had for a moment thought he had been swept back in time—and he had, for that same moment, fancied he’d heard Morgoth’s distant mocking laughter. He’d swallowed the feeling down and put on a smile and after a little while the feeling had gone away, but he did not want to do anything to invite it back.

He closed the case and set it beside the box atop the dresser that held his other jewels. Finrod and Fingon were both right—he was still a prince, the grandson and nephew of kings, and that wasn’t something he could ever really escape. Not if he wanted to continue to be present in Tirion or to see his father and his cousins on a regular basis. If asked, Maedhros wasn’t even sure he’d be able to explain why the idea of being called by the titles that still belonged to him made him itch somewhere under his skin, or why the feeling had suddenly worsened lately.

He went to bed early but was immediately dragged into dark dreams, full of fire and smoke and rattling chains and grasping hands. Such nightmares had been growing fewer and farther between, but that night he woke after only a few hours, covered in sweat and hot and cold all over. The darkness in the room was unbearable, and after some fumbling he managed to light the lamp, chasing away the last vestiges of Angband to reveal the small and cozy room with its thick rugs and window cracked open to let in the cool night air. Aechen was asleep in his basket under the window. In the corridor outside his room Maedhros heard the sounds of everyone else heading to bed, Curufin cursing as he tripped over Lossë on the stairs and Rundamírë laughing at him, though they were oddly muffled and sounded as though they were happening very far away. He sat and shivered for a few minutes, unable to make himself move even to straighten the blankets he’d kicked into disarray.

A soft knock heralded Celegorm’s entry. “Maedhros? What’s the matter?”

Maedhros rubbed his hand over his face. “Did I make a noise?”

“No, but I saw the light come on. I thought you were asleep.”

“Nothing feels real,” Maedhros heard himself say, and that was all Celegorm needed to crawl into bed with him, pushing and shoving until Maedhros moved over. Somehow Maedhros ended up lying with his head on Celegorm’s chest, with Celegorm’s hand in his hair—the reverse of how this sort of thing usually went. It felt as though it were happening to someone else.

“Did something happen?”

“No. I’m just—”

“Just what?”

Maedhros turned his face into Celegorm’s shirt and didn’t answer. He felt as much as heard Celegorm sigh. Then he started humming, not quite in tune, a quiet song that Maglor often played in the evenings. He had a fair voice, and if he ever bothered to practice Maedhros thought he could be nearly as great a singer as Maglor—but in that moment it was the familiar roughness of it that was most comforting, alongside the steady sound of his heartbeat under Maedhros’ ear. Slowly, Maedhros relaxed, and felt a little like he could breathe again, and like his body really belonged to him.

After the song ended Celegorm said, very quietly, “You aren’t broken, Maedhros.” Because of course he could guess what Maedhros had stopped himself from saying.

“It’s easier to believe that in daylight,” Maedhros whispered.

“I’ll keep reminding you, then.”

Maedhros fell back asleep eventually, and with Celegorm there the dreams didn’t return—or if they did they slipped away upon his waking in the morning, utterly forgotten. Celegorm was already gone by then, but when Maedhros got up he found a small ceramic hedgehog, no bigger than a quail’s egg, sitting on top of the case that held his new circlet—Aechen in miniature, every detail and little spine rendered perfectly in clay and paint.