In Early Spring by Serinquanion  

Time moved differently in this form as did his mind. Everything he perceived was shrouded in stained glass. He floated for so long that he didn’t even know exactly how long it was. His head hurt even if he didn’t have a head right now. Nor did he have an identity to hold onto. He had a nudge that he wasn't a good person but what he did that he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He just wanted to rest.

And rest he did. In such a deep sleep he was lulled into that when he woke up beside this grand lake, he was quite confused. More so when he realised he wasn’t floating anymore but slowly descending towards the bank of the lake. The mud there was soft and such a great place for a tree to grow up, he thought. And as soon as the thought formed, he felt quite different. Before long should anyone gaze towards the bank of the lake, they would see that just outside the vast grand woods, a little but resilient sapling was growing. What plant it was, none recognized and left it there as any attempts to touch it caused visions in the person of their future and many times they received great knowledge and mastered craftsmanship specifically in a forge. Soon enough, it grew to be an attraction and a great settlement grew around it. The townspeople worshipped their little sapling although it didn't grow in stature at all. It remained the small sapling that it came to be in existence as.

Years, decades and eventually centuries passed by and now the town was a great city, extended half over the lake and at the centre of the city was the sapling, fortified with stones and masonry and the walls were being decorated by this strange man who refused to remove the cloak off his head and his face always shrouded in darkness. The man had a beautiful voice and even more beautiful works as he painted many murals in just a few days. He had arrived only a few weeks before and had many questions that the citizens happily answered.

***

“So you are telling me that the sapling,” the artisan pointed at the middle of the circular wall, standing above the wall with the mayor, “is here since like five centuries ago?”

“Yes, yes, master Coirëndil.” The mayor nodded. “It’s a gift from the gods to us.” He looked quite glad to be able to point out the last part, reveling in the fact that they were quite literally blessed.

The artisan looked more interested in the tale now. “The gods gifted you?” he asked. Tilting his head. The mayor now could see the bridge of his high and straight nose. It greatly suited his narrow lips.

“Of course! Or else why our tiny town was spared from all the troubles outside that are still going on. Never had any stray orc or running Black Riders ended up outside our door!”

The artisan hummed. “Mister Mayor, can I get a better view at the sapling? I want to,” he smiled gently, his lips curving into a charming smile. “touch it and get better at my work.”

The mayor laughed heartily. “Of course, of course. You are already so great at drawing the murals though.” he said, “But if that's what you want, I will take you down there. Just please let us see your face first so that we have a note on you for later.”

The artisan nodded. “It has to be done in your mansion, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” replied the mayor. “Let’s climb down the wall then.” The man said in a very joyous way.

On their way down, the artisan looked back up at the sky. It was bright and sunny today. Not uncomfortably hot but warm to skin. It reminded him of… home. Whichever among many was it. He sighed, not wanting to think much about it but through his reverie, he almost didn’t notice that they had reached their destination already until the mayor called out, tapping his shoulder.

“Master Coirëndil, take down your hood please.” the mayor nudged. “Little Nînnil here will do a quick sketch of you.”

He absentmindedly did so and for a moment wondered why the two people in the chamber were staring at him before realizing their point of interest — his ears and hair. “Are they considered this… strange?” his grey eyes sparkled with humor.

The two looked away immediately and focused on their work. Nînnil drew quite a good portrait in such a small time with only the least amount of supplies. It captured his tired gaze and usual tranquil expression very well. And the mayor had completed the paper-work. In all, it took only a few hours. But as it was already dark, the mayor asked if it would be alright to go there tomorrow; he had agreed. But he did decline the mayor’s offer to let a guard escort him to the small house he had rented in the city. It was quite far from the centre of the city and the mayor’s halls, yes, but he liked solitude much more.

Yes, Zîrahim, the mayor, was a good companion and maybe the man saw him as a friend — many did for his race, although fading, was still seen as great — but he himself certainly didn’t view Zîrahim as such. And after today, he did even less so. It seemed though the man knew he was of the race of Eldar but his appearance still shocked him. The artisan knew the reason was most certainly his hair. Then again, it’s been long since he had a ‘friend’. His father and mother — or uncle or aunt, he didn’t know what to call them even now — had tried long to beget him friends but even they were unsuccessful until his cousin returned.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts that were taking the worst of a turn. Instead he wandered for a bit. He wasn’t in much hurry right now, strolling through the market that laid on his path to his house. He had little need for food for sustenance and but still it was nice to have something soothing for his tongue, something that reminds him of home.

“Mister, mister, would you please buy these?” a little girl of age eleven in butcher clothes called out to him. “Finest cuts of pig that you can find in Tungkast!” she said. He smiled at her encouragingly.

“Finest you say?” a boy of her age and of slightly bigger stature shouted from the other side of the road from his own shop. “Mister, my father’s is better! Their,” he pointed at the girl’s shop, “hasn’t been good since her father left them and her mother refuses to leave the gift of Zarazîr!”

In the end though, he still bought quite a lot and of quite a few varieties of cuts from the girl even though he had no hunger for any meat right now. He mentally noted that he would have to invite her and her younger siblings for meals one day. Their thin faces picking from the back of the shop and the happy gleam in all their eyes when he paid in silver coins were… well, they simply melted his heart.

He didn’t stop anywhere else after this. He better get these down to the cold room and maybe also smoke some of these. He wasn’t really fond of other methods of preservation.

By the time he went to bed that night after doing every chores and a light dinner of vegetable and fish stew and rye bread, it was already midnight. He still stayed awake for a long while, staring ahead at the rooftop of his room and thinking of the day spent. And of the great and strange sapling, Zarazîr as the boy called it and as most people in the city called its so called gift from gods. Strange, very strange it was for even from afar, he could feel its strength and a great will to just go over and touch it. It drew him close, he was in the far east, not wanting to come here so soon even if he wanted to see the place where his forefathers awakened.

And all these scared him. He never showed this exact fear to these Men as he knew they wouldn't believe him at all, being in the grasp of it completely. So he took the longer path. Renting a house here, making a living by his art and making this place a second home. Something had urged him to get a home with a spare room, why he didn’t know. His best guess would be it was for his dear brother but he wasn’t sure of it. So for now, the room was gathering dust.

He sighed, turning to his side he felt tired and yet sleep was elusive. He knew, most likely, he couldn’t sleep until he got to the sapling tomorrow. And after a while, he forgone sleep altogether and sat up for an early day in his workshop downstairs.

Before long, it was dawn and he was waiting for the sun to rise higher before he went to the mayor’s hall.

***

It was a dangerous endeavor. To try to steal the greatest treasure of the city he had come to love and see as his home. And he knew, it would be most likely him on whom the suspicion would fall first as he still was a newcomer, only arriving here less than a year. But he wasn’t someone to back out or fear backlash. So stealing it was. At worst, he would leave the city. And his gift for this lifetime came to much rescue this time. It was far too easy to hum and make the guards fall asleep from his hiding.

His visit with the mayor earlier this week helped a lot too. Only one visit to the sapling and he already knew all the ways and paths inside the fortified structure by his heart. After a few minutes and a few more sleeping guards later, he was standing before the sapling. He stood there for a while, contemplating something at the last moment but ultimately deciding against whatever it was.

He knelt before the final obstacle — a metal cage, airy and light so that light could enter and nourish the sapling but not a person. Not a very great means of security but given that none in the administration thought anyone would dare to and be able to break into this far, not too shabby either. He could probably bend the metal bars, he would’ve by now if not the possibility of resonance created from the metal bending could wake people up. He had to think of another way.

When Zîrahim took him here, he just placed his hand on the metal bars and a few bars disappeared to create a doorway. From his analysis, it seemed that the wards underneath were designed to recognize the key-holder of the city — the mayor. And most likely the ward was centred to the sapling itself.

So while in the majority of such cases, he would’ve straight-up destroyed the centre, it wasn’t possible here. He didn’t want the sapling to be destroyed, at least not yet, not before he had the chance to fully examine it. After that, he would eviscerate it. Or so he had decided already.

Right now, he muttered something under his breath, tracing the metal bar with his long finger, looking for a weak point in the ward. When he found it after a while, his fingertip halted at the point and with a slight push, the doorway appeared. Now, the sapling was right in his view.

The leaves that seemed like green of new-grown grasses in the sunlight, looked like they were glittered with grinded gemstones or silver and underneath they were dark green in colour. It had grown not since the last time he saw it and for a moment he could understand why most common Men were enamored by it. But he was no Man nor was he someone of common-birth, so he managed to resist the urge. With swift hands, he dug up the soft, loose soil around the sapling. The soil was moist and loose, like someone just planted it here. Then, he gently pulled out the plant from the ground, taking great care not to tear its roots that ran deep into the soil. With just a little effort and much patience and time, the sapling was in his hands and out of the soil. He carefully placed it into a bag and flung it over his shoulder, resting over his right side. Then, he stood up, getting ready to disappear into the shadows and then out of the fortified stone walls and into the street. He wanted to rest today after this and tomorrow he would examine the sapling. He was sure no one would see a new plant as anything out of place in his small garden, especially if he charmed the sapling to look like a normal plant. But the moment he set a foot outside the metal cage, the whole thing shone up like the sun.

Alarm rang in his mind but only by luck did he manage to hide in the shadowy corner behind a pillar when many armed guards swarmed into the open space. He cursed under his breath before whispering an enchantment around himself and took a sly chance to slip out with very light steps even for an elf. Only after he was halfway to his residence and far from the growing chaos as many people were waking up to the spreading news of the theft of their worshipped item that he sighed in relief, leaning against a wall in an alleyway. Thankfully, he lived far from the city-centre and rarely anyone disturbed him ever. He quickened his pace so that, even if by any chance anyone decided to check his residence, they would find nothing but a new plant ready for potting in his garden and him half-asleep.

He sat down against the front door once he silently shut it behind him when he reached his residence. The whole endeavor was somewhat nerve-wracking as he hadn’t done something like this for literal ages. Three ages to be exact.

After a while, he stood up, getting ready to place the sapling outside with other plants waiting to be potted and to charm it. That took, at most, only a few minutes. And in just half-an-hour, he was out cold in his comforting bed in his room upstairs, entirely unaware of the sounds that come to be in the house around the morning time.

***

“Master Coirëndil, I am the deputy head of the city-guards. Please open your door.” a youth begged from the outside, waking him up from deep sleep. “We are in dire need, good sir.”

He groaned and turned and finally after a while, kicked the quilt off him. He stared down from one of the windows of the room and saw a group of only two people outside. He did recognize them — Anarcalin, the son of a retired soldier of Gondor and the one who called out; and Tiqinixë, a cousin of the former. Their forefathers had served the stewards of Gondor and before the stewards, the line of kings. Only recently for two generations that the extended family moved to this place as they had grown restless in Minas Tirith. Or so he had heard about them.

He grumbled under his breath and hoped that no signs of his little sleep would show up on his face as he climbed down the stairs. Without hurry, he opened the front door after making sure he wouldn't look askew and that his sleeping robes were properly tied. Although he wasn’t very pleased to get guests this early in the morning and internally he was reviewing if the charm he placed was alright still, he felt immediately bad looking at the panicked pale faces of the two young men. His eyes softened and he motioned them inside.

“Thank you, thank you.” Anarcalin muttered, sounding quite relieved as they took their seats in one of the comfier couches in the living room. “I hope, it’s not too much of an ask, I know you're quite busy and –”

“Would you help us catch a thief?” Tiqinixë cut him off with an impatient but also panicked voice as if he didn’t trust the walls not to overhear the exact details of the theft.

“Cousin!” Anarcalin hissed and turned to the artisan, “Sir, please don’t take offense but,” he searched for the right words, “I think, you will understand the severity if you get to the spot. Someone had stolen the gift of Zarazîr!”

“Someone had stolen… the sapling?” he asked, feigning confusion. “But isn’t it heavily guarded?”

“It is.” said Tiqinixë, “but someone charmed every single guard asleep and sneaked in last night. Even with our best efforts, we couldn’t catch the thief.”

Anarcalin nodded. “We aren’t really specialised in charms and enchantments. But aren’t your people known for this? Won’t you please help us catch the thief? This town of Calenrod will always be grateful to you.” he requested, the desperation showing up again.

“I will think.” He had replied to the two youths before standing up along them. “But first I want to see the spot for any residual traces that I can find.”

“Thank you.” the two said before they set out. Although he would’ve liked to properly dress up first and have breakfast, he wanted to also make sure that nothing could be traced to him and being at the scene would let him ensure the latter. So a travelling coat over the sleeping robe it was. Anarcalin and Tiqinixë looked very much relieved at his enthusiasm and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for them for misunderstanding his reasons but he wasn’t a fool who would tell them that and he doubted anyone would.

At the entrance to the grand walls was a crowd, all pale and some crying, shouting profanities at the uncaught thief. He could see the little girl who had only recently accepted his invitation for a meal at his place along with her siblings was near one of more hysterical people, trying to comfort the woman futilely. Zîrahim, once catching a glance of him with the two guards, lightened up.

“This way! This way, please! My dear boy Anarcalin has explained everything, hasn't he? Good, good.” the mayor said to him and ordered his people to not let anyone enter the fortified structure as he led the elf to the crime spot. But as fate would reveal, even he could find nothing at all and after a few hours of futile efforts, or not so futile, as he did remove his own traces off everything. He had just apologized for not being able to help at all but the mayor, as good hearted as one can be, apologized back for disturbing his rest and sent him back home, alone for he once again refused to take an escort. There was no crowd outside now.

Quite relieved that his actions won’t be revealed, he walked back merrily and as he walked straight into his house and to the kitchen to climb the stairs to complete his sleep, he was very much distracted. He still didn’t have time or will to examine the sapling but he would check on it this evening and decided to postpone one particular experiment until he left the city for safer measures. To say that he was surprised and caught off guard as he didn’t feel any presence in his residence until he directly walked into the other fellow wouldn’t do any justice.

They both fell on their back and the other party yelped in surprise, the artisan see the very familiar shade of red on the other person’s head, for a moment, he thought it was one of his brothers before the face reminded him of another person but before disgust showed up in his gaze and face and he drew his weapon, the other redhead also looked straight into his eyes with full of confusion and muttered in a slightly crooked accent, “Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Man nain, Alcarnë? Man nain…man nain…man nain…?”

And despite all his instincts telling him to finish off the very confused fallen maia or at least to flee the place, he kneeled down, taking off his hand from the hilt of his dagger and dragged the other into a soft embrace and patted the cold back to lessen the distress radiating from the still babbling Úmaia.

“Yé, yé! Alatyë mauyëa. Nain sís, nain sís, Aranwa.”

Chapter End Notes

Quenya names and phrases:

Alcarnë - Brilliant red

Aranwa - Lofty Gift

Coirëndil - Lover of Early Spring

Anarcalin - Sun-Bright

Tiqinixë - Thawing Frost

“Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Man nain, Alcarnë? Man nain…man nain…man nain…?” => “Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Who am I, Alcarnë? Who am I…Who am I…Who am I…?”

“Yé, yé! Alatyë mauyëa. Nain sís, nain sís, Aranwa.” => “hey, hey! Don't cry. I am here, I am here, Aranwa.”

Westron names:

Nînnil - water-moon

Zîrahim - Wise-ale

Zarazîr - Old-Wise

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Memory was a strange thing that this fana had returned to him. The memory of his past self was stranger still. Often shrouded in guilt and confusion of why he ever thought of disrupting the natural order to create another order? Or was the desire for order had arisen from the Arda being marred since the very start? Or maybe far before he even entered Arda even.

Memory was like a river. At the beginning, when it broke free from the limbo of a glacier of the frozen mind of a maia, it was like an angry vicious stream. Fast and fierce, piercing through even the hard rocks and turning stones into fine sand. A new creation. Violent in the start but ultimately ending in beauty.

Then on the vast plains of ages upon ages, the destructive creations turned into gently guided ones. Only to be put into downhill once again, a drop so sudden, that the river changed its mood and course altogether. As if, like everything else, it was predetermined.

By the time their paths merged, ages before the Eldar disappeared from the face of Arda and retreated to Blessed Realm, long before he or his master knew what to make out of the Atani, they were both like grand rivers bound by dams, waiting to be broken and broken they would be and flooded everything and everyone around them.

Then they separated and stayed separated for a long while, and hated each other. Why? Why though? Why did they fall apart?

Oh yes, this cursed fana also answered it. And he too would’ve hated himself if he was in his Alcarnë’s place. What a Dark Lord he was! How much destruction he had laid around him! It was a miracle that he was brought closer and his Alcarnë hadn’t run a sword through him. He knew he deserved it if that would've occurred.

That was something, Mairon knew, his partner heavily disagreed with.

“I wouldn’t.” Maedhros would say smiling even if Mairon could see the half-hidden restraint behind his eyes as if he was actively telling himself not to tear his still quite disoriented partner into pieces. Mairon never mentioned his doubts to him ever, instead he focused on their nightly conversations.

Each night after their supper, they would sit and relax in the upstairs living room and Maedhros would let him enter his mind to show him everything that he had forgotten. It was brutal, there was anger coming from every corner of the elf’s mind but all of Mairon’s consciousness only went to all the atrocities that had been committed by him. It saddened him deeply. Each night they go into detailed visions of each decade he spread pain and despair among humans and elves. And each night he wished he could call Maedhros back for comfort after their conversations ended. But he never did. Either shame or fear held him back.

So everyday he saw the elf disappearing in his room before convincing himself to take rest in his own chamber.

His chamber, it was another thing he felt very much guilty about. A glance and he could tell that the room was built for someone else. It was bright and sunny and airy with better bedding and walls were padded to keep the warmth inside. There were desks large enough for a large map and cupboards to keep every single parchments organized. It was made for such a comfort that Maedhros never allowed himself to have.

It was built for his brother. It must be. Maedhros must have hoped to travel and find Maglor and take him back here. The room was very comfortable. A chamber everyone would like to stay in. But something was missing here. Mairon felt very misplaced living in it.

‘Must be for it was never made for.’ He had thought to himself. The chamber was too big for him. He felt alone in here.

Right now though, he wasn’t alone, nor was he in the cottage but in the garden that Maedhros maintained just outside the kitchen. Two little children were staring attentively as he gently plucked the peas and tomatoes off the shrubs and leafy greens off the ground. The last caused the two children to make faces.

“They look nasty.” the little girl said.

“Can’t we just have the roast?” her brother whispered. “I mean, that will be made first anyway and I’m hungry.”

“Well, your elder sister,” Mairon said with a smile, “had told us you would say so. And I should remind you that she is right there in the kitchen helping my —” he stopped suddenly, as if remembering it would be improper to voice his thoughts. The children though didn’t notice as the said sister stood in the doorway, hands on her waist, clearly telling them with her eyes not to cause trouble.

“Mr Mairon, please don’t give in to their demands or they will be spoiled.” She said and left them there to check on the boiling pot of the potato soup for dinner.

“Well, I can promise that these vegetables will taste really great. Alcarnë can make anything taste good.” Mairon promised the children and stood up to wash the vegetables in the water well close by. The children scurried to help him. Mairon had to say they did quite a good job at pulling the water bucket up.

“Mr Mairon, if you don’t mind,” Zimrabel, the sister, said to him, “Why do you call Mr Coirëndil ‘Alcarnë’?”

“Oh, it’s just his nickname.” Mairon replied. “It means ‘brilliant red’.”

Azrazor, the brother, giggled. “It matches him.”

‘Yes it does,’ thought Mairon absentmindedly as they headed inside. Inside, Ûrinzil, their elder sister was standing over a stool and tasting the soup on stove for the final time.

“I think it’s ready.” She said to Maedhros who was right beside her.

“Well then,” Maedhros smiled and patted her head and turned to Mairon. “Aranwa, have them to eat first? I will join after I get the roast into the oven.”

Mairon had nodded and ushered the three children to the dining table before he peeked into the parlour to call out the two younger ones playing there. "Dinner’s ready.” he said to them, voice lightly teasing, “Hurry up or your brother will finish everything.”

“Azra! Azra, that’s not fair!” they giggled while rushing to the table, only to be scolded by Ûrinzil.

“Don’t be so loud.” she flicked their foreheads. “On your seats now.” Mairon smiled at their interaction as he poured the hot soup in smaller bowls from the pot and Ûrinzil set the fresh breads in everyone’s plates.

“Mr Mairon, will it take long for Mr Coirëndil to join the table?” Zimrabel asked.

Azrazor continued after her. “We just don’t want to start before him.” His siblings shared the same sentiment as they peeked at the open kitchen.

Mairon did so too and decided it won’t take his… meldo long to finish. That’s what he told the children but he also encouraged them to begin. “I will wait for him. Why don’t you children start early? Or the food won’t taste as good.” He said kindly, patting Zimrabel’s head.

“If you say so…” said Azrazor.

“Do as Mr Mairon said.” said Ûrinzil, clearly irritated by her younger siblings’ shenanigans.

They were halfway through the meal when Maedhros joined them. “How’s everything?”

“Very good!” replied Azrazor. “I loved the soup!”

“Well then,” Maedhros said, “considering how you have eaten most of your vegetables already, all of you will get these. On sweet scones.” In his hand was a jar of raspberry jam. “But you have to promise you will eat all vegetables at supper too.”

The bait for sweet treat made the younger bunch to eat more eagerly and Ûrinzil smiled at him. “Thank you.” she muttered. The two adults had smiled back.

The rest of the meal and day had passed pleasantly. After dinner (and cleaning up after the meal) and finishing up the rest of the preparation for supper, Maedhros had taken the children in his workshop to show all the landscape arts and portraits on canvases. Mairon in the meantime decided to… procrastinate while he made himself a cup of the warm drink Maedhros often made with some rare spices he acquired from his travels.

He had been thinking of leaving this town for a while now that he has most of his memories back. Well, not his memories but Maedhros had told him almost everything that had happened till date on Middle Earth and his involvement in it. And Mairon was truly ashamed of his actions and he understood, for most part Maedhros did so too.

He had kept these thoughts down, away from his meldo and when by afternoon they came back from the lower floor and Ûrinzil again got to help Maedhros to complete the cooking, his face had the pleasant smile plastered over it.

In another few hours, the children had departed with a full belly and happy smile (but not before the eldest got the promise out of them that they would have to go to their house for a meal too) and Mairon sighed in relief. He wasn’t quite sure if being so tired was normal for a Maia but he guessed it might be a side effect of all his deeds and how the third age ended.

“If you are that tired, we don’t have to do the history lessons tonight.” Maedhros said, observing him. “And don’t use that name again.” He really looked quite displeased with the last point. Mairon just nodded and climbed the stairs to head to his chamber. He didn’t really want to talk today and wanted to rest and Maedhros’ reaction just further resolved his recent thoughts.

***

In this new life given to him, Maedhros had thought himself as ‘Maedhros’ or ‘Maitimo’ or ‘Nelyafinwë’ for very few times. He wasn’t even told those names of his previous lifetime until his coming of age begetting day, just like he never properly met his amillë till that day and was only then he was introduced to the lady he always addressed as aunt as his amillë. He didn’t blame his emmecë or atto for that. He understood why they would try to shield him from the actions done by himself as the firstborn of Fëanor in the first age. If the role was inverted, he would do the same. And he loved belonging in the youngest branch of House of Finwë. He had a great older brother and a vast amount of cousins who he now understood why they were so… cold in their initial interactions with him. He himself was quite uncomfortable with coming to the term of being the monstrous kinslayer of whom the Falmari sang about in many grieving songs.

Now, Coirëndil was the name he was most comfortable with using and others calling him and he would’ve been comfortable with Alcarnë too if that wasn’t an anessë given to him as a lover by the literal murderer of his brother and torturer of his nephew from another lifetime, the nephew whom he had only met once in this lifetime and that was only after the death of Celebrimbor.

Alataél was the name emmecë gave him which he loved dearly, but it was for people only close to his heart which were none in this grand human city. The only whom he might even allow to know this would be the same murderer he was harbouring under his roof right now, in the chamber he prepared for his lost brother (or should he call him ‘cousin’? He wasn’t sure of that. But from what he learned from Aráto before he left on the great ship, the address ‘brother’ would be far more appropriate).

Maedhros hadn’t meant to snap at Mairon tonight. He was just tired and seeing and taking care of all these children made a buried, dead part in his heart tremble and a lost memory to almost resurface but still out of his reach. It was like looking through a window with frosted glass, it was only a shape and blurred, distorted colours but he couldn’t make out the delicate details.

He felt exhausted down to his bones and homesickness once again entered his mind. A part of him entirely regretted agreeing to leave Aman along with the two Isatri and Laurefindele but that exact part also despised himself for even having the thought. After all, the sole reason he returned back to the scorched Middle Earth was to find Macalaurë to return with him, though the reason he gave to the Valar was that he wanted to help the Free People fighting Sauron. Now that Sauron was virtually no threat to them, he should return but his heart refused to listen to reasons and urged him to find the possibly fading elf.

And now, all he had found was the broken shade of a fading Dark Lord and was harbouring him here, feeding him, telling him everything and possibly giving him means to once again dominate Middle Earth. He wasn’t sure why he had even not crushed the Úmaia when his heart was yet to soften at him and was willing to draw a blade through his heart of the weak Dark Lord.

Maedhros sighed and berated him for once again overthinking as he put aside the last of the dishes that he just cleaned. Now that all his work was done he decided he could rest for the night. He cleaned himself up in the outhouse with water and gave himself a rare treat of a hot bath with some herbs from the garden. It took up much time of his rest and tired him even more but the comfort was enough to drive the initial idleness away.

He thought, still neck deep in the now cooling water, that he should tell Mairon to leave his house soon. Or maybe go out with him and help him find Macalaurë if he didn’t want to be alone. In either case, they should leave the city soon for a long while, possibly years.

By the time, the water was so cold that it was almost freezing and he got out of the bath to finally have rest, the thought of leaving this place before the year ended had solidified in Maedhros’ mind.

He climbed the stairs and halted his door, hand on the knob. Right beside was the door to Mairon’s bed chamber. For one moment, he thought to knock on the wood and see if the fallen Maia was asleep or not, if he was alright. He still somehow loved the person he had loved long ago even without any actual memory of those shared moments.

In the end, the hatred for the Dark Lord the said person would turn out to be won out and Maedhros scoffed to himself and shut the door of his own door loudly.

What had gotten into him, he thought, breathing hard in an almost panicked pattern. Before it got worse, Maedhros managed to drag his legs towards the bed and with his arms, pulled himself up on the mattress with a huff. For whatever reason, his limbs weren’t listening properly to him and were moving strangely and his heart was racing almost painfully. It was getting harder and harder to breathe and for a few moments he thought that he was dying once again. And he almost accepted it. At least, he thought, he would be returning home if that was the case.

But he felt guilt too. He didn’t manage to fulfil his promise to amillë this time either. What a useless person he was! All he accomplished here was giving shelter to a Dark Lord and… and fell for the same Maia once more.

It seemed as if he was always destined to either fail or be a monster much like his choice in partner.

He didn’t hear the door to his room opening and the frantic words from the Maia he was thinking of before Mairon noticed that he wasn’t sleeping but was unable to move on the bed and was breathing frantically.

“Alcarnë? Alcarnë, what happened? What–” Mairon’s hands were frantic as he felt for his face and it took some time for Maedhros to even get back his breathing somewhat calm enough to realize Mairon was kneeling before him and holding him. It did not get him any less panicked.

“Let– let go of me.” Maedhros gritted through his teeth. It hurted, he almost wanted to bite off his own tongue but also tear away the unscarred arm off him. The maia seemed not to let him go but pushed a water glass through his cracked lips.

“Drink. You need to calm down.” Mairon kept saying and it didn’t help him at all in the slightest.

Maedhros was now not only getting light-headed but also agitated. He chugged down a few gulps of water before managing to push away the glass. It clanked on the floor and taking advantage of the Maia’s confusion from the sudden aggression, Maedhros flipped him under him.

It was only now that Mairon noticed the wrath burning behind his eyes and the tension and panic that bleed into anger. It made him tremble and suddenly it was like he was caged with an agitated predator who knew no bounds.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me when I say so.” Maedhros warned, visibly furious and gasping for breath. His grasp on the Maia’s wrists were almost painful, causing panic to rise in him too.

“I-I will remember it.” he managed to croak. The grasp tightened painfully and Maedhros stared intently in his eyes, Mairon could feel the unwanted presence tearing his mind, searching for sincerity of the statement. With quite an effort from the struggle, Mairon pushed forth the desired emotion upfront.

Against his best judgement, somehow it worked. Maybe it was for how tired and weary the elf was right now but once Maedhros was sure of it the elf let go of him and sat back on his heels. The moment Maedhros sat back and moved to lean on the bed frame, Mairon dragged himself up and moved to create a much needed space in between.

“What were you even doing here?” Maedhros grumbled once his head was clear and his lungs didn’t burn for air anymore. His tone softened when he noticed the tiniest of flinches that the Maia couldn’t hide. “You could’ve been harmed.”

“But you wouldn’t?” Mairon muttered to himself, watching him get up for the very glass he had thrown away earlier.

“What? Did you say anything?”

“No.” he replied and then with a hesitation, deciding whether he should let him know about it or not, Mairon said, “There’s an elven presence on the other shore. It’s very familiar and very potent, licked by the divine and by the light of Star-Kindler.”

Maedhros stopped on his track and his head snapped back. Feeling the doubt in the elf’s gaze, Mairon assured him, “I am quite sure. It’s… very weak too but strong enough to leave by himself. I don’t think he will stay long, he must have felt something too.”

“We are leaving. Now.” Maedhros said already taking out a small but sturdy leather bag he always kept packed.

“What? We?” Mairon was genuinely startled. What did Maedhros mean that he was to come too? What was the need of his presence?

“At this moment, you are more familiar with my brother’s presence than I am and so you are coming.” He said simply already heading out. “Get ready fast and come to the north outpost, I will rent two horses in the meantime.”

“I don’t need anything else.” Mairon said, also jumping on his feet. He all of a sudden wanted to help and assist the elf in whatever matters it was needed. ‘Alcarnë must be pleased if I do so’ were his thoughts. So all the Maia took was a coat for the cold outside and hurried downstairs to follow him down the streets.

Chapter End Notes

Andunic:
Zimrabel - 'jewel' 'to befriend, love'
Azrazor - 'sea' 'foam'
Ûrinzil - 'sun' 'flower,, lily'

Telerin:
Alataél - 'radiance, glittering star'
emmecë - 'mother, mommy'

I would like to add something. If it's not clear, Maedhros was given to Finarfin and Eärwen after his re-embodiment and only got to know everything when he turned an adult.

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