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The waves of the sea wet the hem of my tattered robes. Salt and sand clinging onto my skin like leeches.I was lost. I had been lost for a long time now. The line of the sky blurred with the blue sea, and I felt adrift. As if nothing was real. Numbness spread down to my cold feet and up to my dirty cheeks.Unaware of time, I sat on the shore of this beach I knew not the name of. I looked up to the vastness of the night sky, my silver eyes seeking that star that called to my fëa.The Star of Eärendil shone bright. Mocking. It was so familiar, so achingly recognisable. My eyes flooded with tears."Háno," came from my left. A voice so haunting, it made me shiver. I could see from my peripheral vision hair red as a bonfire, whipping in the wind like wild flames.I refused to turn. To give him my attention, to yield my broken mind to someone I knew to be dead. The one who had abandoned me. The one I loved most of all.Maedhros chuckled, grave and broken. His scarred lips stretched in a long-forgotten and strange smile. "You were always quick to give in to tears, háno," he said, a playful tone in his voice. The same tone he used to have Before. Back home.Home? My mind wondered away with the breeze.What was home, anyway? Was it Valinor? When everything seemed simpler, and the halls of the castle echoed my brothers' laughs. Where I would find imprint clay on every surface, for Amilyë was messy and forgetful. Back when the sound of a hammer falling onto metal made me smile and my scar-less hands plucked strings with abandon.Or was it the Gap? That time when I was alone, my brothers scattered across Beleriand. And the slow days of the First Age settled a deep sorrow in my heart, one I was never able to shake off. To be free of. But had been cemented in me by drangonfire.Maybe it was Himring. No. Not Himring, I thought absentmindedly. Himring had meant Morgoth won. It was bleak and hopeless, and Maedhros...I turned to look at his haunting ghost. Pale, freckled, and so dear, my chest rattled with grief.Maedhros was the one to pull me from the pain of loss. The mourning of my people, of what was mine for some time. He had been the one to achieve a semblance of control alongside Caranthir.Amon Ereb then. Perhaps. Home.But not quite. For the one, the only one who was always at my side, on my corner... rejected me. With his sombre blue eyes and monosyllabic responses. And the oath that closed on us, that burned our skin and plagued our dreams.It crumbled, all of it. Our family, our futures. His straight shoulders had hunched, and his coldness had rivalled the Helcaraxë's. And I became bitter, brittle, mean.Even when my-A shadow on my shoulder. "Say it, háno," Maedhros taunted. That familiar severity shadowing his scarred face. "Your what?"My brows furrowed, in confusion, in pain, in helplessness.My what? Who was I forgetting?What was home?Who was it?"Think, Káno."I flinched away from his ghost. Crawled back to the cave I was used to passing out in. Sand stung my charred hand, it rubbed, and made it bleed. Made it worse. But this grief, it was clouding my senses.Because I did not wish to remember. I wanted to go. To leave. To ignore this torment.A sob slithered its way out of my throat. My vision blurred, and all I could hear were the tinkling giggles of my-"No! No! No!" I screamed, broken and raspy. My unused vocal cords burned. But I could feel a hand on my arm, the same hand I held after the Third Kinslaying. It was El-"Go away! Away!" I bellowed. My arms flailed in the air, trying to wash away the sensation with my sharp nails.A river of blood flowed down to my fingertips. My chest heaved as I kept on screaming. Or was I sobbing?It did not matter. It could not matter. Not when Maedhros' voice rang in my ears."Your sons?" Toneless, stony. As if the- they were not his too."My boys," I cried and cried, over and over again. My forehead touched the sand, my tears fell, my shoulders shook.Because I had forgotten about my boys.My babies.A pressure on my back, and I knew it was my mind. A fabrication. A lie. But he was so real, so present that I threw myself in my big brother's arms.I felt his hand brushing my matted hair back, the warmth of his breath on my temple. He had to be real, or was I simply too far gone?I wanted him to be real. To be back from the dead. Perhaps for that fateful night to had been a nightmare, and wake up to find his cold and stoic body asleep, besieged by night terrors. In the throes of memory, but alive."It will be alright," Maedhros told me. Akin to when we were kids, before the rest came alone, and Maedhros was mine alone. When I would hurt myself while we played, tears would sprout out of my rounded eyes, and my big brother would draw me to his chest and coddle me.Because I was his favourite. His one weakness. The one that was able to get to him like not even Fingon could.So I clinged to him and pressed my filthy cheek on his chest to hear the pounding of his heart."I want my babies," I cried to him, identical to a child. To the children I had orphaned and stole for my own. My twins. The ones I had abandoned like Maedhros had abandoned me.I felt his chest shake, and his arms tightened around me."I would find them for you," he said. And I laughed. Hysterical. Because of course my dutiful, devoted big brother would soothe my hurts by running away and not staying with me.By leaving me behind. Again.My hands turned to fists on his tunic, and I pushed him back. His red hair haloed his face as his back hit the ground. Maedhros coughed, winded.My expression clouded in anger. It burned through my veins because he wanted to leave me. Again!Again, and again! An endless nightmare. On loop."Cowardly traitor!" I screamed at him, my unburnt hand scooping a bit of sand to throw at him. As childish as it was, it made me feel better when he swatted it away but it still hit his red-rimmed eyes.And as he tried to reach me, as his scarred fingertips brushed my face, I went cold. The numbness spread, like poison. It flooded the hollow in my chest, froze my agony, and stopped me in my tracks.A curse. A blessing.The fight went out of me all at once.My arms buckled below me, and my body sagged on the sand. My thoughts turned to smoke, and when the next cold breeze passed over me, it took all my consciousness away.Silver eyes, bloodshot and droopy, looking at the sea. Face down and empty once again.Rest. At last.I laid there like a crumpled piece of paper the wind brought to the shore. Insignificant and forgotten. * It turns out that mortals were vacationing on the beach.If those baskets and comfortable looking chairs were anything to go by.Today was a good day. A present day. I could not feel the tips of my fingers or the corners of my lips, but I was aware. Enough to focus my eyesight and spot the curly haired, tiny mortals running around on the shores.The sun was bright, and I had to use my uninjured hand to shade my gaze and focus properly, to not sear my eyes until they teared up.I crawled forward, to the mouth of the cave. I supported my chin on a rocky protrusion, sighing at the sharp pain it sent down my spine."Petal, dear, don't you run off," the tiny mortal said to the even tinier mortal. Toddlers? I pressed my chin on the rock to focus. This Petal nodded swiftly, jumping up and down on... strangely big feet for a child. The tiny mortal, who had the voice of a grown man, turned to the other tiny mortals, and Petal ran off.Well.That reminded me a lot of-My spine twitched, and I drew back to the shadows. To whom? I felt the recognition, but of what?I scratched my forearms with my long, jagged nails. And there it was! It reminded me of Celegorm.Blonde, lovely Tyelko. Running around the woods without a care. Making me chase him before Amilyë and Atya came back to the house. Tyelko blowing rasperry at me from Nelyo's arms. Bratty and loud, and dead dead dead-A squeal snapped me back. My fingers clamped down on my thights and squeezed. My vision focused, and the tinier mortal was some feet away from me.Big, green eyes identical to the rounded shields mortals used to bring to war looking at me. She was dressed in a linen, frilly dress, and her blonde curls danced around her head with the breeze.Petal cocked her head like a seagull."Are you alright, good sir?" She asked in a timid voice.Like El-I whined and crawled back on my hands and butt into the cave. My silver eyes pinned on the now alarmed child. I shook my head to rid the ghosts from seizing my thoughts, my mind, myself."Good sir?" Petal asked in a voice as tiny as herself.My voice, garbled, croaky, answered her."No, no," I turned and crawled faster into the cave. My knees slapped against sharp rocks, and my hands slipped on moss and sand. I fell forward to the sound of a cry.Petal came running to me and crouched to see my now bleeding face. Her adorable face was contorted in worry."You have a boo-boo," she said sadly, her little hands hovering over me.I wanted to push her away, but I felt weak. My limbs weighted me down. The strength in my spine had melted and turned against me. Pinned me to the rocks. The numbness was back. My saviour was betraying me. Rendering me helpless to a frightened, small toddler. One who seemed adamant about healing my 'boo-boo'.My mouth moved, I think, but I could not feel it. A wheeze escaped me, made the child flinch, and fall on her bottom.Petal blinked at me, her straw blonde brows furrowed in thought. "Ponto will know what to do," she said to herself, standing up.It seemed, as she drew to her full height, that only then did Petal realise she was deep in a dark, quiet cave. Alone with a strange person. Away from her family.She squealed. Her hands went up to her chests and her knees shook."Uhm, good sir?" Petal had her gaze locked on the vast darkness from the deeper part of the cave.I wanted to help her, I did! But moving was like trying to squeeze water from a stone. My unburnt fingers twitched slightly, trying and failing to kick-start my body into mobility.The girl was scared witless, I did not have to look her in the eye to know it. And every instinct in me screamed at me to protect her. To take care of her. But I couldn't.I was unable to reconcile this emotional need with the frailty of my body."Ai, Káno," Tyelkormo's voice intoned, youthful and still sweet. I saw more than felt him sit down by the crown of my head, looking back to the retreating silhouette of a very spooked Petal.He slid down on the floor until his face was laid inches away from mine. My little brother's silver eyes gleamed with mischief, as it was his way. Blonde silvery hair in the image of our foremother tied back in a simple braid."Get up, silly," Tyelko said to me, his small hand never really touching my arm. Because he was not real.This Tyelko was in his tweens. Still grinning, still precious. There was nothing alike to the cruel, disturbing bastard he ended up becoming. The one I had lost to a dagger slicing his throat wide and deep.My baby Tyelko giggled and teased. He had always adored to drive me up the wall. He was long gone, and back in Valinor, I was glad for it, for we were able to grow even closer when he quit hiding my instruments and staining my robes.Although, he had never really stopped. I think I just learned to let it go.Tyelko made a face at me. "Come on, Káno," he said impatiently.I moved, more than shook, my head. Signalling my helplessness. I wanted to tell him that I couldn't. That my mettle was enervated, my limbs were paralysed. That my chest hurt so much at the sight of him I wanted to stay down, if only to see the innocence in the lines of his face once more.Tyelko turned away from me, looking up to the rocky ceiling of the cave. His hands stretched up, clutching at air."Remember when Moryo was born?"I did. Amilyë's pregnancy had been an froward one. She had spent the entirety of it swaddled in a blanket, eating cheese, and sneering at everyone but Maitimo. The Healers, apprentices of Estë, had reassured us it was the hormones. Atya had taken that as a personal challenge and failed successfully by pestering Amilyë until she vanished him to another bedroom.Nelyo and Tyelko had the laughs of their lives. But I was worried, and proving myself my father's son, I hovered over her too.It came to ahead one evening. We had gathered on the landing, Tyelko sat between Nelyo's legs while I played the harp to distract us of Amilyë's screams. I remember Maitimo praying, his lips moving silently, blue eyes rooted on the bedroom's doors.Tyelko contorted his neck to watch me. "You said everything would go swimmingly," he rolled his eyes, turning away. His tiny shoulders were tense. And I knew why.Morifinwë, fourth son of Prince Feänor and Princess Nerdanel, had been born dead. My brother did not cry nor move.It was the silence that had alarmed Maitimo. And then her screams, not of pain but desperation. Atya's shouts. The rustle of clothes. The dull thump heard as someone held Nerdanel down.Nelyo had rushed to help. To see what had happened. To be there. Tyelko followed mindlessly, as it was in his nature to do before thinking. And then stopped short before the doorway, face white as a sheet.It felt identical to the pass of an age, slow and yet fleeting."You didn't get up, Káno," Tyelko pointed out, a laugh in his voice. Cruel. Corresponding to Celegorm. "Just like Before."His silver eyes met mine.I tried to move, forearms scraping against stones, cheeks numb, and bleeding.My brows furrowed. "I can't," I choked on my words, spat them. My chest constricted against my shrivelled heart. And my little Tyelko clutched his belly and laughed, mean and cold-blooded.Celegorm. Celegorm. Celegorm.Not my Tyelko. But Celegorm. Tall and muscular. Bigger and meaner, but still younger. Still my little brother."Háno," he bellowed, a sharp-edged smile slicing his face unrecognizable.I felt his hand on my back. The brush of his hair against my cold skin. My throat trembled around the knot in it."Get up," his voice echoed in my head, grave and sweet, concerned and mocking. And I tried. Knees flayed, forehead pressed against stone, chest heaving. "It was Moryo, Káno, and you stayed put."A sob escaped me. Guilt eating at me like a parasite. Corrosive. Debilitating.Less than a minute, that is how much time Moryo had gone without oxygen. Nothing could have uprooted me from that landing, not even Nelyo but his cries. I remember his high-pitched wailing warming me from inside. He had expunged that mind-numbing fear and propelled me forward with a plea in my mouth."Can you hear him, háno?"I could. "I can," My skin stretched painfully to form a smile. His crying, his heaving. I could hear the life, the vitality in every noise he made. Far-away. A light in this dark cave.A hand on my nape. "Let's get you up, shall we?" I nodded and up, up, up.My robes were torn, tangled with my bloodied legs. I could feel a throb on the left side of my head, where I fell.I turned to look at Celegorm, but instead of silvery blonde hair, I found auburn curls. Not a cruel smirk but a sad frown.My entire body drew tight like a bow string. The stranger remove their hand from me, taking a step back."You are bleeding," they said tonelessly.I made a sound resembling to the squawk of a bird. The stranger smiled. I turned fully to face them, a rock clutched in my unburnt hand."Who," I started, but a coughing fit seized me. My body doubled over in a rattle.A strange person was in my cave. Why why why why-The girl.She must have warned her parents. Told them an odd, filthy elf was holed up in the cave. Forgotten and neglected."Here," the stranger extended a waterskin to me, and I took it. Drank the pure, sweet water. Not salty nor muddy. Clean and satiating. I drank until there was no more.So, when I looked up to the stranger with an empty waterskin as rivulets ran down my dirty face, I blushed. Of all bloody things, I blushed.My brain had decided to go blank. To leave this interaction to my instincts."I am Ninian, son of Niven," the stranger imparted, crouching down to be at eye level. My nose caught the smell of lavender and dew from this mortal, and I swayed.How easy it is to forget when all you have done for an age is mourn on the edge of a sunken realm. Singing to my sorrows and crying to my dead. How easy it is to falter by the rush of recognition.I should know."Easy there," Ninian caught me by my shoulders, and I flinched back. A pause. A lull. The mortal spread his palms up in a peace offering. "A child saw you here, said you needed aid."Petal. Of course.My broken lips opened. A cough. "Leave," I rasped out.Ninian shook his head alongside his hands. He started saying something, but I was not hearing. I wanted Celegorm's cruel remarks and mean smile back. That I knew. I was familiar with it. Not this stranger. This man that came to the rescue of someone in need and found an animal. A beast."I am a healer, sir," Ninian's hands hovered over my oscillating form. He looked worried. Too worried. He need not be. "I can help you," his voice quieted, red-rimmed eyes seeking mine. "I wish to, sir," he emphasised by placing his palms on my upper arms gently.He was scared of scaring me, I realised with a hysterical giggle.Ninian smiled at me, taking my reaction as a good one. Oh, poor mortal. I placed my fingers on his cheeks and pressed in. He hissed as my jagged nails cut his smooth skin."Leave," I hissed back at him, pushing him away. The man fell on his back with a huff. "Leave, leave, leave," my voice got higher and higher, a tone of distress creeping in.I did not want him here. I wanted to be alone. I did not want his healing hands. I wanted the pain and the blood because I deserved it. No one was supposed to know, I had to be forgotten! No child should have come close to me.No, no, no nonono-"What?"The voice came garbled, far away. I pressed my hands over my ears, pressing in until I felt my skull throb.No rest. No healing. Nothing. Not for me. Not after all of it.
No!
I did not feel much else, but the pressure in my head. I was unable to hear, but I knew I had to be screaming because my throat burned.My vision went dim.It was my body, the one that succumbed to the shadows first. While my mind wondered. To green fields, white halls, grey fortresses. Back to the quiet of Nelyo's study. And the familiar sight of a room filled with instruments.When the wandering morphed into a nightmare, and my body twisted in sleep, a hand would keep me from falling. A voice would lull me back to slumber.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Consciousness came and went in waves. That pressure in my chest, grief, hardened every time I tried to breathe deep. A tingle ran through my limbs. It called for me to run, to move.But I was drowsy. I heard voices mumbling from underwater. The touch of a hand on my forehead, my shoulders, my arms.I sighed. Leaned on the touch, so soft and so subtle.My dreams turned and twisted into memories. Ambarussa sprawled in front of a hearth at Formenos, giggling, childish, and sweet, as they intertwined their red hair into one braid. Atya's booming voice reverberated on the stone, Finwë's quieter one calmed him down.Then the ships. The Belegaer. Roaring, imposing. Cantiel's wailing below, in the crew's quarter. Curvo's dread spilling through our bond, drowning my fear of the sea with the terror of losing her.And then, the twins.Elrond romping around in snow, running away from a mischievous Elros. Both their cheeks red, baby skin stretched into wide grins. My voice calling for them to come back inside, it was getting late. Nelyo's hand on my shoulder. Him allowing them a few minutes more outside.He was always weak to their pleas. Their pouts. He could not help himself.I came to the sound of my heaving. Silver eyes blurry with tears, sliding down my temples and wetting my hair. I gasped, searching for air, coming up empty. By the Valar, so empty. A void was sucking me from inside, pulling me in. Eating me. Devouring everything that was left of me."Nelyo," I mumbled.Nelyo, Nelyo, Nelyo.The boys were outside. They were not supposed to be. It was time for supper. They needed to eat and fill their stomachs with the scraps we procured. The food our soldiers gave up for them, the excuse of a meal we refused to have to keep them alive.Safe. Elrond and Elros had to be safe, and they were outside. And Nelyo is not here to protect them.The twins. Where are the twins? My boys, my-"My babies," I scrambled up in a frenzy. I was not on the beach. Not in my cave.Why why why-A tent. The glow of a single candle searing my pupils. Cramped with a sleeping matt, blankets, chattels. Quiet. Desolate.I could not hear my sons' giggles."Elros," my voice calls, eyes stinging with tears. I stumbled out to darkness. "Elrond," I cry out desperately.The heavens were lit up by Varda's creations. Glinting down at me, making my head spin. But amongst them all, there was my star.
My doom.
"Sir?"I whipped around to find the same man from the cave. I did not remember his name or why I was here, away from the beach, with him. But perhaps, he has seen two identical elflings running around."My-" I suffocate on my words. Take a step back. His downturned eyes follow me, concern etched to the outline of his face. True and open.My hand went to clutch at my chest, press on it to try and diminish the all-consuming longing. But the soft, green garments clothing me gave me pause. I was not wearing my tattered, filthy robes but an oversized linen shirt and loose breeches. They were short on me but still hung off my bony frame."What?"A rasp. "They are mine, sir," the man said, his voice soft and airy. For a moment, I thought it was the wind, another trick of my mind, but when I looked up, the mortal was observing me. An apologetic glint in his eyes. Auburn locks waltzing with the breeze, a kind smile on his lips. "I do believe you are in need of a good meal, mhm?"I was lost. Truly and completely thrown off my axis.My legs shook as I got closer to him. Arm extended, unburnt fingers about to touch him when the man flinched back.Oh.His ivory skin was clawed down to his long neck. Jagged, deep. I knew, in the back of my mind, that I had been the one to do it. And yet he clothed me. He had-"My hand," I lifted my wounded hand. It was bandaged, a faint smell of herbs dulled the pain. Still, it was not enough. Not against the great power of the Silmaril. But it was something."I tried my best, but your injury..." the man hesitated, golden brown eyes searching. I looked back at him. Not certain of what he was seeking, not willing to find out.I took a step back.The mortal grabbed my wrist.And I sacked him across the face. Hard. His neck cracked as his head swivelled sideways. A spike of remorse rushed down my spine, and prickles of shame crawled up my gut.My ears twitched, hearing waves crashing on wet sand. Wind whistling. Cold air.I ran.Before he could compose. Before he gathered his wits. I followed the smell of salt. The sound of the sea. Ignored his groan of pain and the bubbling guilt in my belly.The wind scoured my face as I scurried away. The man's footsteps echoed dully in the night. Chasing after me, needlessly. Would it not be better if he let me go?I felt the pad of his fingers grazing my back just as a familiar mop of red hair caught up to me."If I win, I get to give you as many kisses as I want," Amilyë challenged.Her long limbs stretched wide to keep up, laughter trailing behind her. Breadcrumbs of joy. My head turned, gaze stuck to her lively expression. Nerdanel smiled at me, wide and lovely.Amilyë pointed at me, "if you win, I will let you sleep with Atya and I tonight."Atya would be thrilled. Affectionate and smothering as he is, he would hug me tight and would force Amilyë to steal me from his arms. He would place a dramatic hand on his forehead, act offended, and Amilyë would draw me to her bosom and claim I was her little boy, hers alone. Atya would tickle her, trying to get me back.My laughter, loud and childish would travel down the hallway. Sweetening Nelyo's ears, compel him to peek through the door. I would squeal in delight, plead with Atya and Amilyë to let him sleep with us. And they would. Let him.We always winded up tangled, faint smiles on our faces. Blanketed on someone's long hair.Happy.My eyes filled with tears. "Amilyë," I sobbed. Her lovely face crumpled in sadness, a coo in her lips for her favourite little songbird.And then he got me.Strong arms wrapped around me, the momentum propelled us forward and then down. To the sand. The mortal rolled mid fall to soften the blow.I could hear him curse faintly, my eyes still locked on my mother's face. She leaned down with a mischievous grin that reminded me of Tyelko. "I guess I win," but she did not kiss my cheeks, or my forehead, or my hair. Amilyë stood up and kept running. Away from me.I tried to free myself from him, screaming for her to come back. Thrashed in his arms, tears rolling down my face."You are going to injure yourself further," the mortal kept repeating, a string of soothing words falling on deaf ears as he sat us both up. His arms kept me firmly in place, hands away from his face, mouth unable to bite anything.So I kept screaming."Let go of me," I sobbed. I wanted my Amilyë, I wanted my Atya. "Please," I pleaded.I was on his lap, kicking his boots with my red, blistered feet. Bandages barely cling onto them. "Stop it," he shook me hard, clutching me to his chest to restrict me further. My head hit his shoulder, again and again."Ninian?"I twisted like a worm. "Posco, go back to the camp," the man ordered. No, pleaded. He rolled again and trapped me beneath him, his lips right against my pointy ear, "I am trying to help, please."But I could not breathe. I wanted to go. To find Amilyë. And he was weighing me down, pinning me to the sand, caging me like a bird. An animal. A beast."I beg of you," the man tried again. "I do not wish to hurt you, sir."I laughed at him. Hurt me? I was the one who inflicted pain. The one holding the sword. The banner. The Doom. I was the hated, dangerous monster riding into battle delivering death like a bloodthirsty hound.Me. Not him.I went limp. The man sighed onto my back, his arms easing off me. "We will leave him some broth," that voice, Posco, stated."That is very kind, master hobbit," the mortal replied, his hands helping me to sit up. He was facing me, sad eyed and bruised. There was youth in his face. I would call him naive for chasing after me if the kindness oozing out of him did not remind me of Elrond.Something in my chest cracked at the memory. Made my insides go cold. Grief dimming.I sighed.The mortal held me by my elbows so achingly tender. It should have made me shudder with sentiment. But I could only blink at him. Suddenly, bone tired."We will go back to the camp where you will remain," he whispered to me, head leaning in to lock my gaze with his. Seizing my undivided attention. "You will allow me heal you."His hands slid down my forearms and encircled my wrists. "No fighting me, no running away," he used the same tone I did when I had first taken in the twins. Back when I was still the monster that drove their mother off a cliff and not their Ada.I still am. The same monster. Broken and weaker. And my hands, the ones lax against the mortal's arms as he made me stand up, were still covered in blood."Let me go," I mumbled. The man did not stop his stride, his palm pushing me forward. My vision swam. Chest heavy, head pounding."I cannot, in good conscience, let you go in your state," he said apologetically.My feet stopped responding at once. I would have fallen back down if not for him, lifting me up. I felt a sigh leave his chest, heard his heave as he carried me back to the camp. My cheek landed on his shoulder, and when I focused hard enough, I saw Nerdanel's silhouette in the distance. Stark against the shimmering sea and vast night sky.There were no tears left cry, exhausted as I was. I did not feel anger or pain, just a rattling anguish.A knot in my throat.Did it matter if the mortal took me back? No, maybe not. If he found out who I am? What I did? Perhaps I would get a painful, deserved punishment. Valar willing, the man would be so distraught by the knowledge he would transform his healing hands into ones of vengeance.Death.That was a mercy I did not deserve. But one, I would be selfishly glad to be given. For I was too much of a coward to do it myself.I was not Nelyo. My spine was never that weak. My will never that strong. I had not the stomach nor the courage needed to walk into the sea, rocks pulling me down. Surrounded by endless darkness.Drowning in salt, gushing down my throat, burning my vocal cords.Asphyxiation.My trachea would close up. My bodily fluids would pool in my lungs, filling it up until I was a floating cadaver.Conceivably, a Corsair ship or sailors would find my bloated, rotten body.Mercy."I will set you down, now," his voice said close to my ear, breath blowing softly against my face. The man still had me clutched in his arms, entering the angular tent. His curls got in my eyes, and I jumped in his arms. "Cease moving, I beg," he exclaimed, kneeling rapidly and plopping me on a sleeping mat. The one I had woken up on.Now, the man looked beyond exasperated.I did not feel bad for him.He turned his body to the side, opening a satchel gingerly. "Do you remember my name, sir?"Clever. I did not. And by his badly concealed amusement, he knew it already. I huffed."The name's Ninian," he held up a jar and bandages. "I will be your healer for the foreseeable future," Ninian opened it and extended a hand to me, "may I?"I looked down for these phantom injuries the mortal was so eager to heal. My hands were chafed, red, and, now that I realised it, stinging. A sound crawled up my throat and died in my lips, coming out as a whimper.Ninian inched forward at my distress. Expression clouded in worry, sad eyes trained on my bruises."Quite a man you got yourself, háno," Curufin said from beside Ninian. Dark hair falling pin straight down his broad shoulders, cold silver eyes observing the mortal. "Never pegged the mortals to be this kind, or pretty," he chuckles mockingly, disdain clear in his voice.Curufin was never fond of the mortals. He thought them beneath him, amusing as you would a pet. Which was not far from the general perception most Elves had of Men. Still, Curufin's sentiment leaned on derisive and pompous.In the image of our father, he tried to learn from this new race we came upon. But the Oath turned him vicious and left little sensibility in him.He moved his shoulders back and lifted his nose like the spoiled prince he always was. Once, it made him look so adorably ridiculous that we would all indulge him in his grandeur. Coos barely contained, laughter pressed against our sealed lips.Now, even after death, he looked... mean."Just go," I whispered. Curufin made a face at me. I frowned, "petulance does not become you."Ninian tugged my arm. I looked back at him. Face red with my scratches, cheek turning purple due to my punch. And yet, his honey eyes were heavy with sorrow."I am not the only one you see here," he stated matter-of-factly. I nodded, apprehensive. Ninian exhaled. "But I am, physically present, inside this tent," he informed me, as if I did not know that my baby brother was dead.Dead.Gone.Taken from me. Fallen by a sword. Unrecognizable in his last decades, estranged even from his own son. But still the same one I had once rocked to sleep. The same one that would gift me shiny rocks before my performances."It will help. It's filled with good fortune," he used to claim, so terribly confident in his words I had to stop myself from cooing at him.The same one that for years would drape himself with diamonds and rubies every time we had supper. Early in his tweens. The tinkling of his jewellery announcing his arrival. As dramatic and absurd as ever.The one bleeding, guts strewn on the battlefield. Silver eyes vacant. Braid undone, hair stuck to his face."Dead," my lips moved, tasted the word, savoured it. I slapped the man's hand away when he tried to hold me. "Dead!" I yelled at him. Spit and something else landing on his chin.Ninian raised his arms, nodding quickly at my nonsense.I wanted to curse him, punch him, fight him. My brother is dead. I knew! He did not have to remind me. Point it out.His ghost was just a breath away.I lay down on the sleeping mat. Curling in on myself, ignoring the big buffoon worrying himself sick. Hovering over me, hands barely restrained from reaching out to comfort me."Go away," I mumbled, ordered really, but Ninian shook his head.Curufin was watching me from behind him, now standing. Looking down his nose. "Oh, how sweet," he intoned sarcastically, scrutinizing Ninian as he lay a blanket over me. "Are you an infant, háno?"I sneered at him."Morgoth's balls," I swore under my breath.A laugh.Well. Two laughs.Ninian was trying to suppress it, a hand on his mouth. The second one came from the tiny mortal at the mouth of the tent."Now, that's an expression, eh!"He, I suppose, a male, had a deep voice. And he resembled that tinier mortal I spooked back at the beach. Petal, was it? Green eyes, blonde hair. Huge, hairy feet.This weird looking toddler must have seen something in my expression, for he chuckled lightly. Ninian and he shared a knowing look. Conspiratorial. Like they knew something I did not."Perhaps they are keeping it from you because you are mad," Curufin suggested unhelpfully."This is Posco Brandybuck," Ninian introduced before turning red, almost the colour of his hair. "Uhm, what is your name, sir?"Ah.Should I tell him?"No, of course not," Curufin exclaimed, looking at me like I am dumb. "He is going to direct you to the nearest gallows, you fool!" He waved a finger at me, dark brows drawn together, "do you want to die?""Yes," I answered too quickly."Your name is Yes?" Posco questioned, head cocked sideways like Petal.My head ached. Trying to keep up with different conversations for the first time in decades was more difficult than I remembered.Ninian made a flapping motion in Posco' direction, "go away, you," he told the tiny man. Posco made an outraged sound, waving a bowl at the taller man. "I already told you to stay put, master hobbit, and I am taking care of a patient."Posco got inside the tent, much to Ninian's annoyance, if his face was anything to go by."Supper, master elf," Posco extended the bowl with broth in it to me.Now, I had been surviving off fish, insects, maybe some potatoes if I was in the mood of stealing from Men, and dirty water. It is safe to say that anyone else would have been dead by now, but because I am quite certain the Valar keep me alive off spite alone, I was very much alive and breathing.And broth, which looked delicious, I had not eaten in... well, hundreds of years.That is why I snatched the food from Posco's hands and swallowed it one uninterrupted go.Yes, I burned my tongue. Yes, some of it slid down my chin. No, I did not taste it properly for I was too busy gobbling it down. And yes, I did make an extremely loud satisfied noise when I was done."You are a stain on our family's name," Curufin spat, disgust clear in his voice, a grimace on his face. I settled on ignoring him, or I would go off and scare the pants off my two companions."What is a Hobbit?" I turned to Ninian who, bless his heart, looked hysterical. His pretty face was frozen between a wince and a smile. Posco, on the other hand, looked terribly pleased with himself."A Hobbit, master elf, is smaller than a Man, fuller," he rubbed his stomach heartily, "much more handsome," a cheeky wink, "and sure-footed," he stomped his big, hairy feet.Curufin was laughing. It made me flinch but also pause. My brother was doubled over, clutching at his stomach and laughing loudly.I could faintly register Posco going on about Pipe-weed, ale, and peaceful lives. But my gaze was drawn on Curufin. His stern face softened by smile wrinkles, teeth on display, shoulders shaking."Whatever is that creature," he exclaimed, and the spell was shattered.I frowned, "why do you always have to be such an arse?"Silence.Curufin simply grinned, rolling his head to glance at Ninian. He had his honey brown eyes filled with such sadness I flinched back.His hand came up to grab my wrist.I did not sack him this time."Posco, would you give us a moment?"The Hobbit agreed briskly, taking his leave without much further ado.Something was hanging in the air. Ninian breathed in deep, gaze travelling down to my sternum. He looked so stricken, I was starting to feel wretched. A sour taste coating my tongue. The constant pressure in my chest journeying up to my eyes, driving my eyelid to twitch."There are ways to improve your-""Makalaurë," I interrupted, voice shaky.Ninian looked me in the eye, "what?""My name is Makalaurë," I waited for the glint of recognition in his eyes, the scorn, the fear, the disgust. Something. But Ninian smiled at me. The bloody fool smile, naive and unknowing."That is a start," he chuckled, entirely too delighted for someone that had a Kinslayer sitting across him. His whole body seemed to relax, actually, spine straight only in excitement.He was happy I told him who I am...?"Better not disclose your other names, dear brother," Curufin suggested airily, sitting down beside me. And he had a point. Because the raging idiot in front of me, did not know his History. "It's not as if you are keeping your identity from him," he kept going, "he only needs to open a recount of the War of the Jewels, and he would find out rather quickly."Fair. That was true."So, Makalaurë," Ninian said with a charming accent, "I would love to evaluate your health," he brought two fingers from each hand up to my temples, "but, you know..."I was very unimpressed with him. "You are a Man," I cocked my head, dislodging two spindly digits.Ninian, the mortal fool, had the audacity to laugh. At me! I scowled in response which seemed to amuse him greatly."I am a Half-Elf," he announced, pulling his auburn curls back to reveal short, pointy ears.Oh.Oh.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
How tremendously stupid of me.Of course.He had carried me all the way here. Clutched me in his arms, held me tight with a strength above a mere mortal.Of course.Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.Ninian's eyes shone with... something. It resonated within me. An echo. Reverberated down to the membranes of my fëa. His hands slowly fell to his lips, shoulders now hunched inwards."Peredhel," I whispered. Reverently. He was like them. He was like Caranthir's children. He was like the King I had slain.Half.He is my half-brother, the memory of Atya's shout fractured my mind.Not whole. Never whole.Metal clanking against metal. The grunts. The screams. The scent of blood. Celegorm's throat slit. Dior's tears tracking down his filthy face as I buried my sword in his gut.Half-Elven scum. Those were Amras' words, full of contempt. And grief. His blue eyes hollow and dry.Scum."Is it an issue?" Ninian let out. Breath held. Right corner of his lip down.Was he upset? Did someone tell him he is lesser? Filthy? Not whole? Not worth it. Did he pull his ears to make them longer? Pointier? Did he stare at the vast darkness a full elf would be able to see through and curse and curse and curse? Did it hurt him to know that he would never be able to fully belong?I inhaled sharply. "Never," I reassured him. Because he looked so heartrendingly sad. And I felt- indebted. To the senseless kindness, he exuded from every pore. To the hand that fed me, satiated my hunger.Ninian smiled, his body sagging in relief. "Very well then," he turned to grab the same waterskin he had offered me back in the cave. "Here," Ninian offered sweetly.I wanted to vomit.I looked upon his pretty face, bruised and hurt, and I felt sick. Disgusted. This is what I do. What I caused. My repulsive hands, my rotten mind. I hurt, I destroy, I ravage.He was offering. And I took. Like I was wont to do. I took, and took, and took. Until there was nothing but bones. Nothing but ashes. Spoiled his ivory skin with my execrable touch. I took his waterskin and drank his water. I tainted the rim, poisoned the seams of it.I looked into his sad, brown eyes and tipped it back. I filled myself with what was his and washed myself in his delight. In his sweetness.And I felt sick.Because I could not stop.Because I wanted it so bad, his sympathy, that my teeth ached. My spine folded. My skin tingled.Ninian took the empty waterskin from me, "You can hold down light nourishment," he commented, "That is good."He pulled out a poultice and bandages. "I would heal your feet, Makalaurë," Ninian offered, searched for permission.I burst into tears. Doubled over, my forehead touching the bone of his knee. My body wracked in sobs. Shaking like a leaf."Makalaurë," he exclaimed, hands coming down to hold my shoulders.My heart quivered at the sound of my name. Trembled in long-forgotten recognition. The shape of it, tasted and spoken. Out in the world. Hung in the air.Real and alive.My ammilessë. The name she hand-picked for me. The name I requested to be called, to be recognized for. Back when I leapt from podium to podium, glad to sit in the middle of court and sing. Perform until I had everyone's eyes on me.Because it is what I loved, above myself and everything. The music. My greatest love. And the attention. The reverence.Makalaurë the Ministrel.My identity.Myself.His hands pulled me forward. "Makalaurë," Ninian whispered to me. To me. Addressed me. Because I am here. Alive. Perhaps forgotten, but not as alone as I thought myself to be.His arms were ensnaring me into a hug, the steady beat of his heart pounded in my ears like a battle drum. My head on his chest. My cheek on the soft cloth of his tunic. He smelt of lavender and salt.I kept crying.And he did not let go.**Winter had swallowed the fortress mercilessly. The cold had seeped into my bones and settled there. Refused to leave.Nelyo said we had to save the wood. I knew he was right. I knew he said it because there was not much to spare. But I still shivered. The numbness had made a home in me a long time ago, but winter had turned it into a quiet torture.My eyes sought his frame. Looming as he sat behind his desk, sombre and solemn."Malwiel expressed a desire to try her luck and go hunting," I mentioned. My tone carefully interested, but not too much. Just enough to capture his attention.Nelyo remained silent. He was wearing his eye patch, his good eye moving swiftly as he kept reading documents."Maedhros," I called.He grunted.I wanted to scream.This was a daily struggle. Getting him to focus on anything else but war. Taxes. Food rations. Weapons. Duty duty duty. No small talk. No breaks. Just surviving.He was better, before. Decades before. When there were more of us to hold him together, stop him from crashing onto the floor and break into a thousand pieces.Amras had retreated into his bedroom. Hardly left it. Amrod's loss grew heavier on him every day. Every loss hung heavy on everyone's shoulders. But our baby brother was coping terribly.I mostly left him alone. Fed him, bathe him, sang to him. Kept him alive.Just like I did our eldest brother.For all this 'surviving', Nelyo was so preoccupied by, he never did take care of himself properly. Both of them had identical dull gazes. Unrecognizable in the wake of anguish. But while Amras' eyes looked dead, void and hollow, Nelyo had a simmering emotion behind his.Anger. Determination. Regret.It did not matter. At least there was something.Nelyo set down the papers. "There is no luck to be found, Maglor," he said absentmindedly, his good eye conveying how terribly unimpressed he was with my words. "She will get frostbite and will gain another problem."I glared at him.He rolled his visible eye."Go check on Amras, háno," I opened my mouth to argue, "don't," Nelyo raised his hand to cut me short. "You are... restless, it makes you suggest foolish things I am not willing to listen to right now."My hand shot to grab the candelabra at my right. In quick succession, I stood up and threw it at him. A growl in my throat."What in Eru's name crawled up your arse today?"I did not shout. No. I hissed. Which was much more childish.The candelabra never hit Nelyo. He catched it, placed it on his desk unhurriedly, and leaned back on his chair."I should be the one asking that, háno," he replied quietly.Because he never reacted. To anything. Every twitch on his face was premeditated. Every word that came out of his mouth was calculated like the politician he was born to be.Maedhros wore a mask. Always. Build walls the size of Angband's and never let anyone in. Not even I."He is better company than you," I spat venomous. If it hurt him, he did not show it.Nelyo blinked. "I imagine a mute finds it more difficult to tell you to be silent," there was no intonation, no inflexion in his voice. "Of course you like him more."There was bitterness seeping into his blue eye."I never said that," my voice shook. Because I did not! Or did I?I breathed in the cold air. I willed my stinging eyes not to shed tears. I looked, searched, and sought my big brother in the stranger sat behind that desk.His hand closed in a fist. Knuckles white, scars stretched out. But there was nothing on his face. Nelyo was as tense as ever. A perpetual grimace on his lips due to the marring. It made him seem more severe. Scarier. Angrier than he ever truly was."You did not have to," Maedhros whispered.I cracked.My frown deepened. My eyes crinkled as I dropped my chin to my chest. Numbness spread through my back, race down my arms, clawed at my chest, and holed up there.Rustling. A sigh. "Go to Amras, Makalaurë."And I went.***Ninian dipped the cloth on lukewarm water, stroking Makalaurë's forehead and cheeks.He was having nightmares again.It had been four days since the Half-Elf had met him. The first time was at night. The mad elf seemed to have been hallucinating, shouting at him that he was a traitor.Ninian chuckled.Makalaurë had thrown sand at him, minutes after launching himself into his arms like he was a long-lost friend. Even then, seeing the crazed look in his eyes, the gauntness in his cheeks, the state of his robes, Ninian had found him endearing. Even after the scratching in the cave. And the wrestling on the beach.There was something so fragile about Makalaurë. It made Ninian melt. It made the healer in him sit straight. It made the man in him obsessed.Makalaurë had broken down in his arms. Cried and sobbed and heaved. He had clutched Ninian so hard that he had acquired new bruises. Perhaps it was a bad omen, all these injuries he suddenly got just by one person. In the span of a few days. But the man was more than glad to take it.The ellon had said he did not mind him being a Peredhel. He looked heartbroken, as many Elves tend to be after they discover it. But Makalurë did not demonstrate pity but sympathy. Almost as if he knew what being a Half-Elf meant.Perhaps he was one. He would have to find out. Although, Ninian was not sure how.As of now, his patient was staring at the ceiling of the tent blankly. Makalaurë had spent the fourth day laying on the sleeping mat, not moving an inch. Bloodshot eyes lethargic, expression lax, body wooden.Ninian had spoon-fed him water and soup. Cleaned him and changed his soiled garments. He had tried and failed to comb his matted hair."You are certainly committed to look after him," Pearl Brandybuck said from behind him. The scent of what he knew was supper suffused the air.Ninian looked over his shoulders at her. "Someone has to, right?" He turned back to the dissociated elf, the cloth on his hand grazing the slope of his clavicle.Pearl huffed a laugh, sitting her small frame on the other side of the sleeping matt. The Hobbit passed a large plate filled with vegetables and roasted rabbit. He thanked her and picked at the potatoes."He cannot return to Brandy Hall without Gorhendad's permission," Pearl commented in that casual tone she used specifically to deliver bad news.Ninian looked down at his supper. Then, he watched her from his peripheral vision."Posco is his cousin, and dear to him," Ninian started, building a case for the mad elf. Pearl did not quite sigh. "He would allow him to stay if your husband vouches for him."Pearl sniffed. She did not frown. Said it made her wrinkly. But there was a shadow of disagreement on her face."Look at what he has done to you, dear," she fretted for the umpteenth time. Her light eyes were filled with contempt when she looked at Makalurë. It made an uncomfortable sensation grow in Ninian's chest.The man knew she had valid reasons behind her distrust. But he did not like her attitude one bit. Not at all, actually.He looked away. "Then I shall stay here with him," he announced lowly.Pearl nearly jumped on her spot. A string of sounds left her open mouth, her dark curls bouncing as she shook her head. "You would abandon your home?" She accused. Distress bleeding into her tone.Ninian grabbed a spoon and his waterskin and poured some water in it. He grabbed Makalaurë's jaw, gently prying open his mouth."He needs me," he declared, a sharper edge in his words. "You don't," he dried the elf's lips, "not anymore."Pearl was shaking."Is this about what Gorhendad said?" The Hobbit questioned, putting aside her plate, which was a huge deal.Ninian had never wanted to be this sensitive. This sentimental and whiny. But he was. It hurt a lot. The stares, the whispers, the tension. This thing he was and could never change. This title held over his head serving as a reminder that he belonged nowhere.Not with mortals and their fickle lifetimes and harsh costumes. Nor with the Elves, and their endless patience and cryptic habits. Not even with the Hobbits, who tended to be too insensitive for someone like him, tender-hearted and insecure.The man was sure Gorhendad did not mean anything when he insinuated, in front of the entire Brandywine clan, that he was a lost puppy they had been kind enough to adopt.A dog. That is what he had been called. And although it had been close to a year since the patriarch had said that, it had stayed evergreen in his mind. It sowed a seed of doubt that grew with each passing day.It seems it was time to settle this.Pearl stood up, hands on her hips. "I will not allow this foolishness," she declared rather weakly.Ninian sighed. The tingling sensation of anxiety, ever-present, augmenting beneath her disappointed stare. His honey brown eyes never strayed from Makalaurë's face. The man grabbed the elf's unburnt hand and held it on his lap."Sometimes, Miss Pearl, you have to let go," Ninian replied. His long, auburn curls, hiding his dejection. "For the good of everyone involved," he said hurriedly when she started to argue back.Goodbyes were never his forte. He never quite got them. For everyone he cared about usually vanished or was ripped from him.Ever lonely, travelling Middle-Earth's roads with fleeting companions and the wrecking desolation that lived in his bones.Ninian was a slow learner. But he learnt. Eventually."Ninian-""I have to care for him," he straightened his back. Grabbing his satchel with his medical supplies, giving Pearl his back.A clear dismissal."Very well," she replied.Rustling. A sigh.She went.And Ninian stayed.