Penance
The child’s eyes were dark and accusing. Ancient thought and wisdom glowed already in their depths, gifted only through pain and tragedy. Such emotion seemed unfair when witnessed in one so young, yet it could not be said that the child’s life had been fair. Far from it.
Knowing and understanding this, Maitimo pushed aside his guilt and looked away from the child’s deep eyes even as he clutched the small body closer to his chest.
Smoke curled in the ashen sky behind them: the smouldering remain of the child’s home; and of his brother, who slept fitfully at Macalaurë’s shoulder. Like his sleeping twin, the child in his arms had said nothing since he had come into their guardianship; neither of the children cried, either. The slow journey from the Havens of Sirion was marked only by footsteps and stares made old before their time. And remorse. Ever and anon did the weight of guilt press on Fëanor’s sons.
Maitimo shuddered. What fears would these small ones endure because of their deeds? The thought pulled and twisted, grappled with his conscience.
He looked again at the child in his arms, his glance appraising. Though Macalaurë had cleansed and dressed him in fresh garments, the unmistakable air of ruin clung to his small body. From his tangled dark hair to his clenched fist, suffering clutched at the child with a relentless grasp.
It was wrong, all wrong. Yet the time for wisdom had passed; now came atonement and regret.
oOoOo
They made camp late that night. For both his sake and the children’s, Maitimo did not desire to tarry long so near to the terrible memory of foul deeds. Even after three days’ journeying, they were still too close. At some point, Maitimo had convinced himself that distance was the surest cure for his guilt, and so he pressed ever away from the Havens, even to the point of exhaustion.
Across from him, Macalaurë lay slumped on the hard earth, one of the children tucked close. It was an idyllic image, and had he not known better, the sight of his brother’s slumbered embrace would have been pleasant. But he did know better, and as he watched the sleeping pair, Maitimo felt no gladness.
He wrapped his cloak about his shoulders, but did not join his brother and their young charge in sleep. Despite his exhaustion, he doubted his ability to find slumber. And if he were to be truthful with himself, he did not want to. Dreams, he knew, were often more painful than reality.
From the appearance of things, the child he had carried all day had the same feeling. Draped in a thick blanket, he sat upright, unspeaking as ever. In the starlight, Maitimo could see that his eyes still shone with grief, though exhaustion had crept into their dark corners. Now, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, the child turned his head and looked at Maitimo. There was a question on his face, but they both knew it would remain unsaid.
“Do you not wish to sleep?” asked Maitimo in Sindarin. He kept his tone level and calm, remembering the first impression his battle-heated cries had no doubt made. It would not be wise to bring those memories to the surface. “No harm will come to you here; there is no need to fear.”
The child blinked, but otherwise made no sign he had marked Maitimo’s words. Still, he persisted. This tortured wordlessness would never do.
“What is your name?” Maitimo asked. Ever so slightly, he eased himself closer to the child. “Won’t you tell me?”
Silence.
He released a sigh, though he had expected nothing different. “Well, when you decide to talk, you may call me Maedhros,” said Maitimo. “My brother is Maglor.”
They were quiet, and the night’s brilliance was unbroken by voice or movement. Maitimo gazed skywards, watching the pale lights as they flickered and twinkled above. The lyrics to one of Macalaurë’s songs came to mind, but he dared not sing them. It was too soon for such joyous music.
A small, ghosted touch startled his grim thoughts, and he looked down. The child had moved, and now his small dark head rested on Maitimo’s knee. His eyes were closed, and he gave every indication of sleep.
In the darkness, Maitimo allowed himself a bleak smile: it was a beginning.