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“So, Uncle,” Curufin started, carefully keeping his gaze on his plate. “You never did tell us about your landing in Middle Earth.”
Fingolfin had to fight the smile that threatened to show. “Well… I’m not quite sure it’s something to be discussed over dinner.”
“None of the gory details,” Curufin waved his hand. “Just… the heroic deeds. After all, it makes for quite a story.”
Fingolfin sighed, staring at his own plate. He could practically feel the unease radiating from those who crossed with him.
He knew the game Curufin was playing and had to tread carefully.
“Atarinkë, I don't know if present company is amicable to such a retelling.”
Curufin’s gaze shifted slightly at the use of his mothername. “Very well.”
There’s an uneasy silence for a few moments, simply the soft clink of forks against ceramic and glasses carefully being set down on the wood of the table.
“Well, y-you don't have to go into the more… gruesome details, like Curufinwë suggested,” Fingon suggested quietly.
Maedhros looked over at Fingon quickly. Fingon merely gave a nod.
Fingolfin looked at his eldest son, a brief flash of panic in his chest. He squashed it down as he looked back at his plate.
“Very well.”
He could feel the fear in the room, knew he had to be careful with what he chose to say.
“Landing in Middle Earth, we were relieved to finally be on sure ground. Our journey was perilous, and though we were… distraught at what we had suffered through, there was a sense of joy at having finally accomplished our journey.”
Upon looking up, he could see the guilt on some of the Fëanorions’s faces. And he could see the grief on the faces of his own children and the Arafinwëions.
“Not far from our landing, we saw the gates of the enemy. In our… grief, and, perhaps in some part our relief, we raised our banners and arove at the gates. We smote upon them, battering and clamouring.”
“Oh, I remember that.”
Fingolfin looked across the table.
Maedhros looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth. Everybody was staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” he asked, feeling a growing sense of impending doom.
There’s a deafening silence, one that is eventually broken by Fingolfin.
“What?” He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, hoping that it was simply a misunderstanding.
Maedhros paused, could feel his heart in his chest. “I… I heard you. Your voices and the banging of your swords upon the gates loud enough to-to be heard from where I… from where I was imprisoned.”
The silence somehow gets thicker and Maedhros could see Fingon grow paler and paler with each passing second.
“You heard us?” Fingon asked frailly.
“Yes.” And before he could stop, the words tumbled out of his mouth: “I called out to you, but… my words did not reach your ears.”
Fingon looked like he had been struck.
Maglor, who sat on Maedhros’s right, gently laid a hand on Maedhros’s arm. “Nelyo,” he said quietly.
Maedhros looked from Fingon to Fingolfin, then at the others. Many stared at their plates or gave silent glances to each other. He could see hidden rage on Curufin’s face, staring impassively at Fingolfin.
“I apologise-”
Fingon let out a muffled sob and darted from the room, hand over his mouth.
Maedhros moved to go after him but Maglor stood with him, hand still on his arm. “Nelyo, no. You are not well enough.”
“But Findekáno-”
Maglor shook his head. “Let him go.”
“I’m sorry,” Finrod said quietly.
Maedhros stared at the floor.
“We could not hear you,” Fingolfin murmured. “Nelyafinwë, I swear to you, if we had heard you-”
“I know. I know.” He swallowed. “Don’t- I forgive you.”
He could feel Curufin and Caranthir’s eyes on him, sharp and incredulous. He didn't give them heed.
He took a breath. “Káno-”
Maglor sighed. “I’ll walk with you.”
Maedhros was supported by Maglor as they left the devastated table.
“Do not blame yourself, Nelyo. I know you did not mean to cause such an upset.”
Maedhros forced back tears. “I should have thought before I spoke.”
Maglor sighed. “That is something everybody experiences, do not beat yourself up for such a thing.”
As they walked, Maedhros seemed to get heavier, and Maglor carried more and more of his weight. They eventually could hear the sound of sobs and Maedhros stumbled to follow the sound.
“Nelyo-”
Maedhros did not heed Maglor’s words and Maglor simply had to keep pace.
They reached Fingon’s doors and Maedhros collapsed against them. He knocked. “Findekáno?”
The crying stopped.
“Findekáno, please-”
“You may come in.”
Maedhros’s heart stuttered and he opened the door. Maglor nodded to him and remained out of the room.
He could see Fingon on the balcony, sitting on the ground, arms around his knees.
“Finno.” He stumbled forward and fell to his knees beside him, Fingon quickly catching him before his knees hit the stone.
“Russo. Why are you-”
“I don’t blame you. I’m not angry.”
Fingon sighed and looked away. “I should've-”
“Findekáno, you didn't hear me-”
“And knowing you cried for help and I could not help is like a stab in my heart! When I learned you had been imprisoned, I felt so sick for taking so long to get to you. If… if I had been faster, maybe-”
“Don’t. Don't go there. Please.” Maedhros couldn't take the guilt and pain.
Fingon simply nodded. He didn’t move for a few minutes. Then, like a soft step: “Just… hearing that we had been so close, and… and then it was still years, and you heard us…”
Maedhros’s chest felt like it is made of lead. He closed his eyes. “You saved me. The past is in the past.”
Fingon nodded. “The past is in the past.” He took a steadying breath and leaned his head against Maedhros’s good shoulder.
They stared at the land, leaning against each other. The night sky dotted with stars, the moon a crescent in the sky, casting light down on the fields and trees.