0ur_ouroboros

Author: 0ur_ouroboros

Title: Small comforts (a soft hug)

Text type / Format: fixed-length ficlet

Source / Fandom: Silmarillion

Rating: teen + (mature/disturbing themes)

Word Count: 995

Summary: Maedhros has a bad dream, which he deserves.

He gets a hug (of a sort), which is more than he deserves.

And less than what he needs.

Warning: major character death

Author notes: Another version of small comforts experienced by the kidnap fam, but from Maedhros' perspective.

Created to fulfill prompts "Maedhros gets a hug" and "Small comforts."

Maedhros sighs, returning from gathering wood. Maglor keeps watch over the sleeping boys. The night is colder than expected for the season, and the north wind blows hard. In taking on the twins, they have delayed their return to Amon Ereb. They have few provisions; they are ill-prepared for travel with children. Maedhros had told Maglor such, but could talk no sense into him. And now they sleep outside with no shelter but stars.

Stars are not enough.

I should learn to tell them apart, Maedhros thinks as he sees the two lumps under furs. One seems more sensitive than the other. There will be time for that later. Now, there is nothing important to talk about.

Maedhros’ only task is sleep, and he wastes no time attending to it as he positions himself comfortably away from the others.

The two boys giggle, speaking in riddles, a made-up play language to amuse themselves. Must be funny, Maedhros thinks, smiling at them. Noticing him and Maglor then, one calls out, “Watch us race, make sure he doesn’t cheat!” Maedhros and Maglor nod, both leaning against either side of a great tree, arms folded.

One twin starts off ahead, achieving a substantive head start. The other yells, “Stop! You stop!” Maglor laughs and all around them the ground is covered in blood and bodies and spilled contents of carts and it is not his brother but a woman who screams, “Stop! You stop!” And Maedhros has the curious thought that her voice sounds just like Amrod's as a child. But he is not a child, he is here, yanking her wrist behind her back as she falls to the ground. He raises his sword, but the sword enters him, from behind. Strange. The guttural sound he makes is familiar, so familiar, Maedhros thinks without thinking, and he would run over to help his brother, truly he would, only he sees the jewel-light beaming, blinding in another direction and wouldn’t Amrod want him to take what is his, what is theirs?

But by then, Maedhros has accepted going to a jewel instead of his dying brother isn't his choice. It never was.

So then he is running toward the burning light, only he cannot remember it being hot, and he trips over a body with Amrod's face, twisted in death. Only it is not Amrod, but Amras.

Where are the boys? Maedhros thinks. No, that makes no sense. They are here, they are dead. They are asleep. They are—

Maedhros jerks awake, and he hears the boys stirring near Maglor.

“I’m cold,” one whispers to the other. “I can’t get warm,” little teeth chattering. “I can’t feel my toes,” says the other, shivering. Maedhros hears one start to cry.

He sighs. Suppose I’ll need to help deal with this. It isn’t fair to put all on Káno, he thinks. Though it is he who created this mess. But he has neither energy nor will to argue with his brother, who carries the same weight as he, only with a different frame.

If ever he had cultivated the skill of self-reflection, he would find he appreciates the presence of children, for they tend to imbue an immediacy to the present, where the past and future have less space to impose.

His eyes are heavy as he drags his fur-pallet to join the others. Maglor blinks his eyes open, and Maedhros gestures for the boys to move closer to him, closer to the fire now burning bright and hot. The cold is quite unpleasant, Maedhros thinks, crawling back under the furs. Now two brothers, ancient and broken, surround two others, and perhaps the ones in between may have the privilege of choosing some better path. Or even, considers Maedhros, the privilege of choosing at all. Maedhros and Maglor roll to face each other, eyes meeting. Maglor reaches out, grasping his shoulder. Maedhros scoots a little closer, so all can benefit, himself included, from the group's collective heat.

Between them, Elrond and Elros squirm as uncomfortable children do until Maedhros whisper-snaps, “Hush. Be quiet, be still. Sleep. We have far to go yet, and we leave at first light.”

Maedhros intends his words to be a comfort, but then, he has never been good at that.

The sobs from one of the boys becomes louder, and Maedhros feels strange. He pinches his nose to stave it off. No, you are not going to weep right now, not here. A white-hot sensation irritates his nasal passages, and he rubs the corners of his eyes. His body’s plea allow some tears passes quickly.

As all this is occurring one of the boys, the one who isn't crying, nestles up against him and into his armpit. The boy grasps the large figure’s dirty travel clothes and clings to his arm.

“It’s a little warmer now. Will you stay here with us?” And Maedhros’ body once again demands his mind to choke it back before he says, “Yes. Now, shh.”

“Maedhros?”

“What?”

“You smell bad. Like the horse, but worse.”

“Who cares. Shh.”

“Maedhros?”

“What?”

“Will you tell us a story?”

“Ask Maglor. He tells the stories,” Maedhros looks pleadingly at Maglor, who attempts to quiet the crying one.

And instead of a story, he begins to hum a tune. His voice is both unused and stressed from the sounds the latest kinslaying dragged out of it, so it cracks at first. Still, Maedhros recognizes the tune, a lullaby, and after a while Maglor starts to sing in earnest. His voice is low, for it would not do to attract attention, but then again, thinks Maedhros, the fire is doing that for us.

He wills himself to relax. The boy continues to cling to his arm as he falls asleep. It is not terribly comfortable, but Maedhros is still.

He closes his eyes and smooths the boy’s hair with the nubby end of his other arm.

When sleep again comes, he has no more dreams.

Crossposted to AO3