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Maitimo was dreaming.
It was a good dream. A dream where he was warm, and lying on something soft.
A dream where the soft scent of flowers tickled his nose, instead of the bitter stench of himself.
Gentle light peaked from beneath his eyelids, yet he did not open them. He was sure that, if he did, he would find himself thrust from the dream and back to the mountainside.
He did not want to return to the mountain.
He did not want to return to the wind and the rain and the ever burning ball of fire in the sky.
He did not want to return to the mockery of the birds, the claws of the winged beasts of Morgoth.
“Russo, dear heart,” It was a voice from a dream. False and impossible, “Russo, my darling, I know you are awake.”
Slowly Maitimo forced his eyes open. He was ready to see the cliff, or worse to see Gorthaur wearing the face of one across the seas.
Findekano, or else something wearing Findekano’s face was looking down at him. Beloved and impossible, framed with braids bound in gold.
“You are an impossible dream.” Maitimo said, “Across the sea and safe in Valinor. Or else an illusion, one which will not work.”
Findekano brushed a finger against his face, so brutally gentle. “I am no illusion or dream. Oh dearest Russo, I am here. I am here and you are free.”
Maitimo shut his eyes again. He could bear this torment no longer. He would merely enjoy the comfort of the bed, the lack of assault against his senses, for a moment longer.
Before the pain began again.
The pain did not start again.
Nor did the illusion fall. Again and again he would awaken, and each time Findekano would be there waiting for him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Day after day after day.
He would be there, patient and smiling.
Kind and utterly never once pushing.
Each time he would patiently explain where Maitimo was. Who was around. What had happened to him.
Slowly Maitimo stopped insisting that it was false, although he still did not truly believe.
He had been caught before, by illusions and trickery.
He would enjoy this one for as long as it lasted.
Eventually he was forced to concede. He was forced to admit it was not an illusion. It happened nearly two weeks after he first woke, on the day that Findekano explained how exactly he had managed to retrieve him from Thrangorodrim.
That Findekano really had done the most idiotic thing of his life and walked into the darkness with a bow and a harp.
The idiot hadn’t even brought a tent with him.
Not even Sauron could come up with an illusion so real. So utterly ridiculous.
Nolofinwë, who should have been in Valinor. Nolofinwë, who was far too thin. Nolofinwë who had sat by his bedside whenever Findekano could not. Nolofinwë, with wet eyes, had asked him why exactly he had finally decided to believe them. To stop fighting.
He had left the chamber laughing, when Maitimo explained his reasoning.
“Uncle Mai!”
Maitimo sat up in a panic. Why were there children in Angband? Why was little Tyelpe in Angband? What had happened-
A weight landed atop him, one he instantly put his arms up to hold. Soft hair tickled his nose, golden and shining.
Golden?
His eyes focused through the fear and he saw that it was not little Tyelpe upon his lap, but an Itarillé who was far bigger than he recalled. (Not that such a thing was a hardship, for she had been a babe learning to dance when last he saw her.)
(What desperation had caused Turukano and Elenwë to bring their babe across the Ice? Why had they not turned back?)
“Uncle Mai!” A tone that demanded attention, as imperious as Turukano was as a child, “Look what I have found!”
A pebble, striped through with quartz. It was a very pretty shade of purple, in truth. Upon seeing it he had the sudden urge to show his mother -
Only she was still in Aman. She had not followed them. She would not get to see these new stones.
“Very pretty.” Was all he said, refraining from telling her all about it the way his mother or father would have.
“I know.” She nodded her head like she was Finwë giving court, “Auntie Irisse says it was a good find. She promised that she’d help me build my collection again.”
“Well, I’m sure if you ask Curufinwë he will help as well. He’s good at finding stones.”
A little scoff, “I know that. Tyelpe used to trade pebbles with me. He always had the interesting ones.”
She shifted slightly, and he was suddenly aware there was something wrong. That she was lighter than she should have been.
He glanced down at her, and could not hold back the gasp that escaped him. It was only by biting his tongue that he did not curse.
Her legs ended just below the knee. Cut short and long healed.
“I fell in the ice. Daddy caught me, but mama didn’t swim.” Itarille spoke in that matter of fact way that only children did, “My legs were really hurt.”
“Oh?”
Itarille nodded. “Yes. Daddy says mama will be warming up with Lord Mandos now. I hope Lord Mandos gives her swimming lessons. I’m going to ask Uncle Findo to give me some.”
Maitimo nodded gravely, internally screaming, “I think that sounds like a very good idea.”
“I heard Daddy say that Uncle Finno cut off your hand.” Itarillë said slowly, “Was it because it was very hurt like my legs?”
Maitimo nodded gravely, “It was.”
“Oh. I don’t really remember Uncle Finno using his sword. Uncle Findo Sang me to sleep.”
Valar.
Findekano was going to have some explaining to do as to why he didn’t warn Maitimo.
Makalaurë looked at him with relief and pity and never ceasing guilt.
It was suffocating.
He tried to do everything for Maitimo, always looking at him with pity. He barely even let Maitimo visit the privy alone, and it was more than starting to irritate him.
Yet every time he tried to mention to Makalaurë that he wanted to do things for himself he was met with sad, guilt filled eyes.
It had taken every bit of his stubbornness to take hold of the spoon for his meal himself, rather than letting Makalaurë feed him.
His hand trembled, shaking and twitching and oh so weak. By the time it reached his mouth there was nothing left upon it.
“Here, let me-“ As his brother reached for the spoon, ready to take it from him, Maitimo’s anger reached a new height.
“I can do it!” He snapped, “I am not a child!”
Makalaurë flinched as he knew he would.
Makalaurë had always flinched at raised voices.
The spoon dropped again, splashing into the bowl.
This time, at least, Makalaurë did not reach for it. Merely looked at him instead with that sad expression that seemed to be all he wore. Sometimes Maitimo wanted nothing more than to slap that expression off his brother’s face.
“Uncle Mai! Uncle Mai!” Itarillë’s bright call startled him from his sleep, “Look what Uncle Curvo has made me!”
Maitimo looked up, half expecting to see her in Turukano’s arms, holding some small toy or trinket. The sort that Curvo had always made when he needed to occupy his hands.
Instead there was no Turukano, only a wobbly Itarillë walking in by herself.
Shining silver shone at the end of her legs, dainty and delicate. Each joint was perfectly articulated. Curvo had truly outdone himself.
“Look!” She called again, “I have legs!”
“I see!” Her enthusiasm was almost infectious, “How exciting, they look particularly beautiful on you.”
She wobbled over to him, fierce concentration sticking her lip out. She looked just like Turukano when she did so, for he had ever pulled such a face right from when he was first starting to learn to walk.
“They are good.” Itarillë said, flipping down next to him, “But they are wobbly. Walking is tricky.”
“Auntie Findis always used to say that the best way to break in a new pair of shoes was to dance in them.”
Itarillë’s face lit up, “Really?”
Maitimo nodded, “Really. I wonder if it is the same for new feet. Shall we have a try?”
“Yes!”
Slowly he rose from the bed, each muscle feeling stiffer than the one before it. Still, he tried not to let the pain or aching show.
He bowed and offered his hand to Itarillë, as though they were attending a court function in Tirion.
She giggled, and grinned a grin brighter than Laurelain, taking his hand with all the poise of any grand lady.
Gently, stiffly, he drew her into the steps of a simple waltz. The steps were tricky at first, for both of them. She, still getting used to the balance of her feet, and he stretching wasted muscles.
Slowly though the steps smoothed and Maitimo felt his body recalling how much it had enjoyed dancing. A smile twisted his face, and gently he guided Itarillë into a spin.
Again and again she span, until her feet were sure under herself. She threw herself away from him to spin and spin and spin, her feet twisting in place with assured deliberateness. Her skirt flew around her, a burst of bright green that lifted up into a swirl that danced alongside her new silver legs.
He let her, and shocked himself when a bark of laughter escaped from his throat. He just could not help himself - she was so excited and full of glee.
She must have spun too fast, for all of a sudden she stumbled. All it took was one little trip for her to fall, crashing into him.
Normally he would not have been affected by one so light falling against him, but he was not himself.
He fell too, clattering to the ground and only just twisting them both so he did not land atop of her.
His shoulder jarred with the impact, shooting pain up his side and into what felt like his very spine. It was so very difficult not to shout out, or swear from the pain, but somehow he managed it.
The noise of their fall must have echoed through the halls, for the sound of footsteps pounded against the floor.
They must have made quite the picture, sprawled on the floor, for Nolofinwë’s face did a strange spasm.
It was enough to make Itarillë giggle again, and once more it was utterly infectious.
Maitimo’s jaw ached from smiling.
It was a good ache.
[Image: Idril in a green dress showing her new silver legs to Maedhros. He is in bed and has short red hair and scars over his face. A copper hand lies on top of the blankets.]
Maitimo curled his arm around the jug and concentrated. If he just go the angle right then-
It fell to the floor with a clatter.
He felt like cursing.
Unfortunately he could not, for Turukano would remove his other hand, should Itarillë learn any new words of such calibre from him.
“Daddy says we shouldn’t give up.” Itarille piped up solemnly. “Even when things are tricky. He said that giving up is for elves who are weak.”
“Your daddy should have listened to his own advice before Findarato spent a month convincing him to actually talk to your mama.”
Itarillë shrieked with laughter, and Maitimo could not hold back his wince. It seemed that his muttering had not been quite as quiet as he had thought.
The laughter petered off.
“I miss mama.” Itarillë said in a soft voice, “And grandma too.”
“I’m sure they miss you, little one. Your grandma was so excited when you were born, she had all the bells in Tirion ring out for a full day!”
Itarillë’s lip started to tremble, and Maitimo cursed himself and his brain. He had been good at knowing the words to comfort a child once.
“I know that your grandma and mama will want to know everything you’ve done in Beleriand when they see you again.” He said, thinking quickly, “They will want to hear all about your adventures and the silly things your daddy and uncles do. Maybe we could make a book together that you can fill with your drawings and stories for them?”
The trembling lip stilled. Itarillë’s eyes filled with hope.
“Mama loves my drawings! Yes please Uncle Mai!”
A laugh escaped him. “I will ask Curvo for the materials when I next see him. Maybe Tyelpe and Artaresto would like to join us?”
Itarillë nodded quickly and did not even protest about maybe having to share his time. She was a sweet and gentle child, but could be just as possessive as Turukano when she wanted to be.
Her head tilted to one side curiously and she spoke slowly, like she was scared of the answer. “Do you miss your mama and daddy, Uncle Mai?”
Not the easiest question that she had ever asked him.
Not when he did not even know the answer himself. He missed his mother, but he was still so very angry with her. She had walked away, refused to follow them to Formenos and chosen not to even speak to them when they came back to Tirion before their departure for Beleriand.
Not that he would want her in Beleriand, the land would break them all in the end. It was comforting, sometimes, to know that his mother was as she had always been. To know that not everything had changed.
As for his father-
It was an ache. A hole in the life of he and his brothers that felt like it would never be filled. Fëanaro had always been a steady, brilliant part of their lives. His presence was all encompassing, demanding. Each of them had been desperate for the full force of his attention, moving things around and working together to ensure they each had a chance to bask in the fire of his fëa.
To describe him as merely being ‘missed’ was like to compare the ocean to a puddle. To compare a pebble to a mountain.
He could not voice such a feeling to Itarillë though. She did not really remember his father, she would not recall the force that he was.
“Yes.” He said instead, “I do miss them. Just like your daddy misses his mama, and even your grandfather misses his mama and daddy.”
Itarillë’s eyes widened. She had obviously never really thought of Nolofinwë as capable of missing his parents the way she did.
As though Nolofinwë’s feelings for his parents and siblings were not the whole reason she was in Beleriand.
“Now come.” Maitimo said, gesturing to the jug, “You were saying something about not giving up.”
Itarillë nodded. “Giving up is for elves with swans for brains, as grandad says. And as there are no feathers on your pillow so that can’t be you.”
Apparently Uncle Nolofinwë had not made quite as much peace with Uncle Arafinwë’s choice to turn back as he outwardly displayed.
“And how do you think I should proceed, little one? As what I was doing before was not working.” Itarillë frowned, and talked her chin in thought. It was exactly the same expression that Elenwë had pulled when faced by an architectural problem.
“Maybe you should pull on your hand, the one Uncle Curvo made you that’s a bit like my legs only copper instead of silver. It might help you better with the balance!”
Maitimo hated the hand his brother had made him. It was heavy and ungainly, and to make matters worse was uncomfortable. Curvo said he would find it easier to wear and use with time and practice, but Maitimo did not want to.
Yet Itarillë had suggested it, and he had asked her for suggestions. He did not really have a choice.
He sighed and removed the copper plated hand from the drawer where he had hidden it. Sometimes it was all he could do not to throw such a visible reminder of his loss across the room or out of the window.
Such a thing would annoy Curvo though, and he did not want to face the lecture that his little brother would give him. He was the eldest, it was supposed to be his job to give the lectures.
A curse slipped from his lips as he tried to fasten the stiff buckles and straps with only one hand. He did not really want to use his teeth, it always felt undignified and his teeth still pained him beside.
“Let me help.” Itarillë pushed his hand out of the way and did up the buckle carefully with her own little hands. She pulled on the straps gently to tighten them, stopping only when he gasped at the sudden sensation.
He murmured his thanks to her and turned to face the jug again. It still lay on the floor where he had dropped it, the scant water that had been inside creating a puddle around it.
He supposed his first task was to clear it up, lest Itarillë slip on it. Slowly he managed to do so, Itarillë cheering him on the entire time.
It did not take long at all, although longer than he would have liked, to be back at his starting point.
Water splashed from the jug as he tried to balance it on his copper hand.
“You can do it Uncle Mai! I believe in you!” Itarillë’s voice held none of the condescension that he would have felt from his brothers.
Maitimo gritted his teeth and concentrated as he poured water from the jug into the battered pewter cup on his table. He could have filled it up from the basin, as he had the jug, but that was not the point of this exercise.
His hands shoot and water splashed onto the table yet slowly he was able to aim the stream. Slowly he was able to fill the cup.
“See.” Itarillë had never counted so much like Maitimo’s father, “I told you that you could do it.”
“Nelyo, I have something for you!” Curvo poked his head around the door, hiding his body as though he was scared something would be thrown at him. It contrasted rather significantly with his sing-song voice.
Maitimo resented the fear. He had not thrown anything at anyone, except for when he aimed his cup at Tyelko for making a truly terrible joke.
“Come in then.” He went to pat the bed as an invite, only to curse when pain shot up his arm as his stump connected with the bed.
Bless Curvo for not reacting.
He nearly rethought his throwing idea when he saw the new hand that Curvo produced. It was just as copper as the other, with yet another star of their House engraved on the top. The fingers were thinner though, the joints seeming more fluid.
“Do I need Itarillë to make you sit still?” Curvo said lightly, “Or can you do it yourself like a grown elf and let me test this new hand I spent hours making for you?”
Maitimo tried to catch his brother’s eye, “Will you give me a sweet if I behave for you, just as you do Itarillë?”
Curvo snorted and actually put his tools down, “Normally I would say no, but you certainly need something to put meat on your skinny bones.”
He shoved his hand into one of the many pouches upon his belt. Put it came, with a handful of the sticky, honey sweets that Curvo used to bribe children (and Tyelkormo) into doing his bidding.
“Eat this and sit still.”
He was filled with the urge to point out that it would be impossible to eat and sit still at the same time. That would only get him a look that was rather akin to their mother’s and possibly to be called Moryo.
So instead he placed the sweet in his mouth and tried hard not to flinch at the overwhelming sweetness. It was one of the most flavourful things he had been given since his rescue,
“Have you been using your hand much?” Curvo asked, all brusque efficiency.
Maitimo swallowed and looked past his brother’s head. “Sometimes. Itarillë likes it when I wear my hand. She says it makes us match.”
“Good. Try and wear it more if you can. The more you get used to it the easier it will be to use. Just like learning to use a sword.”
“I would like to see you learn to use a limb again.” Maitimo grumbled. “Then you’ll see how easy it is.”
Curvo smiled at him beatifically. “I like to think that I would be just like little Itarillë, and rise to the challenge.”
Maitimo snorted. He doubted that would be the case entirely.
He recalled Curvo’s attempts to learn to walk, after all.
“Look! Look!” Itarillë’s voice called from outside the building. It danced through the windows and was filled with such joy it was hard to ignore.
A smile tugged at his mouth, twisting the scars that crossed his cheek in a way he had not yet learnt to ignore.
She had swiftly gathered the children to her again, reforming the little pack they had been back in Valinor.
Little Artaresto, golden fluff sticking up every which way, Tyelpe, jealous that he did not get to see the Ice Bears, and Itarille herself, utterly fearless on her silver legs.
They terrorised the whole camp, and allowed for a lessening of tensions between them all.
Huan was their usual babysitter, or else Ambarussa for the twisted burns on his face did not bother the children.
The pounding of feet on wooden floors told him that they had entered the building, and he braced himself for the noise and life talk that would soon burst through his door.
At some point over the last months, Itarillë had entirely decided she did not need to knock any more.
Sure enough the children all but fell over each other as they burst through his door, their chatter filling the air with life and colour.
“Uncle! Uncle!” Tyelpe untangled himself first and rushed to perch on Maitimo’s bed, “We’re going to explore the field by the lake today! Auntie Irrise said she saw some bumble bees there earlier and the flowers are out and-“
“And!” Artaresto all but pushed Tyelpe off the bed in his own eagerness, “We want to look for rocks for our collection! Mama said there might even be shells there!”
“I see.” Maitimo smiled gently, “That sounds like quite the adventure.”
“You have to come with us, Uncle!” Itarillë looked at him with eyes wide as any puppy, “Everyone else is too busy!”
Tyelpe nodded fiercely, “And Father says I cannot go without supervision and that Huan does not count!”
“Huan is too fond of aiding and abetting your Uncle Tyelko to ever be suitable supervision. Your father knows that well.”
“Well then you must come!”
It would be the first time that he had left the safety of his chamber since Findekano brought him here. And yet-
And yet he could not refuse his pleading niece and nephews. Ever had he been soft to the pleas of children.
He made to get up, to join the children even though he wanted little more than to stay in bed. He was tired, drained, so fed up of the pain and anger.
But Itarillë and Tyelpe and Artaresto would be disappointed if he did not join them.
“Allow me the chance to dress and then I shall join you.” He finally said wearily. “I shall leave the roaming of our camp naked to Artaresto at bathtime.”
Artaresto held no shame in his face over making his parents chase him around the camp daily in an attempt to make him put on clothes. In Maitimo’s opinion it rather served Angarato right, for he had been exactly the same as an elfling.
The children fled his chamber and hovered noisily in the hallway. There was no chance for him to escape back into his bed and renege on his words with them out there.
The toggles that Tyelko had carved were easier than the small buttons that had once tied his clothes, and so he was as swift as he could be in getting dressed. It grated, that he could not dress as swiftly nor as elaborately as he once had. Not independently anyway.
His hair was still too short to braid, so at least that was one thing he did not need to worry about. He was very carefully not thinking about when that problem would arise.
Tunic, breeches and boots on, he turned to his hand. It would be more useful to wear it than not, especially as he just knew that the children were going to fight over being the one to hold it. Each of them had a fascination with it and thought it was nearly as amazing as Itarillë’s legs.
(Maitimo had once heard Tyelpe asking Curvo for legs of his own like Itarillë’s. He was still disappointed that he did not manage to overhear Curvo’s response.)
Sure enough, as soon as he stepped from his chamber, the comforting weight of a heavy cloak around his shoulders, the children started to wrestle over who got to hold his hand. It was Artaresto who won, for he waited until Itarillë and Tyelpe were distracted with arguing before slipping his own hand into Maitimo’s. It was exactly the sort of sly gesture that Findarato would have done.
He kept grinning smugly at a pouting Tyelpe all the way through the settlement, as did Itarillë who had claimed the consolation prize that was his flesh hand.
Whispers spread quickly as they walked and it was no surprise at all that they were soon approached. That is was Findekano instead of one of his brothers was the only real surprise.
Findekano’s eyes were lit up with joy and he all but bounced over to them. “Oooh! What’s going on here then? An outing somewhere?”
“Help.” Maitimo said flatly, “I’m being kidnapped.”
“Oh good!” Findekano’s face creased with joy, “Can I be kidnapped too?”
Artaresto shook his head. “No! No! No! You’ll just be icky and boring and talk about grown up things. We want Uncle Maitimo all to ourselves.”
Findekano drooped and looked at Itarillë with sad eyes, “Are you sure you don’t want your Uncle Finno along?”
Itarillë did not look impressed. “Very sure. Go and annoy my daddy, Uncle Finno. Uncle Mai is ours today.”
Findekano slumped off, turning and looking over his shoulder every so often as though hoping Itarillë would change her mind. It was an utterly absurd image, and one Maitimo had missed greatly.
No one else approached them as they slipped through the crowds to the fields that bordered the lake, yet Maitimo could feel the eyes upon them all the same.
The first flowers were blooming in the fields, and the faint hum of bees could just be heard. It was the sort of place that he had all but forgotten existed, on Thrangorodrim.
“Don’t wander too far.” He said gently, shaking his hands to release the giggling children, “I cannot run if you get in trouble.”
Already his legs were shaking, trembling from the walk as muscles unused to movement were stretched once again. He sat down on the cool grass, and watched as the children ran off into the greenery.
Clouds danced across the blue sky, and shrieks of joy and excitement filled the air. Time passed slowly, dripping as lazily as honey from the spoon.
“Look what I found!” Itarillë danced over to him, her legs as light and fluid as if she was born with them.
“No! Mine’s better!” Artaresto protested with a pouty lip, “Mine has lichen all over it!”
“But mine sparkles.” Itarillë declared, as imperious as her grandfather in court. “That makes it the best.”
Tyelpe produced his own with a flourish that was every inch his grandfather. “Mine is the best one. It has a shell inside.”
The children all oohed and ahhed over Tyelpe’s pebble, and decided that it was the better of their finds. It was promptly deposited in Maitimo’s hand for him to look after while they went to search for more.
Maitimo tilted his face up to the sun and felt the warmth on his cheeks for the first time. It was as gentle as the breeze that brought the scent of the first spring flowers, and, as a the sound of children playing filled his ears, he smiled and felt almost like he had been back in Valinor.
Itarillë,
Be safe in Vinyamar, and listen to your daddy. He only wants you to be happy and safe, even if he’s being boring.
Did you manage to go to the beach and collect some shells? I know you were most excited to do so! If you can, convince your daddy to go to the beach and look in the rock pools with you, he always used to be the best of us at finding crabs and starfish. Even Findo was not as good as him!
Tyelpe is moping, for want of a friend. We have yet to break it to him that Artaresto will also be leaving soon. I am going to encourage him to write to you both, and am happy to ensure that there is always a bird ready for the letters you three might wish to send to each other. It is what your grandfather did, back when your Aunt Irisse decided she was going to be friends with Tyelko.
I’m looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.
Love,
Uncle Maitimo.
—
Uncle Mai,
I went to look for shells and found lots and lots! My leg did not want to work after though. Daddy said it was the sand’s fault. He said I’m not allowed on the beach until it is fixed.
Please, please, please send Uncle Curvo and Tyelpe to help me? Uncle Curvo is the best at fixing my leg and Tyelpe needs to see the pretty rock I found.
Lots of love,
Itarillë
P.S. I wanted to send you a shell but Daddy said no. He said it would get broken. I have drawn you a picture instead.
—
Itarillë,
I adore your picture! It is up on the wall of my chamber in Himring. It is a reminder of the warmer climes, for indeed I have yet to see a day here where the snow has not lain upon the ground!
It is beautiful at first, but cold and wet indeed. (Nothing compared to the Ice, of course, and Tyelpe was very upset that we do not get the white bears here.)
Curvo has told me that he believes he has solved the issue of the sand affecting your legs. He said he is all but certain it is adequately solved, as you spent much time after his fix testing it by repeatedly rolling down the sand dunes.
Do try not to break your legs so swiftly after their repair. I know that Curvo likes to fix things, but it is a long way for him to travel.
Love,
Uncle Maitimo.
—
Uncle Maitimo,
My father is acting strange. Stranger than usual, some of your brothers might say.
He and Uncle Findo went to the sea and when they came back they were as giggly as when Artaresto drank some of Uncle Findo’s wine.
The two of them have now holed up in Father’s study with maps and all the books on city planning that can be found here.
Send Uncle Finno if you can, or failing that please ask Aunt Irisse to visit. Maybe they will have better luck at finding out what is going on than I.
Love,
Itarillë
—
Uncle Maedhros,
This is the last letter I shall be able to send for a while. I cannot say where we are going, only that Father has been speaking to one of the Powers.
I do not know if I shall see you again on these shores. My foresight will not answer me on that.
I see glimpses of things to come, and they scare me so much. Sometimes I do not wish to sleep so that I will not see them.
They can allow me to offer some comfort though, dear uncle:
Do not fret, my Father shall not ride out from his new city until Uncle Fingon’s darkest hour. You will have all the years until the banners and horns of Gondolin sound upon the battlefield to spend with him.
I have taken with me all the notes I have on my legs, and your hand as well. The smith I find in our new city shall not be as crafty as Uncle Curvo, nor Tyelpe. They will be entirely adequate though, for my legs shall see but one battle. Your hand will see many.
With love,
Idril.
—
Lady Idril,
Or princess, or queen, I suppose I should now call you. I heard of the fall of Gondonlin, and for that you have our sorrow. It is a terrible thing to lose a father and a home.
I know that Curufin has not been the one to build your legs for many years now, but I worry your usual smith may have fallen with your city. To that regard I send the plans which I found in his chambers, he ever continued to develop his ideas. There might be something within them that you will be able to use or take to a smith should it be needed.
(I have the greatest confidence that Celebrimbor will be able to decipher his father’s notes. That has ever been one of his greater skills!)
Should any pages be missing, or you wish to renew our correspondence, then please just write. It would be my greatest pleasure and privilege to respond to you.
Maedhros
Maedhros felt as unsteady as he did in those first days after Thrangorodrim. The sun burnt his eyes, the scent of life seared his nose, and his limbs were trembling from the mere effort of holding him up.
His legs wobbled and shook under him, and he would have fallen to the ground had he not been caught by an arm.
He turned to face the one who caught him, expecting to see one of his brothers or maybe even Fingon.
What he did not expect to see was blonde hair, blue eyes, and a pair of painfully familiar silver legs.
“You helped me to walk and dance again, Uncle.” Idril smiled softly, and for a moment he could see that tiny elfling again, “Now let me help you.”