Reverie

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Amrod does not recover in the aftermath of the Second Kinslaying.  Quenya names used (Maedhros = Maitimo or Nelyo, Maglor = Kanafinwë or Káno, Amrod = Pityafinwë).  This story is the "aftermath" story of "Overflow" for Amrod (in contrast to "Catatonia", which is Thranduil's), but is also related to "Remorseful", "Heavy", "Cheat", "Reap" and "Storm", amongst many other stories.  Takes place sometime between the Second and Third Kinslayings on the road somewhere in Beleriand.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: one hinted at, but not explicitly stated

Characters: Maedhros, Amrod, Maglor (mentions Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin and Arien)

Warning: non-canon compliant AU, past non-con implied, mentions mass murder, torture and war, possible insanity, but more likely just a very bad coping method, intentional memory loss?

Song: Koe

Words: 1,303
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reverie (noun): daydream; the condition of being lost in thought
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/reverie

"Leave him be, Nelyo."

It had been the same command over and over since they had departed the destroyed, decayed tomb that had once been Menegroth.  The same words repeated in that low, crooning baritone from his sad-eyed brother--again and again and again--ever since they had left behind the smoking ruins of hope and idealism and family.  Three brothers, Maitimo had lost in the carnage of that useless, wasteful massacre.  And another he feared to lose.  Might as well have already lost.

Pityafinwë was just gone.  And there was a strange, blank-faced doll in his place.  A person that only vaguely resembled the man Maitimo's little brother had grown into.  A shadow of the past locked up tight in the future.

Physically, the youngest was completely sound.  Hardly a cut or bruise dared mar the perfection of his lily-pale skin.  It seemed that the youngest of the brothers had been lucky in that respect.

And that respect alone.

Because, though his body was hale and whole, his mind was an entirely different matter.

For days--for weeks--he had done nothing but stare.  He could see and he could speak, but something was off about every aspect of his being.  It sent shivers down the oldest brother's spine just watching.  Just standing close enough to witness.  Pityafinwë, though he could hear and speak, would not respond at all to talk or touch, no matter the volume, no matter if there was pain and no matter who was speaking.  And, though he seemed quite capable of seeing and navigating the landscape without assistance, it was as though the blackened, cracked scars of Beleriand and the withering, slumped warriors with dark eyes were completely invisible to his gaze.  Nonexistent.

When left alone, he would stare off into the distance at nothing as though it held the keys to bliss and salvation.  As though the entire world morphed into a massive hallucination.  Sometimes, he would even speak as though someone was there or act as though they were at his side, turning to look up at them as he conversed.  But no one was ever there.  When Kanafinwë murmured or sang to him, Pityafinwë would not even blink in acknowledgment.  When Maitimo approached, he would not turn and look to see who had come, but would ignore the older elf's presence and hum softly.

It was frightening.  And Maitimo had tried to stir his brother from these... these delusions and daydreams that seemed to have overshadowed the real world.  That seemed to have completely removed his brother's sanity.  Truly, he had tried everything.

He tried talking soothingly and gently stroking his fingers through those russet curls.  Tried singing and hugging and rocking the boy in his arms.  Tried crying and pleading and begging when the desperation for relief from anxiety and worry became heavy.  Had even tried yelling and shaking and slapping when the frustration had boiled over and left him frazzled and nearly out of his senses with panic and terror.

Nothing worked.  Nothing.

And, eventually, Kanafinwë had put a stop to his attempts.

"Just leave him be, Nelyo.  Please, just leave him be."  The voice was cracked and tired.  Completely worn through with grief and despair.  Completely resigned.

"Why?  How can you not fight for him?  How can you wish to leave him like this?"

Leave him empty and lost?

"You do not understand.  He cannot handle what has happened to us.  What we have done.  What he has done!  If this is the only way he can maintain any sanity at all, then you shall leave him alone."

"Cannot handle what?  War?  Murder?"  Irrationally, Maitimo was angry--furious even.  For he had suffered years upon years in the "tender" care of the wardens of Angband and their master, and he had crawled up out of his hole of self-pity and made something of himself afterwards despite the crippling agony and worthlessness that had tried to drown out his fire.  That his brother gave up at only spilling the blood of innocents... "I do not understand, Káno.  I do not understand at all."

"And I hope you shall never have to."

He really did not understand, but the way his brother said those words and the haunted, ashamed look in his eyes spoke for themselves.  Whatever it was that had driven Pityafinwë to the edge of sanity, Kanafinwë knew of and did not wish to speak of.  Could not even mention for the sickliness it brought to his features.

Maitimo had tried to pry the secret loose--to understand--but the second-born had adamantly refused to speak of what exactly had happened to their youngest brother, telling him only that he had found Pityafinwë like this, empty and shivering and beyond coherent thought or response.  That he had called and called and there had never been an answer from their baby brother's lips.  That he had tried everything Maitimo had and none of it had worked to rouse their younger brother from his reverie.  There was simply nothing to be done.

"Leave him be, Nelyo.  Leave him be."

Eventually, he stopped trying to fix Pityafinwë.  Eventually, he let the child be.  Let the boy dream.  Let him forget everything, if only just until they needed to, once again, set out to rend flesh from the bones of their kin and spill the blood of the innocent in sacrilege.  This much relief, he could give his fading little brother.

Even though it was painful to stand watch over an empty shell that saw a world that did not exist.  Even though it was painful to be asked about baking cookies and camping trips outside Tirion and picking strawberries on the grounds at Formenos, as though this nightmare of an existence were the fantasy and the past that Pityafinwë surrounded himself with was the reality.  Even though it was painful to hear his baby brother speak to apparitions that were not present and reach out to touch a flawless and ideal Maitimo of the golden shores who no longer existed, who floated in the air at the older brother's side like a ghost.

Even though it was painful to face the reality that he was not losing another brother to this hideous, pointless endeavor of a war and an Oath, but that he had already lost his sweet little brother to its merciless curse.  That, in truth, it was just Maitimo and Kanafinwë left behind to suffer more punishment.  Pityafinwë might as well have been dead.

That it might have been more merciful if he had been.

Because no matter how deeply his baby brother immersed himself in memories--floating in a sea of them until they cut off the bleak sights marking the world with infectious rot of sin and covered the truth of the heinous and unforgiveable crimes committed in Menegroth in the name of vengeance and justice--it still changed nothing.  This was still the real world.  It was no daydream.

One day, Pityafinwë would have to face this reality.  And, as painful as it was for Maitimo to watch his little brother struggled in the haze of his own madness, he could only imagine what the pain would be like for the sweet little boy he had once rocked to sleep when, one day, those green eyes cleared and blinked open to find that that golden reverie protecting his mind from the horror of the world was the dream, and the nightmare from which he hid was the true reality.

He could only imagine how painful it would be to see the destruction of feeble and intangible hope burning away as dew beneath Arien's scorching, cruel rays.

Could only imagine the broken pieces that would be left in the wake.
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I have plans for Amrod up until the point where he dies and goes to the Halls, at which point his "First Age" arc will have ended and his story picks up again in "Caring".  In any case, I never expected such a neglected character to end up developing such a large and complex backstory, since he doesn't do anything in the canon Silmarillion except die.  In any case, I actually know nothing about real mental illnesses, so if this is in any way inaccurate, well, it's fanfiction.

Anyway, I might write this actually from Amrod's POV eventually, but I have a feeling everything up to his death (if I write it) is going to be in Maedhros' POV.  Writing about crazy people is interesting.  Writing as them is very difficult and confusing.  Despite the possible confusing-ness of the story, I hope you enjoyed it, ne~

Today's song is Koe by Tsukiko Amano, one of the theme songs from Fatal Frame III (creepy horror-story videogame).  It's a beautiful song and very addictive, so give it a chance even though it sounds a bit strange (and dissonant) at the beginning.  Granted, the lyrics are extremely creepy, but I just can't get enough of it.  Especially the ending.  Gives me shivers!  And the translation of the lyrics from the last two stanzas are the reason I put it with this story.