Although… the room looked familiar. It screamed
Tyelkormo. From the fur blanket on the bed to the dark green sheets and curtains. It looked like his room, but it was not his. Because it was not their house.
And it was not in
Tirion, he realized.
For the silver light pouring inside the room from his window was far too faint to be of one anywhere near
the White city.
Were they in Formenos? That… that was the only explanation.
But what about
Huan and
Maitimo? Had he dreamt those? And if it was night time already, why had nobody come after him?
The slow buildup of questions also slowly builds up the tension no doubt experienced in Tyelko as he checks off every place he's not. And he's getting further and further away from home. Not in his room. Not in his house. Not in Tirion, even. Things are getting desperate.
His hands. Those were not his hands.
And that culminates in the most terrifying moment of all. He's not even in his own body.
He scrambled to his feet, the fatigue replaced by the adrenaline caused by his terror, and he bolted out of the room.
He had to find his brother. He had to find Maitimo, or mother, or even father. They’d know how to fix this, whatever it was.
Such a difference between the kid Tyelko and the adult he has accidentally hijacked. He relies on his elder family much more than he would care to admit, especially his mother and oldest brother, and instantly tries to find them when his situation goes horribly wrong. It's very touching, a sign of trust...one which the Tyelko he's in will probably never show again, instead relying on himself and his own strength to fix his problems.
And it did not help how one of them was so close to him, he could almost reach out and grasp it in his own hands.
Maitimo. All of them. The Oath tortures them, grips them like a living thing in hands of iron. It shakes them like rag dolls and set them forth on plans and desires they cannot help feeling and wanting.
How much of that is
Fëanor's own influence, I wonder? How much of him is in the Oath he made? Like all things created by Fëanor, his unique signature might be expected, even if it is only words and a spell of sorts rather than a thing made of stone or a gem. I wonder whether this pushing, prodding, provoking is in fact how Fëanor would be acting if he was here....
“What has happened to you Timo?”
How awful must it feel for Tyelko to be searching for someone who can help him out of the trap he's in, and then to find that someone trapped as well? How painfully his heart must have flinched at the mere sight of not only the scars, not only the unfamiliar age(I doubt Maitimo was quite as full-grown as he was here), but the
weariness. The worn-down, worn-out expression. Maitimo always has answers, and now he looks like they've run right out of him.
Curufin knelt down, his face expressionless as he took stock of what he was seeing. Without touching his brother just yet, he examined the face leaning against
Maedhros’ chest.
The dried blood drew his eye first. A wound to his head. The beginnings of a bruise, implying the cause was something blunt, not edged. Had he fallen? Or… become unaware of his surroundings?
Eyes, not merely half-closed from the swelling of tears, but squeezed tight shut. As though there was something he did not wish to see.
And this state of abandon, of being utterly lost in whatever had shaken him so; it was akin to grief or terror. These entangled the very soul, strung it along helpless under their influence.
All this spoke to Curufin of foresight. A vision of some kind. He had long suspected his brother of being prone to such things, though
Celegorm had never made mention of it. But with the heavy and relentless spur of the Oath in their minds, wearing their souls down day by day, he could imagine even his powerful brother being brought low by a bout of dreadful foresight.
What a fascinating analyzation and conclusion. Of course nobody would think of what has really occurred; I'm surprised Tyelko still had that little trinket from when he was a boy. But Curufin's reasoning makes sense, even if it's wrong.
Once his eyes fell on Curufin, light returned to them and his face brightened just a little.
“Atar?”
Everyone stilled and looked at Celegorm with shock and fear written across their faces.
Maedhros’ heart sank. What on
Arda was wrong with their brother?
Hah! It seems Curufin fits his name more and more! He even looks like Fëanor, so much so his features fool young Tyelko into thinking it's really his father come to help. And here, again, Tyelko reaches out for aid, though he did not consciously try to find his father before. I wonder if he thinks his father would not know what to do, or if he thinks his father would just try to help him bear the situation instead of getting him out of it. Whatever the case, he's glad to see "father" now.
Celegorm’s eyes were open, and Curufin searched them, as his brother’s expression slowly turned to one of confusion, with an edge of panic.
Had he lost his mind? Whoever was looking at him through those eyes was not the Celegorm he knew. And yet, it really couldn’t be anyone else. There was something achingly familiar about his demeanour, yet it… it made no sense at all.
This bit might be one of the crowning moments of Tyelko's horror. Little Curufin, younger than Tyelko, smaller, with such tiny hands, and suddenly...he's grown. Suddenly he looks like Atar. Suddenly he's too big, too mature. And no explanation Tyelko can come up with will give any sense to this scene anymore.
I wonder how his brothers will feel when they realize something of what's happened to him. Also, how did he get hurt? And who bandaged his head? Evidently none of his brothers, or they'd have said something. Maybe Tyelko patched himself up.
