The first thought that came to Maitimo was—am I dreaming? Certainly, this had to be a dream. Everything was so light and bright, and colors were too defined for his liking as his eyes contracted to adjust to the assaulting chromatics. He was sure to be asleep or something akin to dead.

"Are you finally awake, sleepyhead?"

Maitimo nearly got whiplash, attempting to turn to the voice. He blinked when he saw it was a simple mouth, talking with no corporeal body, floating in midair and forming a rictus. Its teeth were sharpened to fine points, like canines on a warg. Cautiously, he backed away and found that he had not been lying down, but standing. The world was side-ways. I am definitely asleep, he thought to himself, gazing at the mouth. Then, instantaneously, unflattering velvet, dark red blood began to drip down the gums of the mouth. It ran between the small gaps in the teeth as the mouth smiled horribly at him, as if to say, 'I know something you don't.'

He didn't know what possessed him to pick up the nearest object and fling it at the bleeding mouth.

"Now, now, stay your hand," said the mouth, spraying blood everywhere upon pronouncing his esses. "No need to be violent."

"What are you, if not the remnant of a body?" Maitimo replied. "What reason is there to stay my hand when you are presumably dead?"

It tsked. "So are you to disrespect the dead now? I am a mouth, as you can obviously see. A dripping, bleeding mouth." Its smile widened further, causing the lips to split down the middle. Skin separated, and more blood pooled out. But no blood hit the floor.

Maitimo was not going to play any games with any sort of person, and especially not a body part that knew how to backtalk him. "I will not fool around here, Mouth. Where am I?"

"Yes…" mused the mouth. "Where are you? I simply go where you go."

Maitimo threw the rock at the sanguinolent mouth, and the world suddenly righted itself. Without warning, Maitimo was thrown to the grassy floor and a shower of rain—no, blood—landed on him. "What witchcraft is this?" he demanded, standing with the intention of doing violence to this…this…mouth.

But the mouth was gone. Maitimo stood there for a while, staring at where the hemorrhaging mouth had been. Then he shook his head and turned around. He found himself facing a town. It wasn't a very exciting town, but it did look more than welcoming for a traveler. Maitimo began to move towards the town and saw that it was closer than the distance gave away. Within the radius of sixty-four strides—he couldn't help but count, though he did not understand why he would do such a time-wasting thing as counting his strides from foot to foot—he reached the town and stepped into the village gates ajar.

"Hail!"

Maitimo silently waited for two seconds before turning around to face the voice. Was it the mouth again? No. It wasn't the mouth, but…

No. It can't be…

"Hail," Maitimo said quietly, his eyes widened slightly.

There stood Macalaurë, looking at him oddly. At his right hand. Maitimo shrugged off the odd feeling.

"Have I chanced upon meeting you once before, good stranger?" Macalaurë asked.

"Stranger?" he repeated. "I do not believe I am a stranger. Do you not recognize me? Macalaurë, do you not recognize your own brother?"

Macalaurë's gaze was uncomprehending and a bit contrite. "I am duly sorry, dear stranger. You appear to recognize me, but I do not recognize the name you have addressed me by." He bowed apologetically. "I am called Maglor, actually. I know no one named Macalaurë."

Maitimo forced himself to swallow the unsettling feeling in his stomach and attempted to smile. "Oh, I apologize as well. I suppose I mistook you for someone else."

Macalaurë smiled pleasantly. "Would you like to join me for tea? It is about tea time."

Maitimo shook his head slowly, feeling numb at the fact that his own brother did not know him. "No, I am afraid I will not have enough time to join you for tea. I thank you for your generosity, my friend, but I do wonder. You treat strangers so kindly in this village. Are you, perhaps, the village head?"

Brushing dark hair from his eyes, Macalaurë laughed. "No, I am actually not the village head. Here, in this village, there is no leader."

Maitimo had a bad feeling about this and knew that he would have to get away from this village as soon as possible. But he did not want to leave his brother, whether or not Macalaurë could identify him. "Ah. Well, I must be on my way. I have no idea as to where I am going, but we must part here, where we have met, dear Maglor."

His brother nodded empathetically. "I understand. Many people who pass by have many places to be." His expression was a sort of bittersweet happiness. "They all have left after passing through. I only hope we have guided them the right way."

"Did they stop for tea?"

Macalaurë let out a great sigh. "Only two have today—"

He was interrupted as a loud shriek came from inside a building. Macalaurë whirled sharply to face it, and his expression turned grave. "That was one of our guests who consented to having tea with us…"

Maitimo felt even more discomfited as he gazed at Macalaurë.

He turned back to Maitimo with a blasé expression. "They are always so loud."

His mouth dry, Maitimo tried to form words. "I…must get going."

Macalaurë gave him another smile. "Do come back, stranger." His eyes turned darker and darker, but the smile remained. No longer were the eyes an icy blue, but now an unfathomable pit of black and grey. "There is always time for tea."

Maitimo hastily nodded and started down the street, seeing the exit to the village. He had not the heart to circle around the village, in case he was attacked. He took one look back to gaze at his brother. Macalaurë simply waved, his eyes once again light blue. Maitimo blinked and waved back before turning back around and darting down the path, hurrying to get out of the town as soon as possible. He wasn't going to come back, even if it were his own brother.