Heavy The Crown by downtide

Chapter 1

Notes: Quenya names used throughout:

Nelyafinwë Maitimo = Maedhros

Macalaurë = Maglor

Tyelkormo = Celegorm

Findekáno = Fingon

Turukáno = Turgon

Curufinwë Feanáro = Fëanor

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

I awoke to find him lying on the bed behind me, his arm wrapped around my waist. For a while I just lay there, feeling his sleeping breath on the back of my neck. Then I felt him stir half awake, he moved to hold me tighter, sending a sudden flash of agony through my right arm. My cry roused him to full wakefulness and he pulled away.  "Did I hurt you?"

I tried to roll over to look at him but pain demanded that I remain still.

"I am sorry," he continued. He gently kissed my shoulder and I felt him slip out of the bed.

"Don't leave me," I whispered.

He came into my view and knelt by the bedside, laying his hand on my cheek. His face was as pale and drawn as I supposed mine must be. "How can I ever leave you, my Maitimo?"

I smiled, reaching out to touch his face, only realising too late that I had reached with my bandaged right arm, and a hand that was no longer there. I bit back a choking sob and closed my eyes. "Help me sit up."

He did so, though I cried out again with the pain, and he rearranged the pillows.

"I will get up today, I think."

"So soon?" He looked at me with concern in his grey eyes. "It has been barely more than a week."

"A week is a week too long for me to lie fading in my bed," I said in reply. I smiled and reached this time with my left hand, to brush his cheek with my finger. "I feel much better today, Findekáno."  I could tell from his eyes that he did not entirely believe me.

......................................

My brothers and cousins were surprised to see me out of bed so soon. Even my uncle Nolofinwë cast me a look of mingled admiration and pity, and he bowed to me as a subject to a king. For that is what I was, then; Nelyafinwë Maitimo, for five years high king of the Noldor, and my throne had been cold Thangorodrim.

I sat with the crown on my lap; a crown which last I had seen on my father's brow.  "Put it on," Nolofinwë urged.

I shook my head. "It is too heavy for me, Uncle," I said quietly.  Then louder, so that my brothers and cousins should hear also; "This is a mantle I do not wish to bear. I  cannot be your king."

"Why?" Tyelkormo demanded.

I fixed him with a stare and he flinched. Did he see the chill of Thangorodrim in my eyes? "Because it would be better for all our people if the rift between the houses of Curufinwë and Nolofinwë were healed. So long as the crown remains on my head that will never happen."

I stood, shaking and leaning heavily on Findekáno for support. He looked at me oddly, as surprised by my words as the others for I had told him nothing of the decision I had made in the last few days.  He held me as I hobbled towards my uncle and, as best I could, I bowed before him.

"You are worthier of this crown than I," I said to him. "So it is yours. You are my king."  I offered him the crown; he hesitated then took it in his hands. There was a moment's stunned silence and then Tyelkormo leaped up with an angry roar and flew at me, would have hit me if Macalaurë and Turukáno  had not held him back.

"Better you had died on that mountain than shame our father like this!" he protested, his face scarlet with rage. "If you are too weak to bear it then I will do so, and at least retain a shred of honour for our House!"

"No!" I shouted, my voice momentarily strong. He looked startled, then a wave of dizziness swept over me and I sagged into Findekáno's arms.  Tyelkormo regarded me with contempt.  "I am still head of the House of Feanáro," I reminded him quietly. "My decision stands."  And with that effort more than my weakened body could stand, I passed out.

......................................

As dusk fell I sat beside the window looking out towards Ered Wethrin, while Findekáno braided my hair; yet another task on the ever-growing list of things I would be unable to do for myself.  "You must rest tomorrow," he said. "You did too much, over-stretched yourself too soon."

"I could not rest with the crown weighing so heavy on my shoulders," I reminded him.  I turned to him and smiled. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

His fingers fell still in my hair and he shrugged. "I can understand why you did it," he said, diplomatically evasive. He resumed braiding, and when he was done we sat in silence, neither speaking or looking at one another. The same thought was in his mind and mine, though we did not speak it. For I had not only crowned a new king that day, I had also made a new heir.

I leaned forward and gently kissed the lips of he who would one day be my king.