Sunrise Before I Ever Saw the Sun by Himring

Bedtime Story

At the end of a difficult day in the Feanorian household.

Using Quenya names (Carnistir=Caranthir, Findekano=Fingon, Macalaure=Maglor,Tyelkormo=Celegorm). Also: Atar=Feanor, Amil=Nerdanel.

Read Bedtime Story

 

Maedhros:

He sits bolt upright in his bed, my little cousin, and says: ‘I want to go home’.

He’s very much not crying, his voice is almost too steady, but it is a crushing defeat and the admission is clearly costing him. I was afraid it would come to that. These last evenings I’ve felt a tightening in my stomach, as I knocked on his door at night to check up on him.

I sigh and sit down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s been a difficult day, hasn’t it?’

It’s been another difficult day. All the artists in our family are simultaneously caught up in the throes of their creativity. So Atar is surrounded by a cloud of acrid fumes and even more mercurial than usual, blowing hot, cold and indifferent in a completely unpredictable pattern, and Amil has withdrawn almost completely into her workshop in self-defence and surrounded herself with a cloud of marble dust in her turn. Most absent-minded of all, Macalaure, who has no workshop door to close between himself and the music, didn’t notice this morning when Tyelkormo switched plates on him and not only buttered an old shoe sole liberally, but even tried to chew it, before I caught up with what was going on.

‘Macalaure,’ I said, ‘the quality of the cooking round here may have gone downhill during the last few days, but I can assure you our bread isn’t quite as tough as that.’

He blinked.

All of this makes Tyelkormo doubly restless and Carnistir doubly tense. And they took it out on Findekano, I am sure, when my back was turned. Not that he is going to tell me, even now. His mouth is firmly shut.

Findekano has standards to maintain. There have been tactless remarks by those who should have known better, and now he is upholding the honour of the descendants of Indis in general and his father in particular. When Findekano attempts to copy his father’s behaviour, the result is charmingly dignified. This very straight look he’s giving me just now seems to be his interpretation of the Nolofinwe glare. The determined set of his jaw is very endearing. I feel this ought to teach me something about Nolofinwe as well as about Findekano—except I am too tired at the moment trying to hold this household together so that the abstracted artists will have a place to come back to when they’re done and I can’t really concentrate on such things.

Meanwhile Findekano is obeying a set of rules that forbids him to kick back when Tyelkormo kicks him under the table or to complain about it. He’s been fighting with one hand tied behind his back for weeks now, my brave cousin. No wonder he’s worn out. And because of those stupid prejudices between our families, Tyelkormo and Carnistir can’t even be made to understand he’s holding back. If Findekano ever decides to let fly, I think Tyelkormo won’t know what hit him.

But that does nothing to make things easier for Findekano just now. ‘Let’s talk about it again tomorrow evening, shall we?’, I suggest.  ‘If things don’t improve and you still feel you want to go home tomorrow, I’ll talk to Atar about it.’ With luck, Atar might have finished his whatever-it –is tomorrow.  Or Amil’s statue of Varda might come out the way she wants it to.

Findekano nods and swallows.

‘You’re not planning to sleep with your hair in those braids, are you?  That can’t be comfortable. They look awfully tight. Why did you do them like that in the first place? Let me undo them for you and I’ll tell you a story while I do it.’

He assents, so I pull him closer and begin: ‘Once upon a time in Cuivienen...’

By the time I’ve un-braided his hair, his stiff back has relaxed and he allows me to put my arm around him and cuddle him a bit while I finish the story. When I’ve reached the conclusion of my own rather convoluted version of what Unborn Elf said to First Dog and First Cat, he’s snuggled up against my side and half asleep.  So young to be away so long from home and in semi-hostile territory, too! But I don’t want him to leave and not just because he clearly would regard it as running away.

 I don’t want to lose my star pupil. He was meant to be Atar’s, but Atar passed him on almost immediately to me for a thorough grounding. I soon began to be afraid that he might be about to ask for Findekano back. I’ve never seen a kid dive like that into algebra, dignity forgotten, eyes sparkling, braids flying, not so much because of a fascination with numbers in themselves, but simply because it was new. Just when Tyelkormo was beginning to infect me with his increasing boredom... Teaching Findekano is an adventure. New subjects are exciting territories to explore, like those unknown vast lands east of the sea. It keeps the walls of this house from closing in around me, as they sometimes threaten to do.

I’ll just have to figure out how to protect him better, without giving Tyelkormo and Carnistir enough reason to get unmanageably jealous and actually making things worse. Somehow.

---

Chapter End Notes

 

I imagine the story Maedhros tells Fingon as rather resembling one of Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories, but not exactly the same as "The Cat That Walked By Himself."

Sometimes Semantics

Maedhros teaches Fingon about the meaning of words, but the teacher is not always wiser than the student...

Read Sometimes Semantics

 

Maedhros:

He perched above me on the garden wall, swinging his feet, drumming his heels against the bricks. I ought to have told him to stop doing that, to save his boots. Just then, I could not make myself do it.

‘I am tenacious and conservative’, he told me seriously. He paused to demolish another slice of bread-and-butter and continued: ‘I am going to love you always.’

I smiled and passed the platter upwards once again. It was only the day before that we had discussed the different implications of the adjectives tenacious and stubborn.

‘They do that to you, children’, I told myself. ‘Don’t hang your heart on it. He was lonely and homesick, looking for a hero. Give it a few years, and he’ll have figured out all your flaws and weaknesses. You’ll just be another cousin to him.’

Should I have known better? He was Findekano—and, just occasionally, words turn out to mean precisely what they seem to say.

Pig-ignorant

Young Fingon starts lessons with Maedhros.

Read Pig-ignorant

‘Well, Findekano, it looks as if we get to spend a bit of time together’, says Maitimo cautiously and looks at the shipwrecked cousin that the parental storm has washed up on the library carpet.

‘He called me pig-ignorant,’ says Findekano and jerks up his chin to keep his jaw from trembling.

‘I heard’, says Maitimo. ‘Don’t let it worry you too much. He calls everyone that who is not a genius—and some that are.’

In fact, Maitimo is glad it wasn’t worse. It looks as if his father was exercising a minimum of restraint, in his nephew’s case. Good. He gets up.

‘Let me fetch you a chair. You look as if you need one.’

Findekano sinks down on the proffered chair.

‘Most students of Father’s are almost grown-up, you know’, says Maitimo.

‘I know,’ says Findekano. ‘But Grandfather thought…. Because we are related… He taught all of you…’

‘Yes, but according to Mother he began lecturing us while we were still in the womb. Mind you, I don’t know how much those lectures took… ‘

Maitimo hesitates.

‘Findekano, I know what Grandfather said—but did you actually want to study with Father?’

Findekano looks astonished.

‘Of course I did!’

‘And what did you expect to learn from him?’

Findekano makes an indeterminate gesture. ‘Why—everything!’  He looks anxiously at Maitimo. The recent interview has shaken his confidence badly. ‘Bad answer?’

‘No, no, good answer. Except I’m not qualified to teach you everything and, even if I were, we wouldn’t get anywhere if I tried to teach you everything all at once.’

‘Do you want to teach me at all? I just got dumped on you…’

‘No, that’s all right. I am a teacher, sometimes.’ Maitimo pauses to think. ‘Findekano, your father has a library, doesn’t he?’

This is shameful, he thinks, I ought to know whether my uncle has a library or not. But almost everyone of rank in Tirion does.

‘Yes’, says Findekano.

‘And do you use it?’

‘Of course I do’, says Findekano indignantly.  I’m not that pig-ignorant!

‘Of course you do’, says Maitimo apologetically. ‘Have a wander about the library here, about half an hour or so. Pick five books from the shelves that you think look interesting. Make them as different as possible if you can. Then come back and explain to me why you think they look interesting.  Can you do that for me? It will give me an idea of where to start.’

***

They are deeply immersed in their first history lesson when Findekano raises his head abruptly and says defiantly: ‘I’d rather be taught by you than by him anyhow!’

‘Everyone wants to be taught by Feanaro’, answers Maitimo mildly. It is not a reproof, just an observation about the laws of the universe.

‘You said… Did he call you pig-ignorant, too, when you were younger?’ asks Findekano daringly.

‘That’s still rankling? Yes, he did, plenty of times. Still does, occasionally.’

Findekano stares at him. Still does? Maitimo?!

Findekano concludes that whatever else Uncle Feanaro is, he is clearly crazy as a March hare. He reaches out and squeezes Maitimo’s hand. Maitimo looks surprised, but gratified, and gently squeezes back.

Still holding hands, they bend over the book again.

‘Now’, says Maitimo, ‘the Mindon Eldalieva…’

---

Chapter End Notes

Of course, crazy as a March hare here actually translates an obscure Quenya phrase which obliquely refers to the erratic behaviour of the hare during breeding season without actually containing the word March!

A Little Slow

Between two trips, Maedhros returns to Tirion, eagerly awaited by young Findekano. At first, it is not entirely a success.

Fingon's POV

Warnings: none

First posted written and posted to the b2mem community on LiveJournal for the B2MeM 2013 prompt (Day 19, O): "Fëanor and his sons abode seldom in one place for long, but travelled far and wide upon the confines of Valinor, going even to the borders of the Dark and the cold shores of the Outer Sea, seeking the unknown".

Read A Little Slow

‘Maitimo, Maitimo, I missed you! Did you miss me?’

He looks quite startled at the question. I feel a lump rise in my throat.

‘You didn’t, did you?’

‘You’re jumping to conclusions, Findekano’, he says, quietly.

It doesn’t take me long to work out that although he looks positively dazzling—all decked out in finery for the all-royal occasion—he is feeling very uncomfortable, for reasons that have little to do with me. I guess another incident happened, as my mother calls them, one of those incidents that never get discussed. But nevertheless…!

He knows I’m disappointed. At dinner, he passes me the salt and an apologetic look.

***

‘…and then naturally Ecthelion had to take him up on it and—Maitimo, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I did miss you, Findekano. I missed you a great deal.’

‘Maitimo, it’s taken you a whole day to answer that question!’

‘I know. Sometimes I’m a little slow. Is it too late now?’

He’s looking as if he thinks that might really be the case. Sometimes, he is a little strange. How could it be too late?

‘Of course it isn’t!’

He’s wearing his plain copper circlet today. He is good-looking enough to carry off wearing his father’s handiwork, but I think he looks even better without half the contents of a jewellery shop in his hair.

He laughs as I pull him down the street.

***

He’s only just reached the bottom of the steps when suddenly he stops and starts dashing up them again. There’s something he’s forgotten to pack? No. We’ve made our farewells already, but here he comes, swooping down to pull me into one last hug.

‘Sometimes I’m just a little slow, cousin’, he whispers. ‘Remember, will you?’

I hadn’t realized it bothered him still.

‘I will, Maitimo!’, I promise.

Over his shoulder, I see Uncle Feanaro impatiently tapping his foot at the bottom of the stair. So maybe it’s not entirely noble of me—but for once it is not me who is being kept waiting.

It feels good.

Bindweed

In Beleriand, Maedhros and Fingon look back on the time when Maedhros was in exile in Formenos while Fingon remained in Tirion.

Written as a gift for Oshun, for her birthday

Rating: Teens

Read Bindweed

‘Do you remember that book of flowers you sent to me in Formenos?’

‘Yes, I do, but that was long ago and you’ve never mentioned it since...’

‘It was bound with two strong clasps. The leaves seemed to bulge and, when I undid the clasps, the volume burst open and a cascade of dry and wilted flowers fell out, leaving their silhouettes like ghosts behind on the page. It was as if you had been culling the flower beds in my mother’s garden and tried to cram them all in. ’

‘That’s more or less what I did, yes. The book you had sent me for my begetting-day—you know the one I mean?—was almost the same but quite different nevertheless: specimens of northern vegetation from the area around Formenos, all neatly pressed, carefully labelled and botanically classified. I remember sitting up late that night while Telperion waxed and waned—in flowing silks and long impractical sleeves, for my begetting-day party had been one of those determinedly gay occasions, rather pompous  you would have thought it—and how I kept studying one pale unassuming weed after another and tried in vain to decode your message. Eventually I feel asleep with my head on the page and when I woke up, I concluded in disgust that there was no message: no reassurance or encouragement, not even accusation or reproof. It was as if you’d withdrawn completely from our messy human affairs…’

‘How much I longed to withdraw from those messy human affairs, those last months in Tirion! I thought it was only a stubborn sense of duty that kept me from barricading myself in the library and letting everyone go their own merry way—to destruction, if they insisted upon it. But the moment I sat down at that poky little desk in my chamber in Formenos and tried to write—write anything about any subject at all—my fears threatened to spill onto the page, blacker and more copious than any ink. I could not write anything except what I could not write for fear it might be true: that everything was broken beyond mending, my father’s mind, our family, the peace among the Noldor…  I managed to record the names of the plants around me; it was the best I could do. Do you remember how far the distance between Tirion and Formenos seemed, then, how long those twelve years of exile, how insurmountable the breach? Little did we guess what was to come! So much farther and longer, so much deeper and more insurmountable…’

‘At the time, I decided firmly to put you out of my mind. Life in Tirion must go on; we were all hard at work papering over the cracks. But after a few days it came to me, just like that, as I was walking down the street, how many hours you must have spent, gathering the plants, preparing the book for me...’

‘That volume was my second attempt, actually. The first one was a little more ornate, but I upset the ink pot all over it one evening…’

‘You did?’

‘Things had been difficult, that day, in the house…’

‘Had they?  Anyway, I rushed off to the stationer’s, bought a blank book and stuffed it with the flowers of Tirion, of home, as best I could. Then I waited anxiously for an answer—I felt all raw inside, over-extended, vulnerable…’

‘I did respond…’

‘Barely. You scrawled a brief greeting in the margin of Grandfather’s next letter and sent another neatly pressed northern flower. Bindweed you labelled it. It was just enough so I felt I had not made a complete fool of myself. Oh! Is that what made you bring it up just now? Bindweed? Convolvulus? It does grow plentifully here in Hithlum. I also saw it grow in Araman…’

‘I could not understand how I could have let myself run out of words to talk to you.  We had not even quarrelled—I think, like a coward, I had avoided talking to you, fearing that we would quarrel if I did, and had not let myself notice…  I resolved—I promised myself—that when we returned to Tirion—if we returned to Tirion—whatever else happened, I would simply go and sit on your doorstep and wait and wait for the words to come back… I did not do well on the subject of that resolution at all…’

‘Still, you’re talking to me now… Russandol, do stop fiddling with that plant. You’ve got your fingers all entangled in convolvulus. Can you even get them out of there anymore without tearing the stem?’

‘You may have to set me free, once again...’

‘Sometimes I think you do that intentionally, you know... And you know one thing that’s definitely nonsense? If you had ever turned up on my doorstep, you could have sat there gaping at me, mute as a fish, I wouldn’t have let you stay out there. Surely you know I wouldn’t have rested until I had got you inside. Even if you hadn’t managed to say a word! I would have dragged you in across the threshold, if I had to!’

The Outer Sea

The first conversation between Fingon and Maedhros after Feanor and his sons return from one of their journeys

A second story prompted by the quotation:"Fëanor and his sons abode seldom in one place for long, but travelled far and wide upon the confines of Valinor, going even to the borders of the Dark and the cold shores of the Outer Sea, seeking the unknown".

Rating: General

Read The Outer Sea

‘You were gone for a long while, Maitimo.’

‘We went all the way to the Outer Sea this time.’

‘Did you really? How exciting! What was it like?’

‘I knew you would say that, Findekano!  It was cold. The beach was made up of very fine sand, bone-white. The sea was black and its tides were fierce. But the sky above it was darker and more violent than that. I walked along the shore and thought: Findekano would find this exciting. But how shall I describe it to him?

‘But did you not yourself find it exciting, Maitimo?’

‘Exciting? Perhaps. It was a good trip, very interesting. I learned a lot. And Father was satisfied… But I haven’t finished my tale yet!’

‘Haven’t you? Go on then!’

‘I was thinking: How shall I describe this to Findekano? And at the same moment, I saw a shell before me in the sand—a large white conch, completely intact, although everything else on the beach seemed to have been ground down to dust, almost. And so I knew this must be for you…’

‘You brought me a shell from the shores of the Outer Sea!’

‘Yes. Here it is.’

‘It is large. And so white—colourless, really…’

‘It comes to you from the lightless depths of Ekkaia.’

‘Thank you, Maitimo. I’m glad you thought of me, out there.’

‘Maybe you can come along next time?’

‘Maybe...’

...and maybe not. You like these trips, Maitimo, because of the way your family works together, journeying, each doing their part, so much more harmoniously than at home in Tirion. I have seen it; it’s almost miraculous. I do believe I’ve never seen Turko so calm, Moryo so amiable, Curvo so helpful as when you all are under way together… But it seems the charm only works for the eight of you, now Nerdanel has left. As for yourself, you may miss me on these trips, think of me—and so maybe Turko misses Irisse, Feanaro misses Finwe… But if any of us should join you, that fine mysterious balance is overset; they cannot keep it up. They tolerate me as best they can, for your sake, but I can see they wish I were away…

---

Chapter End Notes

I had the Living Land challenge at the back of my mind when I wrote this, so although other stories of mine might fit the terms of the challenge better than this one, I'll claim it as a fill.

You Scared the Living Daylights Out of Me Again

Any active boy is quite liable to give his elders grey hairs (in the case of Elves, metaphorical only).
Fingon the Valiant more so than most.

Written for Oshun's Snowflake Challenge 2015 request for Day 2 (revised version)

Read You Scared the Living Daylights Out of Me Again

They were taking turns balancing on the railing, Findekano and Artaresto. Findekano wasn't entirely certain which of the two had first suggested it, afterwards, but thought it might have been himself.  

Artaresto's sense of balance was definitely better.

'It's the Teleri blood,' he said, shrugging to avoid seeming like a show-off. 'My cousins in Alqualonde are always balancing on gunwales and ropes and things.'

But, with just a bit of practice, Findekano was beginning to be not too bad at it either and he felt quite proud of his achievement.

Suddenly, there came a shout and the sound of running footsteps from up ahead, where the back door from the Children's Wing opened out onto the terrace. Oh, dear, they had been spotted! There was going to be a serious amount of fuss now.

Findekano, whose turn it was on the railing, at once had a clear vision of his mother's face before his eyes--pale, distressed but severely self-controlled. Anaire could be expected to say: 'I am very disappointed in you, Findekano! Not only did you take a foolish risk, but you led your young cousin into danger as well!' ...and a son of Auntie Earwen, too, to make things worse, although that particular angle was not going to be mentioned, because Mother always took care to be impartial.

All of a sudden, Findekano felt very wobbly up there on the railing. What a long drop it was all the way down to the rose beds on the other side! It hadn't seemed nearly so bad before, had it? And the polished marble hadn't seemed so...slippery.

'Findekano! Watch out!' cried Artaresto, sounding really frightened, but Findekano couldn't seem to regain his footing. The railing jerked away from him and there was a rather sickening rush of air past his face.

 

'I had no idea you were there,' he said to Maitimo, astonished, when he found his tall cousin had grabbed him just in time and lowered him safely to the ground.

Artaresto beside them was gabbling with relief, but the words failed to register with him.

'I hadn't been there for very long. I was trying not to break your concentration,' said Maitimo. His voice was quite level, but for a moment he went on gripping Findekano's arms painfully hard. Briefly, he hugged Findekano against his chest. Then he gently turned him round to face the oncoming charge of flustered palace servants and alarmed relatives and released him.

---

Chapter End Notes

I wavered a lot about which son of Finarfin this was who was with Fingon, but in the end I settled on Orodreth, the mountain-lover with a head for heights, although their relative ages should really be farther apart, I guess.

The title alludes to a passage in my story "Dwarvish Thinking":
In days of yore—when I lived under the roof of Feanaro, that is—this expression on Russandol’s face used to translate as: "You’ve scared the living daylights out of me again, but I’ll forgive you one more time, because you managed not to kill yourself. I’m not even yelling at you, because I know you’re already feeling rotten anyway." I wasn’t on the receiving end of that expression quite as often as Tyelkormo, but it is still familiar enough.

 

(The wording of the summary here is obviously not meant to imply that Aredhel, being a girl, did not give her parents plenty of reasons for metaphorical grey hair as well!)

The Sudden Pain of Silence

Maedhros and Fingon had found each other easy to talk to.
But then...

Dedicated to ziggy

Rating: Teens

Quenya names used: Maitimo=Maedhros, Findekano=Fingon.

On prompts, see end notes.

Read The Sudden Pain of Silence

He loved to hear his cousin speak. When Maitimo pulled down a book from the shelves and began to explain, their world seemed to gain depth, sing in subtler shades of colour. It was even better when Findekano discovered he could answer. Maitimo would listen patiently, as he spoke, and help unravel his thought.

Maitimo was not just family but a friend. They drew together, exchanging whispered comments and support, when routine was boring or when another crisis hit.

Then Feanor’s sword touched Fingolfin’s throat. Maitimo and Findekano cried out in a single voice, exchanged glances and found themselves divided.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Tolkien Weekly prompts: Vocalizations: speak, whisper, cry. [100 words in MS Word.]

B2MeM prompts:

Initial prompt no. 11: The song of Fingon Elves yet sing,
captain of armies, Gnomish king,
who fell at last in flame of swords
with his white banners and his lords.
(The Lay of Leithian)

Daily prompt March 3:
And the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void, and it was not void. Never since have the Ainur made any music like to this music, though it has been said that a greater still shall be made before Ilúvatar by the choirs of the Ainur and the Children of Ilúvatar after the end of days. (The Silmarillion, “Ainulindale”)

In the Park

Among the Noldor in Valinor, the first subtle signs of discord fomented by Melkor have arisen. There was a troubling incident in a public space in Tirion and neither Feanor nor those he clashed with seemed quite their usual selves. Maedhros, who was present and had tried to defuse the situation, has sensed this, but is finding it difficult to pin down what has changed, let alone guess what caused the change.
In the aftermath of the incident, Maedhros and Fingon retreat to a nearby park.

A short scene between the two.

Rated Teens for some angst and the canonical background

Read In the Park

Fingon caught up with him and they walked through the grove together, the tense silence between them muffling the birdsong. Without a word spoken, they reached the glade. Maedhros slipped the sandals off his feet and waded into the small canal, heedless of the hem of his second-best robe that dipped below the surface and flowed wet about his calves. He stood feeling the clear coolness of the water washing around his feet, until it washed away a little of the aftertaste of the incident and carried it downstream.

‘I’m sorry, Findekano,’ he said, without turning his head. ‘I can’t talk about it. Not today.  Maybe tomorrow.’

‘Or the day after,’ said Fingon, behind him. ‘Or the day after that.’

‘Now you’re teasing me,’ said Maedhros, without rancour.

Fingon laughed a little. Maedhros heard him and, with that, the sound of the birds’ voices came back and the rustling in the grass and the gush and bubble of the artificial little waterfall at the southern end of the glade. He felt himself breathing easier.

Better now. All light, all bright, under the glittering rays of Laurelin. And yet, he feared—no, he knew it wasn’t over, whatever had happened back out there. He doubted any of the few Vanyar present had noticed, unless they were really well attuned; they thought the Noldor fractious and his father impossible anyway. If he had uttered any alarm, they might have suspected him of just making excuses for Feanor.

Had it merely been an especially bad clash of personalities and opinions, distressing as those could certainly be? No, something had shifted. He closed his eyes, trying to pin it down, what it was, where it had come from, and it seemed to slither away from his perceptions...

Fingon, he saw, was sitting cross-legged on the bank, watching him. There was a buttercup growing close by his left knee, and the light was making a shifting pattern across his hair and shoulder that seemed brighter, at this moment, than any threads of gold.

It was nothing, it was just Fingon being Fingon, more aware of Maedhros’s limitations than he had sometimes given him credit for, in the past, and still putting up with him. But for a moment Maedhros was seized by a panicky impulse to say to this face that seemed so open and therefore, suddenly, so vulnerable: Let’s not go back, let’s stay and hide, pretend we are not here, until they forget all about us. Ridiculous—they would have a better chance of hiding out in Finwe’s palace, even, than in this small city park. And who, exactly, were ‘they’, after all?

He opened his mouth and found himself saying, instead: ‘I guess we had better be getting back.’

---

Chapter End Notes

The details of the preceding incident refused to come to me and will no doubt reveal themselves in their own time.
Meanwhile, perhaps the first chapter of "The Chief in a Village" (in the same series, called: Feanor Disrupts Gathering Female Relatives Refuse To Attend) might give readers some idea of the background, if wanted. It's set later, when things have become noticeably worse, but shows an incident involving Feanor, Fingolfin and Maedhros from Fingon's point of view and Fingon's thoughts on the matter.

The Bear Incident

Celegorm and Fingon escape into the mountains, on a dare.

Maedhros finds out and follows to keep them out of trouble, but the one who gets into most trouble is himself.

Or: how Celegorm found out he could talk to animals.

Cheekily submitted for the Teen Spirit challenge for the prompt: Conflict: thirst for adventure.

(Yes, cheating was definitely involved. I confess I wanted that prompt and went on rolling until I got it.)

The central plot idea is stolen from Dawn's Felakverse, but what I did with it is not compatible with the rest of Another Man's Cage.

Read The Bear Incident

Maitimo quickly tried to sit up, at once changed his mind and instead sat up very slowly and cautiously. His head was ringing and his left leg, he deduced, was almost certainly broken. He peered woozily up the cliff face which he seemed to have precipitously descended. What…?

A small stone fell from above and hit him on the shoulder.

‘Fin…’, he began, broke off and said sharply: ‘Slow down and watch where you’re putting your feet!’

Findekano, coming rather too quickly down the cliff face, obediently slowed down to a steadier, safer climb and also considerately veered off to the right, where he would be less likely to dislodge pebbles straight onto his cousin.

Maitimo remembered suddenly how he had come to fall off the cliff, opened his mouth and shut it again so as not to distract Findekano while he was still climbing.

The moment Findekano set foot on level ground, he turned contritely to Maitimo and began: ‘Sor…’, but Maitimo cut across him: ‘What about the bear?’

‘It’s all right,’ said Findekano, reassuringly. ‘Turko told the bear that we were sorry to have bothered her and meant no harm. She calmed down and went away, just like that.’

‘She went away? Because Turko talked to her?’

From above, there came the sound of a small landslide. No point trying to tell Turko to slow down. He arrived in a shower of gravel, fortunately not on top of Maitimo.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Maitimo urgently, although he could detect no damage except for a few small grazes on Turko’s arm and cheek.

Turko looked him over critically and shook his head. ‘I should be asking you that. You really shouldn’t have yelled at her and thrown a rock.’

‘I was trying to distract her from you,’ said Maitimo, severely. ‘How was I to know you can talk to bears, apparently?’  Curiosity gained the upper hand, despite the pain in his leg and his throbbing head. ‘Can you really?’

‘Apparently,’ said Turko. ‘Apparently yes.’ He smiled, gloriously, blissfully. ‘I had no idea I could until I really needed to, wanted to really badly. But she heard me all right. She was still annoyed with us for going near her cubs, but she decided we weren’t dangerous after all.’ He frowned. ‘Only by then she had given you that swipe and you had tumbled off the path.’

‘I see,’ said Maitimo. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve broken my leg, I think, in falling.’

‘Oh,’ said Findekano, anxiously. ‘How are we going to get you out of here?’

‘Maybe you can find a crutch for me?’ suggested Maitimo. ‘If you look for young trees or branches that are tall and strong enough?’

‘I think we’ll have to carry you at least for a bit,’ said Turko, with the new-found confidence of a boy who can talk to bears. ‘But we need to splint or fix your leg somehow so that it doesn’t get jarred and hurt.’

It was hurting anyway, of course, but Maitimo sincerely appreciated the thought. Findekano nodded at once.

During the following hours Maitimo witnessed, silently and in amazement, unprecedented levels of cooperation between his brother and his cousin as, between them, they quite competently managed to manoeuvre him into a more sheltered and accessible spot. By the time they had reached the overhang, almost a cave, some way further down the pass, he was feeling sick and dizzy and in considerable pain, nevertheless, and could not have commented even if he had wanted to.  The boys, too, were exhausted and their faces worried, looking rather pale beneath the smudges and the sweat.

‘We’ll have to leave you here and get help,’ said Turko reluctantly.

Rather ignominious, Maitimo felt, for a big brother who had initially followed the two younger ones to keep them out of trouble. But he had no choice but to agree and even accept the blankets that they insisted on leaving with him. He just hoped they would be safe until they reached the waystation and meet someone more experienced on the way up.

Findekano stopped and turned back to him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, completing his earlier apology. ‘It was…’

‘…a dare,’ said Maitimo.

‘Yes,’ said Findekano sheepishly and then, brightening, ‘but still you know, it was quite an adventure. Only…’

He looked at Maitimo’s leg.

Maitimo smiled at him.

‘Take care how you go,’ he said.

---

Chapter End Notes

Quenya names used: Maedhros = Maitimo, Fingon=Findekano, Celegorm = Turko (short for Turkafinwe).

I guess Fingon and Celegorm feel like rather young teenagers here, although I haven't put an actual age to either of them.