Just and Equitable Government by Himring

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Chapter 1

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Unfortunately, the message arrives in the middle of the evening meal.  Turukano says nothing but sets down his goblet on the table so violently that half the contents splash over his hand.

Nolofinwe, seated on the other side of Findekano, exclaims: ‘This is too bad! How much more of your time do they expect to take up, I ask you?’

In point of fact, of seven Sons of Feanor, six have not, up until this moment, made even the slightest demands on his time since his return from Thangorodrim, Findekano thinks, and the seventh did not exactly invite him to stay for tea either. It would not be a good idea to mention this just now, though. The notion that Findekano has spent all that time on the other side of the lake virtually unsolicited would incense his father even further.

‘May I be excused, Father?’, Findekano asks quietly, and Nolofinwe nods, grudgingly.

Outside, Findekano discovers that Makalaure has not actually entered the camp. The guard waiting at the entrance informs him that Prince Makalaure decided he would prefer to wait by the shore of the lake, outside the perimeter, until the time when it might be convenient for Prince Findekano to see him. Findekano hesitates, makes an impatient gesture, then quickly strides towards the spot where his cousin is waiting. There is nothing to be gained by ceremony. It will only lay them open to interference.

It is darker by the lake shore than he expected; a small stand of trees and the surrounding shrubbery bar most of the light emanating from the camp so that the place is chiefly lit by the reflection off the lake’s surface, Makalaure outlined against it in silhouette. It seems Makalaure has come almost alone; apart from a guard further off who is holding the reins of two horses there is nobody about.

‘Makalaure?’, Fingon  asks, uneasily.

There is a pause before Makalaure answers, long enough for Findekano to feel the need to tell himself firmly that it has no deeper significance and merely shows the sense of drama to be expected in an excellent performer.

‘Findekano’, his cousin finally says. Another over-dramatic pause… Will he get on with it, whatever it is he has to say? ‘Findekano, after what you have done already—after what we have done—we have absolutely no right, no right whatever, to ask anything more of you. ‘

It is Findekano’s turn to be silent. Does “we”, he wonders, mean “we six” or “we seven”? But he is not going to ask.

‘The thing is…’, Makalaure continues, ‘he has decided that you are not coming back.’

So it means “we six”.

‘I’m not’, says Findekano simply and hears Makalaure exhale sharply.

‘Findekano…’

‘I’m not. Why should I? I’m not wanted there.  He prefers your company.’

I don’t believe this, he thinks. All this—all this that has happened! And here I am, sulking because my cousin does not like me anymore.

‘You know better than that!’, says Makalaure—for all the world reprovingly, as if he had failed an elementary lesson.

‘Do I?’

‘If he avoids railing at me, Findekano, the way he rails at you, it is because he fears I would take it as a reproach for not trying to rescue him. And he is right: I would. I do.’

So I am the only one Russandol is so thoroughly indebted to that he feels free to insult me? A true honour—thank you so much for the suggestion, Makalaure!

Findekano bites his lip. There is a subject he has not brought up with Makalaure before. What does he stand to gain by doing so now? But somehow he cannot help it.

‘Tyelkormo said he didn’t take part in burning the ships.’                         

Yet another of those annoying pauses—pregnant with meaning…

‘You heard that, did you? I didn’t think you were listening.’

‘I wasn’t. I heard it anyway.’

 ‘Does it matter? I know that already there are plenty of your father’s people saying that, whatever he said and did, clearly it wasn’t good enough—proof enough that the ships burned nevertheless.’

Those who are saying that include Turukano, of course.

‘It matters. Is it true?’

‘Yes, it is. He tried to persuade Father to stop—reminded him of your valour at Alqualonde, of our debt to you—hoping that that consideration would weigh with him. That was a mistake. Father clearly didn’t relish at all being told that, without his nephew’s help, many more of us would have ended up riddled with Telerin arrows on those quays. But I’m not sure any other tactics would have served Nelyo better, at that point. ’

Another silence—even heavier than the ones that went before—then suddenly Findekano changes tack and challenges his cousin:

 ‘You disapprove, Makalaure. Admit it. You think I am taking the wrong approach.’

Makalaure closes his eyes as if praying for patience.

‘I am here, Findekano. I am begging you to come back, in spite of all the reasons I have not to. Does that look as if I disapprove?’

Findekano sighs unhappily, hunches his shoulders.

‘I will think about it’, he says, expecting Makalaure to protest at his delaying tactics.

‘Thank you’, says Makalaure, as if he had just said yes, when surely what he just implied was no.

Findek ano turns away abruptly and leaves Makalaure without a word of farewell. He is not in the mood to discuss with his father what it was that Makalaure wanted from him and the interview has in any case quite spoiled his appetite, so he does not return to the diners but goes straight to his tent.

About three hours later, he is thoroughly tired of pacing endlessly backwards and forwards in irregular circles around the central pole, unable even to sit down, let alone rest. He stops dead, says an extremely rude word, grabs his cloak and walks out.

Soon afterwards he is on his way along the lake shore toward the Feanorian camp. Makalaure, of course, by then is a long way ahead of him. As he goes, Findekano remembers the last time he was there.