Racing Towards the Start by Agelast

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Chapter 4

Maedhros returns! 

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The city fell away from the road and rolling hills replaced the buildings. It proved to be a windy day, gusts snatched at their cloaks and ruffled their hair. Grass grew tall on the side of the road and they stopped after a mile or two to let their horses nibble on it, and waited for Arakáno, on his little pony, to catch up. They talked enough so that Arakáno should not notice them waiting and mind it, and for the most part, he did not.

Arakáno was more preoccupied with the fact of Linnen’s existence. Their first meeting had been one for song and story -- both the dog and the boy had fallen immediately in love. They had clung to each other when the time came to leave and Arakáno’s howls when the gate closed behind him were matched only by Linnen’s, on the other side of the wall.

Now, Findekáno knew it was childish to mind Linnen’s apparent faithlessness. He had not much right to it, having meet the dog only a day before Arakáno had, but --

“Why couldn’t we take him with us? Ambarussa would have wanted to see him, I’m sure,” Arakáno said after he had calmed down a little.

“Dear, that dog is filthy still, you saw the way Alatos kept eyeing him. He is going to have the scrubbing of his life,” Irissë said. She shook her head at the memory of the head groom’s reaction to a dog from the streets in his stable.

Arakáno wailed even louder, making a farmer on the side of the road look up from his cart to stare at them.

Findekáno said, “Hush, you two. If you don’t behave, I’ll send you both back.”

Irissë said immediately, “I’d like to see you try.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them blinking. Silence reigned for a time (only slightly broken up by Arakáno’s loud sniffs), and only when Findekáno blinked did the tension break.

Irissë snorted sharply and urged her horse into a canter. She said as she passed, “You’re far too easy to manage, Findekáno.”

Findekáno gave a weary sigh but did not protest.

She was right, after all.

When Arakáno came up behind him and opened his mouth, Findekáno said, “Don’t you start! You’ll see Linnen when you get home.”

“No, his name isn’t Linnen. It’s Alcanarmo! Or maybe Narmokáno...”

Findekáno felt a dull ache at his temples, as if someone was dancing with very light slippers on his brain. He wondered if his mother -- or Maitimo, come to think of it -- felt this pain at all times.

+

Eventually, the road split in two, one part going off further north and the other leading to the house of Fëanáro. There was no sign or symbol to show the way, anyone who knew to go this way would have no use for one. Instead, the new road cut through dense woodlands and then spread out to a gently hilly countryside, and gave up any pretense of being a road at all. Instead it divided again into many different paths. Some went to the forge, others to the stables, while still others went to the hills beyond the house, to the gardens.

The house itself was set on a lawn of velvet-green grass. The House of Fëanáro was very fair in those days, though it looked more like a beautiful sort of hodgepodge rather than a serene and lovely whole.

The original house, built before Maitimo had been born, looked much like the palaces of Tirion plucked into a bucolic setting. It was made of creamy white marble, with all the flourishes of that particular style -- as peerless as wedding cake. Now, it was covered by a special sort of ivy that had been a side project of Fëanáro’s -- he had worked with Yavanna to see if he could make it more hardy and more decorative. It was certainly that -- its leaves were almost translucently green so that looking from a window covered with it, the viewer would get the impression of looking out of a porthole into the sea.

They rode past Makalaurë’s tower, which was set off from the house -- indeed, it was its own structure altogether. It stood glittering, slim and built of dark blue stone. Often the loft doors were locked, and strains of music would filter down from the windows up high. Or -- only the sound of Makalaurë tearing through pages and pages of his compositions, despairing at getting anything right.

Such was the burden of genius.

“Do you hear anything?” Irissë asked, but the tower was almost eerily silent.

At last they came up to the stables which were Tyelkormo’s natural abode. It was not far from the forges, whence no smoke issued. Tyelkormo himself was not there and neither was Huan. After the horses and the pony had been fed and stabled, Irissë dashed off to look for her cousin without a word of goodbye to her brothers. They had been rendered irrelevant, alas.

In passing, she said that if she saw Carnistir first, they would go hunting. In truth, Findekáno didn't quite know where or how Carnistir spent his time, and he thought that this pleased his cousin well enough. But perhaps Irissë knew something he did not. That seemed very likely.

He looked at the silent forge -- Uncle Fëanáro and Curufinwë would spend most of their time there, and it was odd to see it unused.

Findekáno and Arakáno wandered out into the garden, to find Ambarussa, or someone else -- anyone else. They walked down the hill, and came to Nerdanel’s old stomping grounds -- her sculpture gardens. The grass here was long enough to be springy under their feet, but not long enough to make it difficult to walk. The sculptures were larger than life, smoother than life, curved and smooth, cast in bronze and lovely, with enough nooks and crannies to make for good climbing, which Findekáno knew from fond experience.

He had spent many a long summer days in this garden, on the long, the silver-tinted afternoons when his lessons had ceased. Then Nerdanel was still making these sculptures, assembling them here on the lawn. They were set singly or in groups of twos and threes. When Findekáno had asked Maitimo for the reasons for the groupings, and sometimes bizarre contortions that some of them suffered, his cousin had only laughed and said that he was too young to know.

Now, looking at them with adult eyes, Findekáno was still not sure what he was supposed to see.

Except, perhaps, some of the more stuffier lords in Tirion and Valmar would find some of the figures a bit …suggestive. But that spoke more of their own preoccupations than anything else, he was sure.

They made their way to a sculpture of a woman lying on her side, one hand propping up her head and the other lost in the folds of her skirts. She had contented look about her, with her eyes drooping downwards and her lips lifted up. Her features had become badly eroded through the years; the bronze’s surface was streaked liberally with green and black.

In truth, the work of the weather had rendered the figure almost abstract -- until it echoed the hills rather more than it did the elven figure. Around it bloomed a bank of lilies of different colors -- orange, yellow, red, and white. The wind picked up again and gave rise to pollen-dust into the air.

In the shade of the statue and partially hidden by the lilies lay another work of Nerdanel’s (and Fëanáro’s too), a young, rangy elf, with an arm thrown over his head. His auburn hair had gotten tangled in grass, thanks, no doubt, to the wind and his own carelessness.

“Hello, Pityo. Get up, will you?” Findekáno’s boot nudged at Ambarussa’s side, and his cousin groaned. He pushed Findekáno away with a scowl.

Arakáno dropped down on his hands and knees and said, excitedly, “Hello, Ambarussa! I am here for my present.”

“Ouch. Very to the the point, aren’t you?” Ambarussa said, patting the ground next to him. Arakáno crawled over and sat next to him, looking very happy.

“What are you doing out here? We only happened to see you, riding past,” Findekáno said, leaning against the sculpture. The surface felt hot against his arm, and he shifted himself away again.

Ambarussa narrowed his eyes and looked out to the road, half-hidden by trees, that skirted around the small valley that held the garden, and came to the house.

“Amil was here today,” he said moodily. “And of course, she and Ata fought like lions. She left before noon and Telvo went with her. I came this far and -- I stayed. Ata went a few minutes and Curvo went with him. They said they were for Tirion, however.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Findekáno said, and he meant it.

Fëanáro was by no means an easy man to deal with, and Nerdanel had lasted far longer than anyone would have expected. Their separation had been long coming, so often enough they seemed to come together again if only to defy the naysayers.

“Yes, thank you.” Ambarussa looked cast down for a moment, but then he smiled. “Arakáno, come on then. I’m only sorry it wasn’t ready for your begetting day.” He got up and began to dust off his clothes. Arakáno sprang up eagerly and followed him towards the woods.

He turned, once, to wave at Findekáno.

Findekáno, belatedly remembering his mother’s words, shouted to them. “Pityo! Look after him!”

Ambarussa shouted back: “Don’t worry! And if you need him -- Maitimo is in the library!”

“Thank you!” And Findekáno turned around and made his way up the hill, to the house.

+

The front-door was unlocked, as usual for that time of day. Findekáno called out a greeting, but got no response. That was also usual, for servants did not last very long in Fëanáro’s house, and besides, his uncle had a great deal to say about doing things yourself -- or having your children do them, in any case.

The air, at least, was cool against the rising heat outside. Findekáno’s feet made little noise against the deep carpets of the great hall, but slightly more as he rapidly ascended the stairs. He ran his hand over the wide handrail that curved gently down.

It was perfect for sliding down on.

Findekáno knew that from experience. He was far too old now -- far too mature to do that now. Though, there was no one around to observe him... he went up the stairs quickly, to resist the temptations.

Of course, there was no one watching...

Findekáno touched the handrail once more, feeling its width and smoothness, and the way it curved downward, gently to the bottom of the stairs. There was nothing for it, he would have to go down. He would be a fool if he went so far and did nothing. And so he grabbed the top post and got comfortable. He went down fast, the stairway around him became nothing more than a blur.

There was no landing to dread, not like the stairways in his own house. The ride was over disappointingly quick and he vaulted over the elaborately carved finial of the bottom newel, and did a neat flip at the foot of the stairs.

It was perfect, and that was where his luck ended --

The carpet slipped from under him and Findekáno collapsed into a heap. But he was up within a blink of an eye and up the stairs again. Despite the ache at the back of his knees, Findekáno could not find it in him to regret his actions.

The whole thing had been altogether too much fun for that.

He raced down the upstairs hall until he came to the doors of the library and opened them without knocking. If the house was hushed, then the library was positively silent. Not a thing stirred the air, all the blinds were drawn, and only the glow of lights above him gave clue that the library was occupied.

Findekáno went up the elegantly turned spiral staircase to the second story. On one side of him was a solid wall of books -- Philosophy, Metaphysics, Epistemology. A little beyond that, there was a sizable shelf devoted entirely to speculative works about the lands of Endórë, about who remained there, and why, and what they did. He paused a little on one title -- Elwë: The Fate of the Lost King, but eventually he passed it over to come to the end of the stacks.

And at the end of the stacks was Maitimo. He was hunched over a pile of books, so many that his small desk was unequal to the task of holding them. One large one (supporting a stack of smaller books) looked ready to topple over. Maitimo was wholly absorbed in his studies; he did not seem to notice that disaster was imminent. It would be an easy thing to reach over and push it back to safety. And this Findekáno began to do.

Then two things happened at once: Findekáno steadied the book and Maitimo threw out his arms, meaning to stretch them. He hit Findekáno squarely on the chin and Findekáno let go of the book, letting it fall to the floor. It missed Maitimo’s foot, but the others did not.

Maitimo’s chair fell backwards and he put his arms around Findekáno, who felt grateful indeed for his tall cousin’s embrace.

But still, this was not exactly how Findekáno had hoped find himself in Maitimo’s arms. His chin smarted and Maitimo’s lips trembled, as if he wanted to laugh.

“Are you all right?” Maitimo asked, when he let Findekáno go.

He was; the only thing damaged was his pride and many of his family would have said that Findekáno had little enough of that.

“Yes,” Findekáno replied, “ I am. How is your foot?”

“I’ll live,” Maitimo said lightly. But still, he was limping a little when he went over to the windows and pulled the cord to lift the blinds. He dismissed Findekáno’s attempts to help -- and indeed, Fëanáro had devised it so that a small pull of a silk cord lifted the blinds up and up until the two-storied windows were exposed and Laurelin’s light flooded into the library.

“Help me put away these books?” Maitimo’s tone was brisk, and Findekáno only nodded.

The books themselves were on various subjects from around the library, and organized in a somewhat arcane system of Maitimo’s own devising. It was another quarter of an hour before they saw each other again, this time downstairs, in front of the fireplace. Here, the polished wooden floors gave way to plush carpeting, and the chairs were deep and comfortable, meant to keep the sitter fixed in their comfortable grasp.

“Sit down,” Maitimo commanded. “Let’s take a look at that chin of yours.” Then he turned to rummage through the drawers of the desk most close to the door.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Findekáno protested as quickly as he obeyed. He selected a chair that seemed to have the least amount cushioning in it. But it was all for naught -- when he sat, it felt as if he had fallen, bottom-first, into quicksand. Maitimo had come back with a clean rag and small tub of balm.

He shrugged at Findekáno’s questioning look. “There are bandages and things in every room of the house. I don’t usually need them now that the boys are mostly grown, but still they are good to have around.” He bent down and dabbed the balm on Findekáno’s chin with the rag.

Findekáno hissed in surprise. It stung more than he expected it to. Maitimo hummed in sympathy. “It’s one of Estelindë’s concoctions. Tyelko is convinced she makes it sting more than it ought to. Of course, he’s the one who has cause to use it the most.”

It was maddening to have Maitimo so close to him, and yet--

Why didn’t Maitimo say anything? His large grey eyes peered down at him, and they contained more than a little trace of humor in them. Maitimo’s long, tapering fingers on Findekáno’s chin, brushing, at times, against his lip. But he said nothing.

He regrets it.

The realization came like a blow, unexpected and painful. It nearly took Findekáno’s breath away. And surely his expression changed because Maitimo looked at him inquisitively.

“Finno...?”

“Maitimo, this will not go further if you do not wish it to. I will not make you unhappy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What -- I mean, before. What we did. Say it now, and I’ll forget about it. We will be as we were before.”

Maitimo let him go and sat beside him. “You never replied to my letter.”

Findekáno had a sudden vision of the letter, buried under a mound of clothes in his room. Perhaps a maid had picked it from the pocket into which it had been stuffed, and put it back on the table. He had no idea. He was an idiot.

Findekáno cleared his throat, but he still sounded nervous when he spoke.“I did not know I could have replied to that. It was a very perplexing letter. You said you would be away and now you are here, and if you did not know I had left because I thought I saw you out the window...”

“I did not know.”

“Why are you not in Formenos?”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“Oh,” Maitimo made a vague gesture that managed to encompass both the library and Findekáno himself. He said, rather blithely, “The library there is still very much incomplete.”

And then, more seriously, he said, “But really, it was because Ata decided that he had some commissions here that he had to finish. You know how it is -- if he stays, we all stay, if he goes, we all go. And besides, I wanted to see you.”

“But you didn’t visit again.”

“I didn’t have a chance. And anyway, I’ve heard that you are busy dining with Laurefindil to take much notice of my absence.”

“Maitimo, don’t joke, you’re terrible at it. You get the oddest expression on your face, you look almost possessed.”

“Makalaurë says that too, but I think it’s because you two simply fail to comprehend my sort of humor.”

“Comprehend this! Laurefindil is a friend of mine and he is very beautiful, that is true --” Maitimo opened his mouth, he looked terribly annoyed, but Findekáno continued on, determined to have his say. “He is beautiful like a well-executed painting is beautiful. I love him -- as I do all my friends. What I feel for you is completely different.”

“You do not love me as a friend?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t tease.” Findekáno put his head on his hands and stared glumly at the patterns in the carpet.

Maitimo softened. He came nearer to Findekáno and bumped his shoulder against him.

“Finno,” he said softly. “I came back because it made no sense for me to stay away.”

“You don’t regret what happened between us?” Findekáno lifted his head and looked at him. Maitimo shook his head.

“I was afraid that you might. I did want you to feel trapped into something you did not want.”

“Nonsense,” Findekáno said, and leaned over and kissed Maitimo. The kiss was a little awkwardly done -- he did not exactly have much experience in kissing anyone, though he was confident in his ability to learn quickly -- and quickly over.

Still, Findekáno’s hand caressed Maitimo’s cheek, and he was pleased to note a considerable blush upon it.

At Findekáno’s smile, Maitimo tried to bluster -- “It is only my stupid rotten complexion, I redden at everything. Haru tells me that it is quite a handicap in the diplomatic field.”

“I have never seen you blush like that in council,” Findekáno said, very reasonably, he thought.

“And I have never seen you awake in council, but we must assume that it possible,” Maitimo said, getting up.

“That was only one time!” Findekáno protested, getting up as well. “I cannot be wholly blamed for it, Arakáno kept me up all night, and then Atar told me at breakfast that I was expected to attend...” He followed Maitimo out the door. “Where are we going?”

Maitimo did not turn when he said, “To the kitchen.” They went down the hall and Maitimo touched a panel on the wall gently. The wall retracted into an opening, and they went down the back steps quickly.

“And why are we going to the kitchen?” Findekáno had a wild vision of licking honey from the point of Maitimo’s ear. But surely that would be unsanitary? Not to mention rather sticky. He wished his heart wouldn’t flutter so at the thought. Perhaps they could...

“To make supper,” Maitimo said shortly. And then at Findekáno’s puzzled looked, he said, “I thought we would be able to eat leftovers from yesterday, but with you and --”

“Arakáno and Irissë.”

“Yes, and the more the merrier. But now someone has to make the food.”

“Er. Maitimo. What happened to the cook?”

They had come into the kitchens at that point. Maitimo sighed. “He gave notice after Carnistir found olives in the tomato sauce and -- well, you know.”

“Oh, that couldn’t have been very pleasant.”

“It was very unfortunate mess,” Maitimo agreed.

+

Findekáno was tasked with chopping the onions and garlic, and this he tackled with the grim determination that he reserved for especially unpleasant work. When Maitimo told him that he was cutting them too thickly, he nodded and began to cut them into smaller pieces.

It was a tedious task and there were a lot of onions to go through.

(Though, thankfully, not so much garlic.)

Findekáno’s attention wandered. He had never spent much time in kitchens, either here or in his own home. Food, for him, was a thing either to be bought from the market or brought to him, as was right. But Maitimo moved through the kitchen in a way that indicated long familiarity with the place. Just now, he was taking out pieces of beef out from the pot.

“Put the onions here, Finno,” he said, indicating the pot. And so Findekáno did, and what was more, he stood at the stove and watched them brown, with occasional stirring from himself. Maitimo handed him a small bundle of herbs, tied neatly with twine. This he threw into the pot.

Salt and pepper soon followed.

Then came a bottle of wine, which gave Findekáno pause.

“Are you sure about this?” he said, looking at the label. It was one of Uncle Fëanáro’s better wines, a red from around Valmar. It seemed that his uncle’s famous antipathy for all things Vanya did not extend to their wine, which was excellent.

“Yes, put most of that in,” Maitimo said. He was slicing up a loaf of bread. Findekáno did as he was told, but saved a mouthful or two for later. Then it was time to put the beef back into the pot and put the pot, covered, into the oven.

When the pot was safely put away, Findekáno took a swig of the wine, and handed it off to Maitimo, who accepted it, and finished it in one gulp.

“That should be ready in an hour,” he said, putting down bottle.

“Oh good,” Findekáno said. “What shall we do in the meantime?”

“Would you like to see some of my newest research on Endórë? It’s upstairs in my room.”

“Oh, yes, I would.”

Findekáno linked his arm with Maitimo’s, and they left the kitchen.

 

+

“Fascinating,” Findekáno murmured as he rustled the pages restlessly. He put the sheaf of papers down. as soon as Maitimo emerged from the washroom, trailing steam behind him.

Maitimo shook his head ruefully. “Are you sure you do not want to freshen up? I still have some of the clothes you’ve left here.”

“I’m sure I’ve outgrown them,” Findekáno said, pulling moodily at his collar. Maitimo stopped in front of him and touched the side of his face.

After a tender moment or two, Maitimo said, “Findekáno, is it true that you’ve been in the sewers?”

“Who told you that?”

“Almost everyone. They know I’m very interested in what happens to you. But I don’t know why you did it.”

“To help Ethelion fix a fountain -- it was my idea.”

“I thought as much. What do you think of my paper?”

“Fascinating.”

Maitimo looked at the papers that were half-crushed under Findekáno’s hand. He raised an eyebrow. “What was it about?”

At Findekáno’s sudden guilty look, Maitimo said, “You didn’t read it.”

“It will be fascinating when I read it.”

“That’s all right,” Maitimo said, though his tone made it clear that it was anything but.

Findekáno got up and went to the washroom. He washed his hands, again, thoroughly, but the smell of the onions still lingered. He examined his face in the mirror. He looked exactly the same as he had this morning, give or take a faint tanning on his face. Findekáno knew he was not ill to look at -- he could hardly could be otherwise.

But he was not -- well, beautiful. Not as Maitimo was, or as Laurefindil was. His face could only described as good-natured -- or perhaps unconventionally handsome, if one was feeling generous.

And he was not feeling very generous at the moment.

“Finno, come out of there,” Maitimo called from the other room.

Findekáno sighed and with one last glance at the mirror, he turned and came out of the washroom. He went to Maitimo’s bed and laid down there, and Maitimo joined him. Silence descend between them, not uncomfortable so much as it was familiar, the silence between friends who did not need to fill up their time with talk.

“You don’t need to take care of me, you know,” Findekáno said suddenly.

Maitimo shifted against him and sighed. “I know.” Then he cocked his head, curious. “Do you feel like I try to manage you?”

“No. Well, yes. I do not think it is a conscious thing you do, only -- you are used to being obeyed.”

Maitimo was silent for a moment, and Findekáno watched him avidly. His profile was sharp against the wall. They had pulled down the shades so that Laurelin’s light filtered through only weakly, giving the room a warm, honey-toned glow.

Maitimo turned to him and asked, “Do your siblings always obey you?”

Findekáno snorted loudly. “Hardly ever, but you have a better hold on yours than I would have with mine.”

Maitimo turned his attention back to the ceiling, looking at intently, as if it had some secret to reveal. He said, “Perhaps. But it’s difficult not be drowned out.”

“Hm,” Findekáno said, leaning in to kiss the crook of Maitimo’s neck. “Have Makalaurë yell for you. He’s very good at projecting his voice.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Maitimo said, turning to face Findekáno, who gave him a silly grin. They watched each other for a moment before Maitimo’s hand traveled slowly to Findekáno’s hip.

Findekáno bit his lip and tried not to look so expectant. He did not succeed, but after the first few kisses, he did not mind if he did. Maitimo shifted so he was straddling Findekáno, who wrapped his arms around Maitimo’s waist.

“Yes, yes,” Findekáno said, “Maitimo, please.” He wanted everything at once, he had to have it or else he would die, he was sure of that. He tugged at Maitimo’s clothes, trying to touch naked skin, and Maitimo was doing the same --- to their mutual frustration.

Findekáno pushed him gently away and began to unbutton his tunic when Maitimo lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“Do you smell something?”

“No, nothing,” Findekáno said, taking his hand, tangling Maitimo’s fingers with his own. Maitimo gave him one of his crooked smiles.

“ Findekáno---” he began, but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

It was Ambarussa, who said, “Nelyo! When’s supper? The kitchen is full of smoke.”

Behind Ambarussa came another voice, younger and still yet piercing. “Where’s Findekáno?”

Findekáno could not resist a low groan. It did not help when Maitimo ruffled his hair and looked vaguely apologetic. He got off of Findekáno and said lightly, “I told you I smelled smoke.”

Findekáno gave him black look, which did not last. They dressed quickly, and each checked to see that the other was not too suspiciously rumpled. When Maitimo opened his door, the doorway was empty. The smell of smoke was stronger here, and they made their way hurriedly to the kitchen.

The beef stew was not entirely beyond saving. In fact, it was quite edible, or so Maitimo declared, as he stirred it around. Yes, it was only a bit dry -- “Finno, put a little bit of water in this.”

Arakáno looked doubtful, but he put out the bowls in the places, as requested. It was then Irissë came back, looking triumphant. Carnistir came back with her, looking wretched. No other news of their hunting emerged. Tyelkormo was still missing.

When asked about him, Irissë only laughed and Carnistir coughed pointedly. He looked unusually pale but he did not volunteer any other information. Findekáno found himself watching both of them closely, but could get no clues about Tyelkormo’s whereabouts.

“He isn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere, I hope,” Maitimo said.

“Probably not,” Irissë said cheerfully. She and Caranthir had brought back a string of rabbits with them, and after eyeing the stew for a moment, they decided to roast them. Arakáno was sent out into the garden to gather some vegetables. After a moment, Findekáno went after him.

They went out the kitchen door and followed the short gravel path to the gardens.

“Arakáno, what did Ambarussa give you?,” Findekáno said, his curiosity getting the better of him at last.

His little brother gave him a happy look. “Wait until you see him. He’s magnificent!”

Findekáno stopped short. “... He is?”

The herb and vegetable garden was the twins’ responsibility and they took it seriously. It was separated from formal gardens by a low stone wall. It was there they found Tyelkormo and there was no more time to talk. It was not clear to Findekáno if he was trying to hide -- if so, he was doing a poor job of it -- his fair head was visible over the wall, and besides, Huan was with him, and there was no hiding him. Huan looked up and gave Findekáno a bark of greeting.

“Who’s there? Findekáno?” Tyelkormo said, perhaps recognizing Findekáno’s step. He got up and propped himself against the wall. Tyelkormo was in a sorry state. His hunter’s clothes were caked with mud. Only his face and some of his hair were somewhat clean.

Arakáno clapped his hand over his mouth, but it did not hide his peals of laughter. Tyelkormo stared down at him grimly, but said nothing.

“What happened to you?” Findekáno said. He did want to laugh -- if only because it would set a bad example for his brother. (He was no stranger to futility.)

“We settled our argument, Irissë and I,” Tyelkormo explained grimly, and would say no more.

+

Supper was delayed until Tyelkormo could be made presentable. Belatedly, someone (Carnistir, begrudgingly) was sent to see if Makalaurë had eaten anything that day. He had not. By the time Makalaurë came to table, everyone else was already seated.

He was grave and silent coming in, too abstracted to take much notice of anyone. He gave a vague hello to Maitimo and made his way to his usual seat - the one between Maitimo and Tyelkormo. Findekáno was sitting there at that moment and Makalaurë nearly sat on his lap before catching himself.

Makalaurë blinked. “Findekáno? What are you doing here? Have you followed Maitimo back home again?”

“We’re having supper, Makalaurë,” Maitimo said, pulling out a seat on the opposite side of him.

“Yes?” Makalaurë looked around, to the slightly burnt stew, the hastily roasted rabbits, and inexpertly cut salad, and especially to the expectant faces of his brothers and cousins.

He smiled and sat down next to Maitimo. “Ah. Good.”

+

It was a good supper, and a good evening afterward. They gathered in the parlor off the great hall, and Makalaurë took out one his smaller harps and began to play. Maitimo began to sing -- an old song from the Great Journey, one that the Elves would sing after a long time of walking-- for they did not have days or nights then. The fire burned down, and in the dimness little gemstones embedded in the vaulted ceiling above them seemed to glow like stars.

Maitimo had a very beautiful singing voice -- it was easy to forget that, against the power and glory that was Makalaurë’s voice -- but Findekáno did not forget. He stepped over the lounging bodies of his sister and brother, and nearly trod on Carnistir’s foot. He came to where Maitimo was sitting, and put his hands briefly on his cousin’s shoulders.

Findekáno sang with him and their voices complemented each other well. After a long moment, Tyelkormo and Irissë joined them, as did Ambarussa and Arakáno.

Together, there was harmony.