Racing Towards the Start by Agelast

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Chapter 7

I am really sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted. First I thought I would finish it after Yuletide, but that didn't happen. Thank you for all you who have been reading along. This has been a wild ride -- from a little one-shot to a fully fledged (if a little messy) longfic in year or so! Wow! So many thanks to Elleth! She is magnificent. ♥

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How Findekáno managed to get home after his meeting with Maitimo was a mystery, even to himself. The next thing he knew, he was in bed, unable to move. There is nothing wrong with me, he thought, as distantly, the world moved around him. His mother came in, looking worried, and even his father looked in, and shook his head in puzzlement.

Arakáno, who was too old for such things, hovered around the edges of Findekáno’s vision at one point and then refused to leave. He leaned over Findekáno’s bed, taking pleasure in his new height. Arakáno was growing like a weed now, taller than both Írissë and their mother.

“You smell,” he said, tugging at Findekáno’s braid to make sure he had his attention.

When Findekáno glared at him, Arakáno merely grinned.

“Brat,” Findekáno said, “what day is it?”

“It is Turukáno’s wedding day,” Arakáno said solemnly. Findekáno covered his face with his blanket and groaned.

*

Turukáno was oddly calm, as he and Findekáno waited for the door and let Elenwë and her family into the throne room, where the marriage ceremony was to take place. Findekáno stood by his brother’s side because of tradition -- in the bad old days before coming to Aman, it was not unheard of for wedding parties to be attacked before a marriage could take place. If the groom was killed in the fight, his brother -- or friend -- could take his place.

Findekáno had no expectation that any such thing would happen here, but still he ran a nervous hand across the scabbard at his side and wished there were something in it. Of course, the thing was purely ceremonial -- he wasn’t even sure the tailor who had made it had ever seen a sword before. But still; it was a lovely thing, made of soft leather with the sigils of their house stitched into it.

Turukáno made a noise low in his throat. In a whisper, he said, “Stop looking so nervous. One would think you were the one getting married.”

Findekáno stilled. “You seem perfectly calm.”

“I am. It is the calmness that comes from knowing that you are exactly where you need to be, doing exactly what you need to do.”

Findekáno nodded and felt, not for the first time, that he did not really know his younger brother that well. He had already been of age when Turukáno was born, and often away from home as he was growing. They had never, to his recollection, spent more than a few hours together at a time.

The difficulties between them that sometimes cropped up, he knew, were due to a lack of understanding rather than a lack of love. Turukáno was so -- self-contained and calm. Findekáno felt almost wild in comparison, and certainly a little bit childish. But still, he had a duty to perform as well.

“I know you will be happy, and honor Elenwë in all things,” Findekáno said at last, as the doors began to open before them.

“Yes, and I hope you will find such bliss yourself, brother,” Turukáno replied, just as the music began and Elenwë entered, accompanied by her family and friends. Her eyes were shining and the smile on her face had a companion in the smile on Turukáno’s face.

At least all eyes were on Turukáno and not him. Findekáno had never wished for less scrutiny than at this moment. The wedding guests all filed in and filled the hall. Finwë was not partial to over-long ceremonies, and since he was the one presiding over this one, the event went by quickly.

It was based on an ancient tradition, and it had not yet wandered too far from its roots. On the platform, where usually Finwë and Indis sat and kept court, only Turukáno and Elenwë now stood, richly dressed and hand-in-hand. The vows they spoke were of their own composition -- some of the older Elves frowned at that, but that was the fashion of the time -- and kissed, to seal their promise.

Of course, they would bind themselves together later, in the privacy of their matrimonial bed, with Eru as their only witness (and surely even then, Eru could be expected to turn his eyes away after the oaths had been exchanged).

*

Both Turukáno and Elenwë seemed to float around the festivities as if they were walking on air. They had eyes for only each other. Their happiness, Findekáno privately thought, was a sight.

A cough interrupted his thoughts. Fëanáro gave him a disdainful look; he was not used to being ignored.

“Good evening, Uncle,” Findekáno said mechanically, industriously not looking above his uncle’s shoulder. “I am very glad to see you here.”

“Well, yes, your grandfather felt --” Fëanáro began to say before, sharply, he interrupted himself. “Is there anything I can help you with, Findekáno? Who are you looking for?”

“Maitimo didn’t come with you?” Findekáno said, not caring that he was being abrupt. Lining up behind Fëanáro, with various degrees of resignation, were six of his sons. Makalaurë waved. Maitimo was nowhere in sight.

Fëanáro harumphed and looked, if possible, even more put-out. “He chose to accompany Nerdanel. You’ll see him by-and-by, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Findekáno. He didn’t quite know if he was glad or sorry for the news.

*

For everyone else’s purposes, however, the wedding was over, and the party could begin. Everywhere in the royal chambers, there were flowers, both white and pink. Strings of pearls connected high vases full of flowers. In honor of Elenwë’s Vanya heritage, it was the fashion for everyone to dust their hair and brows liberally with gold dust and wear light, sheer clothing. But the crowd being (mostly) Noldorin, heavily jeweled ornaments made their appearance on many necks and ears, not to mention foreheads.

Findekáno declined the gold dust. His own customary gold threads looked quite plain against such showy glamour, but then again, he coughed less too, whenever he chose to move. The music was excellent. Makalaurë had easily ousted the conductor for the night and taken over. Ecthelion was in the orchestra pit, wearing a ferocious expression on his face; his flute looked like it could double as a weapon. The music they made was extraordinary, the sort that stuck long in one’s memory as long as the world lasted.

Findekáno wandered through the crowd, doing his best to seem interested in what everyone had to say. Despite his own vow not to get too involved with any particular argument, he was drawn into one with Angaráto, about the likelihood that Tirion would again triumph against Aqualondë in that year’s Games.

Angaráto was ever-ready to hurl insults. His temper, though quick, cooled just as quickly, and he was ready to make friends again. And Findekáno enjoyed giving back as good as he got. He felt a touch of guilty -- here, on the night of Turukáno’s wedding -- but in certain ways he was closer to his cousins than his younger brother.

“So,” Angaráto said, bumping against Findekáno’s shoulder. “I have seen neither hide nor hair from you in quite a while. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Well, I grew sick of listening to your belly-aching over your love-affairs. Though I suppose Eldalótë had put a stop to that.”

“Yes,” Angaráto said fervently, “I can hardly talk of anyone else but her.”

“Ah, but there you go. Love is a dull subject, unless you happen to be in love yourself.”

“Ah nothing!” Angaráto began to look angry. “How can you go on like that when everyone says you have had your heart broken! And you never mentioned it to me!”

Findekáno felt the world crash around his ears. “Who said that?”

“It has been the only talk for the last two days. It is supposed that you were in love with a mysterious lady, and Maitimo was the same. You two were heard arguing at the top of your lungs in some obscure corner of the weaver’s quarter. Is it true, Findekáno? I cannot believe it!”

“I --” Findekáno closed his mouth and opened it again. “I assure you that it is quite true, although the reasons are different -- the lady chose neither me nor Maitimo. And thus we quarreled.”

“Oh,” Angaráto said. “Well, I suppose you two ought to patch things up. Because I see him coming in just now.”

Findekáno could hardly hear what else Angaráto was saying…

“Findekáno, Eldalótë and I want you to be our third tomorrow afternoon for lawn-tennis. Don’t make excuses not to come.”

“I suppose I’ll be partnered up with Aikanáro?” Findekáno said glumly.

“Of course.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose I don’t need to win…”

“I’ll tell him you said that. Oh, there you are Maitimo! Good to see you! I must go -- remember, Findekáno!”

It was difficult not to feel betrayed as Angaráto scurried away, but it was much more difficult to turn around and look at Maitimo, and then greet him. But Findekáno was not called valiant for nothing -- he was not afraid of pain. Much. “Hello, Maitimo,” he said, finally, trying to smile up at his cousin serenely.

The crowd parted before them and they drifted to a deserted spot behind some pillars. Findekáno leaned against one of them and stared at Maitimo. Maitimo was looking very well and virtually untouched by any gold dust. Maitimo brushed away an invisible speck of it from his shoulder, and then looked to Findekáno.

Findekáno had planned to say much to Maitimo when next he saw him, but now that his cousin was before him, Findekáno’s lips were sealed. He did not even feel angry -- only a sort of emptiness where he thought anger should be. And he could only stare.

“Findekáno,” Maitimo said, and paused while Findekáno continued to bore holes into his head.

“Stop staring at me like that,” Maitimo said, a touch impatiently.

“Like what? I know you like being looked at,” Findekáno said, his anger returning to him.

Maitimo flushed and said, “You are like a spoiled child, peevish because he’s been denied his favorite toy.”

“You took me aside to just to insult me?”

“No --”, for the first time, it seemed as if Maitimo was uncertain. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“We are speaking.”

“Káno, please,” Maitimo said, biting his lower lip. Suddenly, a smile stole on to his face, irresistible as always. Findekáno felt himself blush, despite his growing indignation. Oh, it had been a monstrous mistake to fall in love with someone who knew him so well -- too well. Maitimo knew exactly how to hurt him -- and then, how to charm him.

But Findekáno resolved to harden his heart. He would not be swayed, no matter how handsome Maitimo looked. (And he looked very handsome, indeed.)

“What do you want, Maitimo?” Findekáno said in a weary tone that he had often heard from his father.

“Walk with me,” Maitimo said, gesturing to the corridor that lead away from the noisy hall. Findekáno followed him with barely a sigh. They did not speak at all as they made their way down the hall, and then down another, until Maitimo opened a door that led outside into the night-garden. He waited until Findekáno had come through, and then disappeared again. Maitimo knew of more hiding places, bolt-holes and forgotten places in the palace than anyone, except perhaps Finwë himself.

Here grew flowers that bloomed under Telperion’s light. Their fragrance hung heavily in the air -- it was curiously still, with not a breath of wind to stir the leaves. Findekáno allowed himself to be distracted by the setting, and did not look up when Maitimo approached him.

“Here,” Maitimo said, and Findekáno took a step backward, staring at the sword in Maitimo’s hand. Findekáno reached for his belt -- but of course, he had nothing to defend himself with.

Maitimo’s face fell. “Do you not like it?”

He held it out to Findekáno, who said nothing, but took it. It was a little lighter than the other sword had been, and Findekáno realized, fit exactly in his grip. He swung it, experimentally, marveling at the way the light caught on the blue stones of the hilt.

“Sapphire?” he said and Maitimo nodded.

“If you like it, it’s yours.”

“Maitimo, this is a lordly gift. But I cannot accept --”

“Nonsense,” Maedhros said, the picked up another sword that had been hidden in the grasse. In design and shape, it was a twin of Fingon’s -- except the hilt was studded with red stones instead of blue.

“Who made them?”

“I did,” Maitimo said, with not a little pride and Findekáno could not help but smile. Everything aside, Maitimo was still a son of Fëanáro, and almost as proud of his own work.

“Does your father know that you gave me this sword?” Findekáno said, straightening his stance, while Maitimo did the same. Unconsciously, they had moved to dueling positions. But they lacked the light foils, the armor that went with it. There was a sense of danger in the air that stirred Findekáno’s blood. I am enjoying this, he thought in wonder. I want it.

“It is my work, to do with as I wish,” Maitimo said, and lunged toward him.

“So, that would be a no, I take it?” Findekáno said, easily parrying his thrust. No doubt, some day they would be equally matched, but for now, Maitimo had the advantage, and had no qualms about pressing it. Findekáno fought hard for every inch of ground he took, and bitterly resented every inch he lost. There was a sudden tear, and he blinked. The sleeve of his fine new robe had a large rent in it.

“Findekáno?” Maitimo said, lowering his defenses momentarily.

Findekáno did not reply, instead, he threw all his strength into disarming Maitimo. Their sword clashed to the ground, and Findekáno brought Maitimo down as well. They peered at each other for a moment until Maitimo snorted sharply. “You swine, I thought you might be hurt.”

“You ruined my best robe,” Findekáno said.

“Fuck your robe,” Maitimo said, dusting off Findekáno’s shoulder with a lazy flick of his hand. He looked up at Findekáno and refused to fight any longer, and so, with a sigh, Findekáno lay next to him quietly. They watched the sky for a long while, as the silver light shifted across the horizon, with the stars faintly visible behind it.

“It was thoughtless of me to pursue you. No, it was unconscionable, ” Maitimo said at last. “Forgive me.”

Findekáno remembered it. The race, the kiss. “There is nothing to forgive on that account,” he said at last.

“But there are for others?” Maitimo said, his eyebrows raised.

“Why did you break it off with me? Be honest. Did someone find out?”

Maitimo stilled. “It was only a matter of time. Findekáno, you know it.”

“Your mother knows, did I tell you?”

“It is not my mother I worry about.”

“You worry too much,” Findekáno said, rolling over to his side. Maitimo turn too, so they were eye-to-eye.

“And this is the point where you kiss me?” Maitimo said.

“Perhaps, in a different story,” Findekáno said, getting up. “Thank you for the sword. I’ll keep it.” He held out his hand to Maitimo, who took it after a moment.

“Then I’ve ruined it,” Maitimo said, a touch wistfully.

“Maitimo, my dear, haven’t you realized it by now? That I would rather have you as my friend than any lover in the world.”

Maitimo seemed to consider this. “Then you’ve given me up?”

“No,” Findekáno said with a laugh, “only I have realized that I must learn patience, by-and-by.” He took up the sword that had been lying on the grass and examined it. “It would make a great sensation if I go back wearing this on my belt...” He wondered if his ceremonial scabbard could even hold it.

He decided not to risk it. Maitimo knew of another place where he could store it until the party was over -- a rarely-used closet, halfway in between the throne-room and the night-gardens. After moment, Maitimo stepped in with him.

Not one to waste an opportunity once presented, Findekáno turned to him and said in a quiet voice: “Who was it that saw us?”

Maitimo shook his head. “That is not something I wish to speak of.”

“Maitimo! It is half my secret too,” Findekáno, leaning against Maitimo in what he hoped was a meaningful way. Maitimo was still against him -- almost stiff -- and he wondered if his cousin would push him away. But Maitimo only sighed and looked down.

“It was nothing. Only an … associate of my father’s had a falling out with him, and was thrown out of the house. I happened to pass him on the way home, and he asked after you in a particularly ugly way. I thought --” He sighed. “I do not care what others think of me. But you deserve better. It is not because I am ashamed of what we are to each other. Only I could not stand to have us remarked at, in that way. You are mine --”

Here, Findekáno smiled suddenly, before schooling his features into a grave mask. He felt that there was much missing from this story -- namely, the identity of this associate. That Fëanáro had stopped accepting apprentices was by now well-known. He worked mostly with Curufinwë. But the way Maitimo had shuddered when he described him… Suddenly, Findekáno felt faintly sick.

“-- And I will not have them touch you.”

“It would not matter to me,” Findekáno said.

Maitimo gave him a weary smile. “Findekáno the Valiant! Not all of us are as brave as you, you know.”

“My valor is greatly exaggerated -- Maitimo, I --”

“You said that you would learn patience, Findekáno. Is that true?”

“Yes. I know now that whatever happens now, we will still be together at the end of it. And I can wait.”

“Even centuries, millenias?”

“To the end of Arda, Maitimo.”

“I do not think you know what you promise,” Maitimo said slowly. “I do not know if I do either. But I swear the same.”

“Good,” Findekáno said, and craned his head up to kiss him.

***

The party had expanded alarmingly in the time they had been away. People who had not been present during the wedding now streamed in through the open doors of the hall, dressed in their finest clothes, all eager to see and be seen. The crowds were heavy, but they parted easily to let both Maitimo and Findekáno through. His absence had been noticed after all, and Findekáno felt intense scrutiny upon him. He straightened his spine accordingly. Maitimo moved with the careless grace that came naturally to him.

Findekáno wished that he could take his hand -- even lie a friendly hand on his shoulder -- but instead, they walked side by until they came to Nerdanel, who was deep in conversation with Indis, their hands around each other’s waists. Indis greeted them both warmly.

Nerdanel gave a cynical chuckle and said, “Oh Maitimo, you dog. I should have known that when you offered to accompany me to the wedding, you were really planning me to abandon me as soon as we arrived. Hello, Findekáno. There’s a tear in your robe.”

Stammering slightly, Findekáno said, “It was my fault, Aunt, I waylaid him.”

Just as Maitimo said, “I had something to show Findekáno.”

Nerdanel was quiet for a moment before she burst out laughing. Indis turned to her, faintly puzzled. “What’s wrong, my dear?” she asked her.

“It is only that the young are getting more foolish by the hour,” Nerdanel said after she had stopped her laughter. Maitimo grew red at that and said, in a rather plaintive voice, “Mother, please.”

“I’m embarrassing him,” Nerdanel said to Indis. “But it seems no so long ago that he would run through the halls of this palace without a stitch of clothing on him.”

Findekáno snickered when he saw the agonized expression on Maitimo’s face.

“Ah, Findekáno was much the same,” Indis said with a smile. “Though he was more likely to fall out of trees and other, higher places.”

“I can believe it,” Maitimo said, glaring at him.

Findekáno coughed and raised his voice hurriedly, “Hush, everyone! Here come the bride and the bridegroom!”

And indeed, so Elenwë and Turukáno appeared, hand-in-hand, followed by what seemed to be the all the rest of the family. Such times, one could hardly help but be happy, Findekáno thought. He let himself be swept along with the rest.