First to Leave by Agelast

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Chapter 1

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Findekáno had to battle through a large crowd to get to where his father stood. Fëanáro and his sword was gone, hussled away by Finwë and his guards. They had all gone into the palace -- only Nolofinwë remained still. He leaned against a pillar, his face pale.

Findekáno dropped his gaze to his father’s chest. There was no blood that he could see, but Fëanáro’s sword had torn a large rent into Nolofinwë’s court-robes. Findekáno grasped his father’s arm and looped it around his neck. Nolofinwë sagged against him, as if all the fire within him had gone out.

Findekáno said quietly, “I am yours to do with whatever you wish.”

“So be it,” Nolofinwë said. “Speak to them.”

Findekáno turned to see that all eyes were on him. He swallowed his breathed and waited for a moment. “Never --” his voice was too quiet, it sounded uncertain to his own ears. Louder, stronger, he said, “Never has an Elf raised his hand in violence against another Elf on these shores. Certainly never against his own kin. But today -- just now -- before your very eyes you saw Curufinwë Fëanáro do just that, against my father, his brother. He has gone too far at last.”

“What will you do?” shouted someone, and Nolofinwë’s hands tightened around Findekáno’s neck.
“The King will --” said another.

“He has gone too far,” Findekáno said again, and the crowd fell silent. “The matter has gone farther than the Noldóran’s purview. Fëanáro has broken the peace of Valinor, and so he must go and plead his case before the Valar.”

“What say you, Prince Nolofinwë?”

“I say,” Nolofinwë began with a heavy sigh, “I say that my son is right. The matter now is beyond our power to mend.”

*

“I did not know you had it in you, Findekáno,” Írissë said softly, hours later. They were both stalling for time until dinner was announced, and they would be obliged to go down the marble steps to the foyer, and from there, to the dining room. It was a private dinner that night; no one but immediate family -- and Grandmother Indis and Uncle Arafinwë rounding out the table.

“I could have been harsher, but no less truthful,” Findekáno said quietly.

“And how do you think our fr-- our cousins will react to this?”

“I know I can count on Artanis’ support. She always made her antipathy towards Fëanáro known.”

“Do not be stupid, you know of whom I speak. Or will you pretend now that Maitimo’s opinion means nothing to you now?”

Findekáno pressed his lips together. “Let his conscience work upon him, not I.”

“How callous you are now, where once you were as soft as a lover towards all things concerned with Maitimo --”

“Guard your tongue, sister. I do not tease you with your attachment with Tyelkormo, do I?”

“There is nothing between me and Tyelkormo,” Írissë said angrily. “He is a fool and so are you. And so is Maitimo, and the whole lot of them.” She breezed past him with a flutter of white chiffon as the dinner bell finally rang.

It was a hastily prepared meal -- the family was supposed to have dined in the palace, and then head for the season to Aqualondë, for Anairë’s special retreat with Eärwen. All of that had been put on hold and the food, meant for the journey on the road, was now spread before them. Arakáno was gnawing hungrily on a chicken wing. It was long after his bed-time, but in the confusion of the day he had been forgotten. Findekáno trained his eyes on him steadily, and Arakáno put down the bone and grinned at him sheepishly.

Indis was speaking steadily, her eyes looking through everything before her. “Your grandfather will not hear of it. He says it is a family affair and should be settled as such.”

Turukáno snorted sharply. “It stopped being a family affair when Fëanáro drew a sword on Atar.”

“Haru has always favored Fëanáro,” Findekáno said quietly. “I fear that his judgment is tainted in this matter.”

“Yes, we know your thoughts on the matter, Findekáno, thank you,” Nolofinwë said drily, with a spark of his old manner. “But I do not know if involving the Valar was the right step. They are great and they are good, but in human matters such as these, they are still -- lacking.”

Findekáno’s brows drew together and he said, stiffly, “Did I act wrongly then, Atar?”

“No, no, it was certainly the best solution at the time, and presented very persuasively at that. You have the makings of a great politician in you after all,” Nolofinwë said with a brief smile.

Findekáno squirmed at all. How many times in his youth had he accused his father of being the consummate politician while he -- Findekáno -- was naturally above such base motives? So many of his old assumptions about himself and about others seemed to have been built from sand.

“You mustn’t exert yourself,” Anairë said in alarm when Nolofinwë rolled his shoulders and winced.

“I am fine, the blade barely touched me,” Nolofinwë said.

“To do that to your own brother,” Turukáno said softly, looking over his glass of wine to Findekáno. The brothers shared a moment of complete accord. Such an action was simply inexcusable, Fingon thought. Your brother was your brother, no matter what he did. To try to hurt him, as Fëanáro had done, only showed that there was some strange new brokenness in him.

“Half-brother,” Nolofinwë and Arafinwë said together and looked at each other with weary smiles.

*

It was hot, in Máhanaxar. The air shimmered with the heat -- the Valar gave off great waves of heat, though they were clad in bodies only a scale-and-a-half bigger than an Elf’s. The heat of the Trees too, was more apparent here than in Tirion, the light mingling into an almost pure whiteness that was difficult to endure.

But Findekáno stood at his father’s right, unshaken by the heat, while Turukáno stood at his left. They listened stone-faced as Manwë delivered his judgement at last. Nolofinwë waited until the furor of the announcement had died down before approaching Fëanáro -- giving his forgiveness, though Fëanáro sought it not.

Despite himself, Findekáno let his attention wander. It was such a familiar scene by now -- his father reaching out to Fëanáro, Fëanáro rejecting him -- though the stakes were higher now than they had been before. He searched out the faces on the other side, looking for one in particular. Maitimo, of course, stood, tall and beautiful, with his brothers. He seemed unbothered by the heat, his face more of a serene mask than any sculpture of Nerdanel’s.

He did not look at Findekáno.

Findekáno looked away. He was ashamed that he expected, after all this, some acknowledgment from his former friend. None came, of course.

Írissë was right. He was a fool.

 

*

It was stifling in his new bedroom in the palace. The room itself was large and airy, having been designed first for Fëanáro and then for Maitimo when he stayed there; for the Crown-Prince of the Noldor, which Findekáno was now, for all intents and purposes. He hated this room; it felt like a trap. Unlike his old room in Nolofinwë‘s house, there was no friendly ledge outside the window, no ivy to help him sneak out. Instead, the balcony ended with a sheer drop, and the stone was smooth and without footholds. Findekáno looked out into the Telperion-lit garden with something akin to despair until he realized that --

Well, he could just walk out the door. And this he did. The halls were all-but deserted at this time of night, and what folk he went past greeted him sleepily or not at all. The palace staff had been all but gutted after Finwë’s decision to follow Fëanáro into exile. Many of those who had left had been there since the time of Queen Míriel, and looked on the newer royals (from Indis on down) as sort of interlopers. Findekáno, for one, did not miss their presence.

But still, there were others -- “Prince Findekáno, is that you?” said a cautious voice of a young guard above him in guard-tower. Alcë was a newly promoted night guard for the palace, and was the daughter of Nolofinwë’s butler. She had caught Findekáno crossing the large courtyard to the palace gate. Findekáno looked up to him and smiled brilliantly.

“Alcë! How goes it?”

Alcë waved vaguely. “It is all right. My superior is going north, so he said that I could fill in for him. Where are you going?”

“I am -- I am going home. That is to say, my father’s old home. I think I have left behind an old pair of slippers there. I can’t be without it.”

Alcë smiled indulgently at the thought of such frivolities. “I can get it for you.”

“And leave your post? Out of the question. It is only a matter of you letting me out.”

“No one is supposed to leave the palace tonight, Prince Findekáno. The exiles are leaving tomorrow and the King said --”

“I know what the King said,” Findekáno said a touch impatiently. “You needn’t worry about me running off to join Fëanáro’s company, I assure you. No, I will be back before Laurelin begins to wax. Open the gate.”

Alcë shrugged. The gate was an invention of Fëanáro’s -- one of his first. It was heavy and ornate, but could be opened with one hand through a system of pulleys and levers. A clever thing, though it made enough noise to wake up the whole place.

Nervously, Alcë said, “And you will be back before…?”

“Depend on it, loyal Alcë!”

 

*

He ran the familiar route from the palace to Fëanáro’s house. He had taken this path so many times he imagined that his feet had made a slight groove on the marble walkway. When he approached the house, it seemed like it was already abandoned, some shutters on the windows were still thrown open, looking out like sightless eyes into the darkness. There was no light in the forge or in the house. No faint snatches of music filtered down from Makalaurë’s tower. They were already gone.

Findekáno felt a new surge of bitterness against himself. Why had he assumed that his cousins would wait for the last moment to bid goodbye to hearth and home? Had they not proved that they were not so sentimental?

But Findekáno -- yes, Findekáno was that sentimental; he must have been to enter now, and mount the stairs upward to the second floor. He avoided the steps that he knew would squeak, his hand on the banister that he had slid down so many times as child -- and often, when he was older.

Maitimo’s room had the same abandoned look as the rest of the house. Only some papers and leftover debris from his closet were left, scattered on the ground. And the bed, stripped of everything but the mattress. Findekáno crossed over to it and sat down, ignoring the squeak it made. He put his hands on his face and felt absurdly like crying.

How dare Maitimo make him feel so wretched when he was the one who was leaving…

There were sounds downstairs, of the front door opening. Findekáno stirred, thinking that there was a remotest chance that there would be a looter looking for treasure left behind. He could not stay here -- he rose to go, facing the door, ready for anything --

Footsteps flew up the stairs and down the hall, pausing in front of Maitimo’s door. It was Maitimo himself, in a cheerful mood it seemed. He was already dressed for traveling, his hair tied back into a neat braid. He did not look at all surprised to see Findekáno standing in front of him.

After giving him the briefest of smiles, Maitimo turned and shouted down the hall, “I found them, at last! Makalaurë, go back to the inn!”

He entered his room and closed the door behind him. Findekáno heard the click of the lock as he stared at Maitimo, stunned. “You…” he began to say.

“I knew you would come on the last day,” Maitimo said, smirking.

That was when Findekáno hit him.

Or tried to, anyway. But the trouble was with fighting with Maitimo was that he knew every one of Findekáno’s moves, and could do them better. But still, Findekáno did get some digs in -- he ground his boot on Maedhros’ foot before he was pushed against the wall.

“Oof,” Findekáno gasped and Maitimo grinned, as if he had heard a great concession. Maitimo, with his absurd height, loomed easily over Findekáno, his expression a mixture of exaltation and guilt.

“I thought you disdained me now, cousin,” Maitimo said, “now that I am exiled and powerless.”

“I would hardly describe you as powerless. And it is Fëanáro who is exiled, you only follow him as you ever have,” Findekáno said and gasped when Maitimo pressed against him harder.

Maitimo snorted sharply and said, “I have heard of your performance, suggesting that the Valar intervene in the matter. I’m sorry I missed it. They say you were near-vibrating in righteous fury.”

“My fury was righteous. You father could have hurt mine -- he could have killed --”

“No. He would. Not.” Maitimo pressed his forearm against Findekáno’s throat.

“You are as blind as Haru,” Findekáno said. “Let me go.”

To his surprise, Maitimo complied and took a step backward. “If you were in my position, Findekáno,” he said. “You would do the same.”

“I would not!” Findekáno spat out furiously. “I know the difference between right and wrong.”

“You rebel when you think you can, but when it matters, you line up like the rest.” Maitimo reached out and caressed Findekáno’s cheek. “At the head of the line, in fact,” he amended softly. Findekáno felt his face heat up and he began to push Maitimo’s hand away. Except he held on to it for a moment, studying it so he would not have to look up and see Maitimo.

“As if you ever --” Findekáno began to say before Maitimo kissed him. As kisses went, it was monstrously unfair. All thought flew clear from Findekáno’s head and leaving it empty except for the desperate conviction that he could not let Maitimo go. And when Maitimo did let him go, Findekáno followed him for a moment, his hand reaching out -- before he dropped, feeling guilty.

“Maitimo…”

“You don’t understand,” Maitimo said, turning away. He began to pace in a slow circle in front of Findekáno. “I feel as though I am the only one who can see where all of this going --”

“Wrong,” Findekáno muttered under his breath.

Maitimo went on, as if he hadn’t heard, “I try to steer things to a better path, but nothing seems to work. But if I gave up, it would be a disaster.”

“Maitimo! What could be more disastrous than this? Listen to me…”

“I know. I am glad that your father was not badly hurt, I hope I can --” Maitimo looked down, and looked momentarily uncertain. “I hope one day I can speak to him, to explain things. Despite his actions, I know my father loves his brothers.”

“Half-brothers,” Findekáno said absently, which earned him a sharp look from Maitimo.

“And you!” he said, with sudden vehemence. “You come to me with your outrageous libido and incessant demands --”

“You despicable villain, you kissed me.”

Maitimo stopped pacing and grinned at him. “So I did. Would you like to do it again, for old time’s sake?”

“No,” Findekáno said coolly. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“Suit yourself,” Maitimo said with a shrug. “I should be going now. They’ll wonder what’s keeping me.”

“What are you here for?”

“Besides you, you mean? These things,” Maitimo said, bending down to pick up a pair of ragged looking slippers.

Findekáno began to laugh in disbelief.

Maitimo looked confused. “I assure you, they are very comfortable.”

“Maitimo,” Findekáno said kindly, taking the slippers from his hand and dropping them on the floor. “I will not see you again for twelve long years. Surely you want better memories of me than what you have currently?”

Maitimo considered it. “So you have decided to forgive me already? That was quick work.”

“Who said I forgave you?” Findekáno murmured and kissed him.

It was so easy to slip into this feeling of wanting Maitimo -- especially now, when he was there, actively encouraging such wanting. Findekáno felt it as if there was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if his heart was on fire - or his loins were.

Everyone wanted Maitimo -- but it was Findekáno who had him.

“And you dared call my father greedy,” Maitimo said, nipping sharply at Findekáno’s jaw. Findekáno suppressed a shudder and wrapped his arms around Maitimo’s waist. He guided them to the edge of Maitimo's bed and pushed him down. A cloud of dust rose between them and Maitimo gave a loud cough and shot Findekano a meaningful look.

Findekano looked back at him calmly and reached down to unlace Maitimo's leggings.

"What will you do?" Maitimo asked, biting his lip.

"Every day, for twelve years, I will think of you less and less. At the end of the time, I shall probably be married," Findekano said, bringing Maitimo's cock, already half-erect, out and began stroke it firmly.

"Fool!" said Maitimo, his voice lowered into a whisper. “I meant now.”

Findekano did not reply. He paused for a moment, pulling down his leggings. Then he drew out his own cock and lined it up with Maitimo's.

Remorselessly, he began to move against Maitimo, who was growing more and more agitated, rubbing against Findekano, his eyes half-wild.

"Finno," he gasped, his mouth opening to say more, but Findekano swallowed it up and kissed him again. He only broke the kiss when they were both breathless.

Words devolved into moans they did not bother to stifle, in this empty house. Findekano spilled him against Maitimo's stomach and groaned, hiding his burning face against Maitimo's hair, the braid loosened now through their love-making. Findekano reached up and pulled the rest loose, until the wave of red hair spilled across his face. He had always loved Maitimo's hair the best.

After a long moment of silence, Maitimo stirred from under him and pushed Findekano off him. "I wish," he started to say, and then lapsed into silence.

"I wish you could come with me."

"I couldn't do that to my father."

"And I cannot abandon mine."

"And so we part," Findekano finished with a sigh. He got up with a sigh and looked to the window. The sky outside was still silver-dark, but it could not be so long until Laurelin began to wax bright. He remembered his promise to Alcë.

He began to rise.

Maitimo caught his hand. "Stay for a moment," he said.

Findekano could not find it in his heart to refuse.

*

Alcë was waiting for him at the gate with a fierce look on her face. “You are late!” she said, and indeed, it was true. Although it was still the Mingling hour, Laurelin was clearly waxing full, gilding the buildings around them with a soft glow.

“I am sorry for that,” Findekáno said, but his contrition turned quickly into dread when Alcë continued on.

“Your father, the King, wishes to see you.”

“How --”

“Don’t ask me,” Alcë said acidly, “I am but a humble guard. No one tells me anything and I am only ever lied to.”

“I did not lie to you, Alcë,” Findekáno said, taking out Maitimo’s slippers from the folds of his robe and waving them in front of her. “See?”

Alcë looked even more dubious than before. “My lord, if you wore slippers that had Fëanáro’s star stitched on the front, I think I know why you left them behind.”

“Damn,” Findekáno said, quickly hiding them again. “Take me to my father.”

*

Nolofinwë was in a small breakfast room where Finwë had usually taken his meal. He silently offered Findekáno a piece of buttered toast, which he took. Nolofinwë asked quietly, “How are your cousins this morning? I hope they have taken enough food with them for their journey north.”

“Atar, I …”

“There is no need to explain, Findekáno,” Nolofinwë said firmly.

“Twelve years is not so long,” Findekáno said instead, though he did not quite believe it.

“No, it is not,” Nolofinwë agreed.

There was silence in the room as Findekáno ate his toast reflectively.