Maps by grey_gazania

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Chapter 1: Fingon

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“I'll stay the same / Pack up, don't stray / Oh say say say / Wait / They don't love you like I love you.”

— Yeah Yeahs Yeahs, "Maps"

 

 

We had been on the shores of Lake Mithrim for years now, trading with the local people and tending to our hurts, trying to rebuild as best we could from all that we had lost on the Helcaraxë. But the longer we went without any meaningful contact with our cousins, the clearer it became to me that our people would never move forward as long as Maitimo's fate was unknown.

 

I knew only what Irissë had gleaned from her last angry conversation with Tyelkormo: Tyelkormo believed he was dead, but Makalaurë believed he was alive. What the others believed I did not know nor, frankly, did I care. It wasn't belief I wanted.

 

It was knowledge. And there was only one person who might have that.

 

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Getting a message to Carnistir without alerting either of our families proved difficult, but I prevailed. We met in a dense copse near the lake, roughly halfway between our two settlements. I had brought my bow, for I was ostensibly out hunting. What excuse he gave I did not know, but he was unarmed.

 

He eyed the bow for a moment before dismissing it as a threat. "What do you want?" he asked with his habitual bluntness, not bothering with any pleasantries.

 

"I want to know what happened to Maitimo."

 

"You know what happened to Maitimo," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, his face shadowed by the leaves above us. "He was—"

 

"Taken by Moringotto," I interrupted. "You and your brothers received a ransom demand which you refused to accept. Makalaurë believes he is alive and Tyelkormo believes he is dead."

 

Carnistir shook his head. "Tyelko hopes he is dead," he said, "because he can't stand the thought of Nelyo in pain. Whether he actually believes it is another question entirely. But you know all this already. What is it you want?"

 

"I want to know what you think," I said quietly.

 

He looked at me, his grey eyes dark and flat as slate, and then turned away as though to leave.

 

"Please, Carnistir," I pleaded. "I cannot bear it. I cannot bear not knowing."

 

His back still to me, he asked, "Are you so certain the truth will be any easier to bear?"

 

"No," I admitted. "But he was my friend. I need to know."

 

He turned to face me then, and there was something vulnerable in his expression when he said, "He never stopped being your friend."

 

"I do not believe that," I said, anger rising in my breast. "A friend would not—"

 

"He didn't."

 

"What?"

 

"Maitimo didn't burn the ships," he said, and that intuition, that knowledge of what I had been about to say — that was why I was here. "He tried to stop Atto. No one ever stopped Atto from doing what he wished, but he tried anyway. Pin the blame for the burning on us, but leave him free of it. He stood aside."

 

My breath caught in my chest, and for a moment the world seemed to spin around me. Maitimo had stood aside. He had not abandoned me as I had thought.

 

"Tell me," I said. "Tell me if he lives. Please."

 

Carnistir watched me, his eyes boring into me like gimlets, before finally speaking. "He lives," he said, very quietly. "I know it in my heart."

 

Maitimo lived. He lived, and he had not abandoned me. The seeds of a plan began to form in my mind, a plan that would hopefully heal the rift between our peoples. It would be dangerous, very much so, but did I not owe it to my family? Did I not owe it to my beloved? "Thank you," I said. "That was all I wanted to know."

 

Carnistir nodded silently, and we both turned to leave. But I had taken only a few steps when he suddenly called my name.

 

"Findekáno."

 

"Yes?"

 

"I'd tell you not to do anything stupid," he said, "but I know that's a lost cause. What should I say when your father comes looking for you?"

 

"Say that we crossed paths and exchanged some news. Itarillë has begun to master embroidery, but she misses her mother."

 

"All right." I saw a glint of something that might have been hope in his eyes, and I nodded in thanks when he said, "Good luck. Try not to die."

 

"I'll do my best."

 

Once he had gone, I waited, unmoving, until a deer passed through the copse. I was no Tyelkormo, but my aim was true enough. With a fresh deer to bring home, I would feel less guilty about the dried meat and other supplies I would need to steal. Already I was making a list in my head of what I would need. If I could, I would leave tonight.

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Chapter End Notes

This story takes place before Thingol's ban on Quenya, so I've used the characters' Quenya names:

Maitimo = Maedhros

Irissë = Aredhel

Tyelkormo/Tyelko = Celegorm

Makalaurë = Maglor

Carnistir = Caranthir

Moringotto = Morgoth

Findekáno = Fingon

Itarillë = Idril