Maps by grey_gazania

Chapter 13: Fingon

As my father’s eldest son, I had many duties and responsibilities, but I tried to spend as much time with Maitimo as possible. I also did my best to bully Carnistir into taking some rest whenever Maitimo was awake. My younger cousin was clearly exhausted by the nights he spent at his brother’s bedside. His normally ruddy face had gone pale and his eyes were now shadowed by grey half-moons, and though he always tried at first to resist my efforts, he was too weary to hold out for long.

Today I was perched alone on the bed beside Maitimo, running my hand through his cropped copper hair and watching the steady rise and fall of his bony chest as he breathed. He was curled on his side, asleep – or so I thought, until I absently traced my index finger over a scar that crept from between his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck. He had a number of others of the same kind, but they were strange to my eyes – thin, curving burns, almost as though he had been hit with a lash made of flames.

“A Valarauco did that.”

His voice was soft, but I started at the words and pulled my hand away. “I did not realize you were awake,” I said apologetically.

Maitimo neither moved nor opened his eyes, but he asked, “Have you ever seen one, Káno?”

I shook my head and then, realizing that he could not see me, said, “No, but I have heard the stories. And I know that they slew your father.”

“The stories are paltry little things,” he said. “Seeing one in person would take your breath away. They’re towering beasts of flame and shadow, swift and strong and terrible, with whips of fire that burn white with heat. Atto was mad to try to fight them alone.”

I did not give voice to my immediate thought – that Fëanáro had gone mad long before he had attempted to slay Moringotto’s flaming servants. Instead, I lightly pressed my finger to the scar once more.

“Is there nothing Almarë can do for these?” I asked.

“She tells me they have healed as much as they ever will,” Maitimo said. “The wounds went untreated for too long.” He paused and then added, “Moringotto did not care how badly I was injured, as long as I still lived.”

It was the most he had said to me about his time in captivity, and the toneless way in which he spoke horrified me as much as the words themselves. Looking down at the blank expression on his too-thin face, I thought my heart might shatter.

“I am sorry I did not come for you sooner, beloved,” I whispered.

“You had no reason to come for me,” he said. He had not opened his eyes even once during our conversation, and he did not do so now. “I betrayed you.”

“You did not,” I said firmly. “I thought you had, yes, but I was mistaken.”

“I am not speaking of what happened at Losgar.”

I moved my hand from the back of his neck and began once more to card my fingers through his hair. “What do you speak of, then?”

He was silent for a moment. “I left you with nothing but angry words when I departed for Formenos,” he finally said. “I allowed our fathers’ strife to come between us.”

“Maitimo,” I said with a sigh, “I bear as much of the blame for that as you do. You didn’t truly listen to my words when we argued after the Valar’s sentence, but neither did I listen to yours. We were both at fault. And I missed you terribly regardless,” I confessed.

“I missed you as well. Every day,” he said softly. “But my brothers needed me. My father needed me.”

“I know.” That sense of obligation to those he held dear was a part of Maitimo that I both loved and hated. He would not have been himself without it, but neither would he have been so quick to follow his father against his better judgement.

Still, he had defied Fëanáro in the end. I knew my beloved. I knew that speaking out alone against his father’s orders must have taken every ounce of courage and determination that he possessed, but he had done it all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally turning his head and blinking his eyes open to look at me.

“As am I,” I said. “But it’s done, Maitimo. We should let it go.”

We had other problems to face now, though I did not bring them up. Maitimo was healing, but he was still tired and frail. Politics, kingship, restitution… Those things would have to wait until he was stronger.

He made a soft noise of agreement and closed his eyes once more. Leaning over, I pressed a kiss to his temple and watched as his angular features softened into an expression that held an echo of his old beauty.

I stayed by his side as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Valarauco (Q.) - balrog