Maps by grey_gazania

---

Chapter 4: Fingon

---

Atto saw to it that I bathed and forced me to take some fitful sleep before he questioned me. I joined him in our little kitchen, dressed in fresh clothes and with my hair pulled back in a simple braid.

 

"Almarë is still working," he told me. "She promised to send a messenger when she finishes, or if Maitimo's condition worsens."

 

I nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

 

"Would you like to eat something?"

 

I shook my head. "No." I said, finding my voice. "I don't think I can stomach food right now."

 

Reaching across the table, he took my hand in his. "Will you tell me what happened? Why did you leave us?"

 

To find Maitimo was the obvious answer, but I knew that wasn't what he was asking.

 

"He's my friend," I said softly. "And we need him. Makalaurë will not be able to hold on to leadership of Fëanáro's people forever. Surely you've noticed that as well as I have."

 

"I have. Though in truth, I'm not certain Maitimo still deserves your friendship. Do you think he would have gone to rescue you, had you been taken captive?"

 

"He tried to stop Fëanáro from burning the ships," I said. "Carnistir told me."

 

My father's eyebrows shot upward. "When did Carnistir tell you this?"

 

"The day I left."

 

"He told me that the two of you exchanged nothing of substance," Atto said, storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

 

"Don't be angry," I said hurriedly. "I told him not to tell you where I had gone. I knew you would try to come after me if you knew of my plan."

 

"Of course I would try to come after you!" Atto said. "You could have died, Káno. Was losing your brother not enough?"

 

I squeezed his fingers and said, "But I didn't die. I'm here, Atto. I'm here, and Maitimo's here, and maybe…maybe we can put things back together now."

 

Atto scrubbed his free hand over his eyes, and it was that simple gesture that brought back to me exactly what it was I had done. I felt my stomach flip over, and Atto, with instincts honed by yení of fatherhood, managed to grab one of our cook pots just in time for me to retch into it instead of on the table.

 

 

"Káno?" he asked, his voice gentle but oddly distant.

 

I shook my head and retched again, and then a third time. Breathing heavily, my eyes closed, I heard him step away. He returned soon, pressing a wooden cup full of water into my hand. I took a sip and, once I was certain I would not vomit again, leaned back away from the pot. "I cut off his hand," I said, my voice shaking. "He was shackled to a cliff and I couldn't free him and he begged me to kill him and I almost did, I almost killed him but I prayed to Manwë and then the bird came, Thorondor, and he carried me up but I couldn't loose the shackle—" I paused, gasping for breath, and realized that I had begun to weep. "It was the only way I saw to free him, but I cut off his hand. My best friend! I crippled him!"

 

"Shh," Atto said, wrapping his arms around me and stroking my hair. "You did what needed to be done. He will understand, I think, in time."

 

I buried my head in his shoulder and wept — wept for Maitimo and for myself, and for all that our people had lost.

 

***********

 

It was another hour before Almarë's messenger arrived. Maitimo was unconscious when we entered the room, the stump of his arm wrapped up and his shoulder set back in its socket. The healers had bathed him and shorn him of his matted hair, and I could see ointments and bandages on his sores and other wounds.

 

"I've given him willow bark," Almarë said, "to bring down his fever. He's very weak, but I do not think he will die. And I've set my apprentices to work preparing more poppy. He will need it when he wakes."

 

My father's eyes were sad as he looked upon my cousin's skeletal form. He and Maitimo had always been on good terms, both of them being sensible and of an even disposition, and it struck me that seeing Maitimo like this must be hurting him terribly, as it was hurting me. I took his hand in mine, twining our fingers together, and he gave me a look of gratitude.

 

"Thank you, Almarë," he said. "We'll contact his brothers. I suspect they'll want to speak to you."

 

"How thrilling," Almarë said dryly. Like most of us, she currently held no love for the sons of Fëanáro. "I'll be sure to prepare myself."

 

Atto nodded. "Findekáno will sit with him for now. You take some rest." He waited for Almarë to leave, and then patted me on the shoulder. "I'm going to send the message. I'll be back soon."

 

I nodded and took Maitimo's hand in mine, my eyes fixed on the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. Injured, yes, and badly so, but alive. He had not abandoned me, and I had not abandoned him.