Edge of the Wave by Elwin Fortuna

Chapter 1

The Oath he had taken only a scant few hours before had settled on Maedhros like a weight. His chest ached with the grief of the loss of the Silmarils, but the passion that had led him to follow his father and take the oath had melted away like ice in the sun, and all that was left was blurred and tainted.

Fingon found him there, in the darkened bedroom of his house, kneeling, head bent against his hand, the sword that had blazed with fury and passion in the Oath-taking now faded to dull silent grey on the ground beside him. There was no strength in Maedhros then.

Fingon touched his shoulder and sank down beside him.

"I will go with you, my love," he said.

"Does my father say we must?" Maedhros lifted his head. "Do we travel to Middle-earth then, Findekáno?"

Fingon smiled. "Fëanáro your father spoke much of new lands and adventure beyond the sea. Truly, I am eager to see the lands of the birth of our race, to find freedom beyond the ken of the Valar."

"How many of your people will go, or is it you alone that we bring with us?" Maedhros asked.

Fingon slipped a hand into his, twining their fingers together. "Did you not hear the shouting of many hundreds? Many will follow Fëanáro."

"Is it for love of Fëanáro that you go then, or do you follow another?" Maedhros asked, looking into Fingon's eyes.

Fingon kissed Maedhros' hand. "I will follow you," he said, laying tender emphasis on the final word. "Our young cousins, Arafinwë's sons, and of course Nerwen, will follow me. Thus we are all led for love into the wide world."

Maedhros laughed, the first sign of mirth he had shown since the Oath-taking, hollow and frail as it was. "You cannot tell me Nerwen follows you, since she follows no one! She goes to seek a realm to rule, she does not go to find love."

"It may be yet that she may find it," Fingon answered. "In the wide lands of Middle-earth, many are the peoples of the Elves who did not come to Valinor as did our fathers."

"May they be allies in our war against Melkor!" Maedhros said, raising his head.

Fingon stood, and pulled Maedhros to his feet. "May the Silmarils be recovered to your father once again, my love. May it be swift and sure!"

"I foresee much grief along the way, sad as I am to say it. The Valar will not suffer the loss of the Noldor lightly. "

"No," Fingon whispered, clinging for a moment to Maedhros. "We do not join the celebration tonight, then?"

"Only my father could celebrate something like this!" Maedhros said.

"The people are eager to be gone with Fëanáro. The Lords of the Noldor speak against it, but they have lost, and now make ready to accompany their children. My father himself has chosen to come with us. Few will turn back now. It is this that Fëanáro celebrates."

Maedhros sighed. "Then, no, I will not join the celebration. I am eager to be gone, but yea, to slay the Morgoth, to recover the Silmarils. I care little for politics or the rule of wide lands."

"Then I will stay with you, Maitimo," Fingon said.

They sat in silence for some time on the edge of Maedhros' bed, listening to the noises in the darkness, the sound of feet pounding in dance and voices raised in song. Fire in torches flickered past now and again as the bearers hurried past. A warm breeze drifted through the window and caressed their faces.

Fingon sighed and leaned against Maedhros' shoulder, laying an arm about his waist. Maedhros turned toward Fingon with tenderness in his gaze.

"We stand here upon the very edge," he said softly. "That which beckons means the end of all we know and hold dear."

Fingon smiled. "Fëanáro bade us say farewell to our treasures, but as long as you are with me, mine is by my side. All else matters not."

"Indeed," Maedhros whispered, and kissed Fingon, gently at first, then clutching him, clinging as though a dam of longing had broken forth inside of him. Fingon answered with equal passion, pushing Maedhros down to the cushions of the bed and continuing to kiss him for long moments.

In the sweet darkness lit only by stars, they could see little beyond each other's faces. But they did not need to see to be able to touch and caress. Soon they swiftly removed their garments, and came back gladly to each other's embrace on the bed.

Fingon found himself pinned beneath a desperate Maedhros, whose hands were clutching at his body and grasping him as if he were the only real thing in all of Arda, who was making small moans at the back of his throat as his lips brushed over the skin of Fingon's neck and shoulder. Fingon slid a hand, slow and soft, down Maedhros' back, tracing the curve of his body down to his hip.

"Shh, Maitimo," he whispered, lips against Maedhros' forehead. "There is time enough for all of this."

"It may be so," Maedhros answered, "but all will change. When in Tirion upon Túna might I kiss you again?"

"It may be that soon we shall never kiss again in Tirion upon Túna," Fingon said. "But in the lands of Middle-earth, I vow by the love I hold for thee, our kisses shall be unnumbered."

Maedhros raised his head to meet Fingon's eyes with his own. "Then fair indeed shall the end be, no matter how long and hard the road. I will have you by my side, and the Silmarils shall be recovered. May this be, I hope that this will be."

Fingon tugged at Maedhros' hair, pulling him down into a kiss. "Let go of the grief of your heart, my love," he whispered softly. "All will be well. New lands await us, new adventures to take us. If we stand here and now upon the edge, it is but the edge of a journey, the edge of the wave."