A New Day by oshun

Bright Morning

Read Bright Morning

The candle by the window guttered out as Findekáno noticed the first pink of dawn on the horizon. The mist blurred the division between land and water at the edge of Lake Mithrim, while one remaining star reflected upon its silver surface. Releasing a weighty sigh, Findekáno wondered if he might be able to nap a little before the sun provided sufficient light for him to continue with his self-appointed task. A waste can near the bed was filled with matted clumps of bleached reddish hair.

Findekáno still had not accustomed himself to the unpredictable properties of this new light. He speculated that it was too early to be able to tell what the new day would be like. The previous day had been overcast with a grayish white sky. It had also rained a few times. While the golden light of Laurelin had encompassed one in a shimmering, warming and soothing embrace, this sun traveled across the sky beating down upon one from above. Sometimes burning and other times nearly completely hidden, it could abandon the earth to a chill, gloomy half-light with the passage of a single cloud. It must have been this burning aspect of the sun that had turned the top layer of Maitimo's hair a dull straw color.

Findekáno laid the comb and scissors on the table at the side of the bed. Removing a cloth from Maitimo's forehead, he dunked it into a basin of water, wrung it out, and smoothed it across the injured man's brow again. Findekáno's lower back and leg cramped agonizingly, but he was loath to shift lest he disturb his sleeping cousin. Barefoot and dressed in a light under-tunic and leggings, Findekáno leaned against the modest headboard with one leg upon the bed, bent at the knee, and the other foot resting on the floor.

The day before, one of the Sindarin healers had been intent upon chopping off all of Maitimo's renowned flame-colored hair. When the healer first examined Maitimo, he said, "Nothing can be done. Best to clip off it right at the scalp. It is ruined and unsanitary. If only he had ordinary straight hair. If his were not so thick and curly, we might have been able to save it."

Earlier, Findekáno had expressed his skepticism that the Sindarin healers his father summoned were indeed better than their own or those who might be found in the settlement of the Feanorians across the lake. Nolofinwë convinced him that the native healers had dealt with prisoners rescued from the Enemy before, whereas their own had not. This matter-of-fact suggestion relating to the wisdom of cutting all of his cousin's hair collided with Findekáno's own sense of helplessness, causing him to explode into a rage. While Nolofinwë had summoned all of his patience in an attempt to calm Findekáno, his brother Turukáno had stormed off in an irritated huff. Turukáno understood neither his brother's reckless daring nor his stubborn loyalty to their eldest cousin.

After the hair incident, Findekáno realized that the healers and their staff regarded him with a caution usually reserved for the mad and the unpredictably dangerous. More importantly, they left him to his chore. Shearing off Maitimo's hair would have been a minor indignity compared with what he had endured--it would grow back quickly after all--but one that he would prevent no matter how much time and labor it took. He had since spent long hours untangling and working with comb and scissors to save as much as he could.

They had returned from the peaks of Thangorodrim two days ago. No sooner had Findekáno struggled onto the giant eagle's back with the limp, unconscious body of his friend than he had shifted from energetic purpose to numb exhaustion. The previous day had passed with an endless frenzy of motion and sounds intruding upon his anxiety for Maitimo. Findekáno could only muster the energy to hold onto the flame of Maitimo's fëa, flickering at first but growing stronger as the hours passed. The refrain echoed over and over in his head: Not now. I cannot lose him now. Findekáno felt that only by maintaining his own concentration upon Maitimo could he ensure his cousin's survival. He tried intermittently to respond to the ceaseless demands for details and explanations from his father and the healers.

Nolofinwë understood much more quickly than the others that his son would not be deterred from his focus and that answers to questions unrelated to the necessary details regarding Maitimo's physical condition would have to wait.

When Findekáno had carried him, naked and unconscious, into the dwelling set aside for the healers, Maitimo had been so covered with blood and dirt that the true extent of his injuries could not be discerned. Findekáno worried most about the amputation site, something for which he held himself responsible. Although the healers complimented him for effectively limiting the amount of blood loss, he said nothing. He did not tell them that his Uncle Fëanaro and Maitimo himself had instructed him in a basic knowledge of the circulation of blood as a mere child and, therefore, he knew to tie off the arm before attempting to sever the hand.

Having refused to permit anyone else to take his place, he held his cousin securely as a healer removed further tissue along with splintered fragments of bone. Using a combination of small, practiced stitches and cauterization, a surgeon closed the arteries and veins, before they finally pulled a flap of skin over the stump suturing it securely in place. Throughout all of this Maitimo remained unconscious, aided only by a few drops of a powerful draught that rendered him insensible. One of the healers remarked to Findekáno that their surgeon was an expert, "a true artist," he said. Findekáno could not hold back the thought that in this case the true artists had been Nerdanel and Fëanáro and he, despite all of his love and best intentions, had gone a long way toward undoing their finest work. He did not regret what he had done, but he allowed himself to grieve. Maitimo had never been vain, but had accepted his lauded beauty of face and form as part of his totality and used it along with all of his other gifts. Findekáno therefore feared his reaction to the mutilation of his heretofore perfect hröa.

Finally, the healers bound up Maitimo's arm. They carefully bathed and examined his body from head to toe. Maitimo's torso, front and back, as well as his thighs were marked with partially healed lash marks and cuts, along with older scars of similar abuse. The healers speculated that Morgoth or his minions had hung Maitimo from the cliff no earlier than a dozen or so days before Findekáno had found him. His state of emaciation indicated long-term malnourishment. Despite serious dehydration, he had, nonetheless, been able to swallow liquids in small quantities indicating it would not be long before he could accept more substantial nourishment.

The oldest and most somber of the healers who examined Maitimo commented, "His condition is excellent for one who has endured such torment. The fire that burns hotly within him reflects a potency that is not of this world, but is only possessed by those who have been nurtured in Aman." Findekáno reflected upon the truth of this observation; the Eldar born in Aman were conspicuous in their strength. Yet, even among the Noldor who had chosen this journey, Maitimo's vitality stood out. Findekáno recalled how he had witnessed others of their generation give up and stop struggling on the long march across the Helcaraxë. He had feared even for his brother for a while after Turukáno had lost his wife. Yet Maitimo had survived unthinkably worse horror and appeared to be recovering quickly.

After all of the activity ceased and Findekáno was told that Maitimo would survive, he was left alone, with instructions to send for assistance if he observed any troubling changes in his cousin's condition or if he woke up in pain. Findekáno did not sleep during that long night, yet the morning found him quieter and rested to some degree. Nolofinwë had told him the day before that he had sent messengers to inform the Feanorians that their brother had been found and lived. Soon Maitimo's brothers would arrive. Findekáno did not look forward to that. I'm selfish, self-absorbed. Maitimo needs his brothers to be here. He shook his head as though the gesture could dispel from his mind the haunted faces of his cousins at their last meeting.

The door opened and a young woman entered carrying a basket filled with rolls of fresh white linen and a large lamp in her other hand. "My lord," she said, startled. "I thought he was alone. Are you one of his brothers? We were told to expect his lordship's brothers today."

"My lady, I apologize that I cannot stand up. I am afraid to disturb him. I am not one of his brothers, but a kinsman and close friend."

"My lord, I am Tadiel, an apprentice healer. My master will be along soon. He wants to change the bandages on his arm before the effect of the narcotic wears off." Findekáno listened carefully. His ability to understand Sindarin was marginally better than his facility in speaking it. It was not any lack of aptitude he thought, but the fact that he had, up to this point, had little contact with the elves native to this area.

She set the lantern on the table, allowing the light to shine fully onto Maitimo, and then turned to study Findekáno. "What have you done, my lord? What strange powers have you? I do not understand you Deep Elves from across the Sea. Have you a gift of healing, my lord?"

Findekáno looked down to study the familiar face upon the pillow. She was right. Maitimo's lips again had color. His emaciation further defined the elegant contours of his face, soft lavender circles under his eyes revealed his exhaustion, but his grayish pallor had receded and a faint blush on his cheeks confirmed that his body had, indeed, begun to repair itself. Before Findekáno had time to consider her question, a thin, dark-haired elf, sharp-eyed yet of gentle of demeanor, entered the room.

"Pilimor, healer, at your service, my lord. I see he has improved rather dramatically," he said, in a voice just above a whisper, while studying Maitimo. "Tadiel, leave us, please. I will call you if you are needed." She left, after quickly looking wide-eyed from Maitimo to Findekáno to her master. The healer removed the dampened cloth from Maitimo's forehead, placed his hand there for a moment, and nodding with satisfaction put it to one side. Turning back to Findekáno, he said, "I understand from Prince Nolofinwë that this elf is the High King of the Golodhrim and you are his close kinsman?"

"My father…Nolofinwë, I mean, said that?"

"Indeed. He indicated that the divisions among the Golodhrim are complicated. That any errors in your king's treatment could lead to a worsening of the political situation," the healer said, releasing a quiet, but markedly acerbic laugh. "I informed him that healers among my people do not involve themselves in such disputes. I assumed you and Prince Nolofinwë were on opposing sides in this discord, but now you tell me he is your father." The healer shook his head in implied disbelief.

"Please call me, Findekáno," he said. "These complications are nowhere more extreme than within my own family. My principle concern at the moment is the health of my cousin and I am happy that my father shares it."

"Your cousin?" the healer asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Half-cousin, actually."

"Apparently, the Golodhrim are also complicated in their personal lives."

"Such circumstances are not common among my people either, I assure you. We share the same grandfather, King Finwë, killed by Melkor in the so-called Blessed Lands."

The healer continued his examination of his patient, gently prodding and poking at his sleeping form. "Ai, even one as distant from such affairs as I am has heard that story. A legendary figure even here, your grandfather, long before these recent events. But my first concern is your friend's recovery. The effect you have had on him is impressive, but what you attempt is not safely done without assistance."

"I know not of what you speak," Findekáno said. He kept his tone mild to mask his wariness. "I merely have tried to comb his hair and trim away the parts that are beyond repair." He was unable to resist the impulse to tenderly brush a few short, russet curls off Maitimo's forehead. "Did I meet you yesterday? I can barely remember the events; there were healers, a surgeon, and many others about."

"I was away and returned to quite a commotion among my staff late yesterday. You dozed when I last checked on our eminent patient. I took care not to disturb you."

"I appreciate your consideration." Findekáno laughed silently, little more than a release of his breath. "I was convinced I had not slept at all."

"Please do not try to change the subject or pretend you know nothing of what I observe. I saw the condition of the patient yesterday. Now he has color, his fever has subsided, and he sleeps naturally."

Findekáno replied with caution, "He has been my dearest friend since childhood. I am the one who cut off his hand to free him from Morgoth's bond and bore him back here by the grace of Manwë. I could not leave him alone throughout the night."

"The mores and customs of you lords of the West are unfamiliar to me. But from what I am able to observe, it appears that you are partners and you have joined your faer to his to rebuild his strength. What I discover here will not leave this room, but if this is what you have done you must bear in mind that I am compelled to take you under my care as well."

"Master Pilimor, I will not insult your intelligence by denying that I have tried to lend him support in any way I could. I am forced to trust your discretion. I only ask that you enable me to maintain the strength to give him whatever assistance I can for as long as he shall need it."

"Then I will assist you. My purpose is to succor, to do no harm. I am neither a philosopher nor a wise man. I am a healer by skill and have witnessed much in that role. I have seen love both between two men and two women. Judgment is not mine to give, but it is my duty to ensure the physical well-being of those under my care. And to gossip or tell tales is a violation of my principles," Pilimor said.

"I will follow your directions, but please understand that first and foremost I will see my friend healed, at whatever cost."

"He may never be the same as he was before, nor likely wholly well in spirit. But his body should heal. The will to live burns powerfully in him and the bond you share is strong," said the healer. Then with a ghost of a smile he added, "It does not strain my imagination to see why you would love him. He surely must have been one of the most beautiful of all the children of Ilúvatar if this is how he appears even after such an ordeal."

Findekáno could not believe the temerity of this Sindarin healer to voice his observation so openly, but he needed his help and was not in a position to look askance at this man who offered it without judgment. The relief he felt that his father was willing to overlook his disapproval of the relationship between his son and Maitimo for the moment had put him in a tolerant mood. He returned the healer's smile. "To me he is the most beautiful."

"You, my lord, if I may be frank, look terrible," said Pilimor. "Most importantly, you must eat and sleep." He stepped to the door and opened it narrowly. "Mistress Tadiel," he called in a soft, clear voice. He mumbled a few words, closed the door behind him and returned to the side of the bed.

"I need to examine his arm and change the dressing," Pilimor said. "If you wish to stay, you will have to act as my assistant. Please stand and take his hand." Findekáno winced at the thought of having to loosen the hold of the hand that even in sleep still held his leg in a vise-like grip. As though aware of his misgivings, Pilimor nodded curtly in the affirmative. "He may wake up. But I will do nothing that will hurt him today."

Findekáno pried Maitimo's hand free from his leg and clasped it firmly in his own. He gingerly stood, straightening himself with some difficulty given his stiffness. Grey eyes, once brilliant and filled with life and possibilities, slowly flickered open and met his own. No longer clouded with pain and horror, neither were they what they had been.

"Káno," Maitimo whispered, showing a faint smile.

"Yes, it's me." Findekáno said, returning the smile and adding, "I am not going anywhere." He lifted Maitimo's hand reflexively brushing it with the lightest kiss, despite the shiver of sensation that raced through his body at the touch of lips to skin. Nothing has changed. He enthralls me as much as ever he did. He was certain that Maitimo must have sensed his ardent reaction. "This is Master Pilimor, a healer. He is here to examine you and tend to the dressing on your arm."

Maitimo squeezed Findekáno's hand strongly and turned his head in the direction of the healer and nodded slightly. "Master Pilimor," he said. Relief bordering on jubilation flooded Findekáno: Maitimo was alert, aware, and responsive.

Capturing Findekáno's eyes again and holding them, Maitimo said, "I am sorry. Please forgive me." It seemed strange and slightly disturbing to Findekáno that he did not wait to speak of personal matters until the healer had finished and left them alone again. He had not wanted to speak himself out of respect for Maitimo's usual innate sense of discretion. As transparent as a glass of clear water with his family and friends, the Maitimo he had known always presented an indisputably royal public face not merely by virtue of his natural grace but by his conscious exercise of reserve.

Startled, Findekáno asked, "For what?" Everything and nothing I suppose but you, my sweetest Maitimo, should beg forgiveness no more or less than I should. "I also believed many of the lies and vile rumors. But we are both here now. There will be time to speak of past misunderstandings and what our Houses need to do to move forward together." Maitimo gave him a look that simultaneously showed affection and subtle frustration, flashing the crooked half-smile that Findekáno remembered well.

"Yes, we will talk later. You are distracted now," Maitimo said, deliberately not watching the healer's manipulation of his arm. Findekáno, however, could not look away.

"It is healing already," Findekáno said. His voice softened with relief tempered by anguish. He looked up to meet comforting silver-grey eyes.

"I thank you for having the courage to free me as you did. It must have been excruciatingly painful for you."

"Ai, what a thing to say! Your pain was incomparably greater."

"Truly not. I passed out and you were left to finish it alone," Maitimo answered.

Pilimor coolly ignored his charges and completed changing the wrappings on the injured elf's arm. He then spoke to Findekáno, "That should do for now. You were right. It is healing well and fortunately there is no sign of infection. But you must eat, my lord, if you wish to be of any use to your kinsman." Turning to Maitimo, he added, "And you, lord High King of the Golodhrim--I have no idea how I should address you--must drink. Just a few sips at a time. Both of you should try to rest. I will return in a few hours. I will leave you now."

"Is it not unseemly for a presumptive heir to the disputed kingship of a fractured people to be sensitive about forms of address? Just call me Maitimo. We apparently will be on rather intimate terms for some time to come. Thank you for your assistance," said Maitimo. Findekáno could not take his eyes away from Maitimo—his sensitive lips, those high, sharp cheekbones, his once-mobile features still subdued, but growing more familiar moment by moment. Findekáno managed to shove aside the most agonizing of the unbidden memories of a past forever lost. It is surely wicked to mourn for diminished perfection while faced with such beauty. Sunlight at last filled the room. Findekáno considered his handiwork on Maitimo's hair. It looked darker, much redder now, and curlier than he had ever seen it. Only the back of it remained to be untangled and trimmed.

Maitimo held onto to Findekáno's hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb in a once-habitual gesture of possessive reassurance. With difficulty, Findekáno managed to refocus his attention on the healer and say, "Thank you, Master Pilimor, for all of your kindness."

"Someone should arrive with food and drink shortly. I will leave instructions that you are not to be disturbed after that," Pilimor said, backing out of the door and closing it behind him.

As soon as the healer had left the room Findekáno said, "Do not speak so lightly of your kingship. When it is heard that Manwë rescued you, many will be more willing to accept your claim."

"But you know better, Káno. Manwë did not rescue me. You alone rescued me. Manwë only took pity on us both for a brief moment. I am sorry for leaving you. I did try to force Atar to come back for you. I would have had to kill him to keep him from burning the ships."

"We ought not talk about that now, or about any of those things that either of us did which cannot be undone. First, you must rest and be well. I do want you to known I grieved for your loss of him, and for him, when I was told. You know that I once loved him too," Findekáno said.

"Is that how you think of me? As one you once loved?" Maitimo asked, the color in his face heightening, his eyes pleading.

"That is a rather preposterous question under the circumstances, is it not? I am sorry that I clouted you in Formenos." Findekáno raised Maitimo's hand to his lips.

"You should not be. You hit me because I struck you first." Maitimo smiled, causing Findekáno's chest to constrict. The intensity of his response to his older cousin remained utterly unaltered.

"You slapped me only after I yanked on your hair." Findekáno said, unable to hold back his grin.

"You were angry because I was with that woman." Maitimo was now grinning too.

"Which you did deliberately to provoke me," Findekáno said. "Yes. I will accept your apology for causing me to punch you." Maitimo reached for him, grimacing at the effort. Findekáno bent and kissed him, wholly without caution for the first time since their return.

"I hated you so much at that moment. Stop bending over me like that. I'm not made of glass. It's annoying. It is only that my shoulder pains me if I turn too far. My hand, I mean my arm, does not hurt so much if I do not move it. Crawl up here and lie down so I can touch you." Findekáno did as he was told. "And it only got worse. You looked wonderful that night--your dark hair braided with cords of gold, your eyes wild. She certainly was no match for you in attractiveness, nor was she very bright and never less so than that night. Silly wench."

"What an ungracious thing to say. Most unlike you. At least you were kind to me in your choice of a companion. I knew you could not possibly care a fig about her, that you knew I would know, and, therefore, that you must have still loved me. Truly, I do not blame you for everything," Findekáno said, feeling both tender and amused. He gave Maitimo the smile he wanted and needed. "Just almost everything."

"Well, thank you for that concession anyway. Yet, you could have visited me in Formenos near the end." Maitimo said, his smile transforming into a pout as he brushed the back of his hand across Findekáno's lips. His lower lip protruded slightly in a manner that Findekáno believed he surely remembered--in better days and another world--had usually earned him a kiss. He could not resist the implicit invitation.

After responding unrestrainedly to the kiss, Maitimo said, "There. That was not so difficult. I do so love to watch you blush."

"You said you hated me. You told me never to come back the last time I was there. Remember?" Findekáno raised himself on his elbow and bent over him kissing him again thoroughly as though he wished to cast out all of the pent-up longing and regret.

"Disappointing response, Káno. You must do better than that. You have just admitted, despite all the stupid things I said and did, that you knew I loved you still."

Findekáno was grateful for his cousin's small grin, but the anxiety of the last few days coupled with the bitter loneliness of the last years, made it impossible for him to lighten his response to match the Maitimo's teasing tone. He burst out, "I know I can never undo that failure. Would you have sworn that cursed oath if I had been there during that period? And, if you had not sworn it, what of Macalaurë? And would your younger brothers have succumbed to such madness if you and Macalaurë had refused? I have lived with those thoughts every day."

"No. No. There was nothing you could have done, my love. Please forgive me. It was wholly inappropriate for me to bring that up. But I never stopped waiting. Every time a messenger arrived, I would…"

"But I did follow you. Eventually," Findekáno said. His voice sounded angrier than he intended. Maitimo kissed him using Findekáno's braids as a lead to pull their heads together. The gesture, done with such ease and lack of tension or self-consciousness, caused Findekáno to smile and release the breath he had been holding.

"It is true. I wish I could say that I left Valinor only because of you; but I cannot--just mostly because of you."

"Then despite everything, you love me. But do you still desire me? Like this? You do want me now don't you?" Maitimo asked. He took Findekáno's hand and placed it purposefully between his legs. Findekáno flushed wildly with a sharp intake of breath.

"You ask me such a question?" Findekáno stammered. Both men laughed. "What kind of animal do you think I am? I will wait as long as I must," Findekáno said with mock umbrage. "Some things do need to change between us. I grow tired of your jokes on this subject, Maitimo. You know you need me as much as I desire you. I want to hear you admit it." He moved his hand away to reach beneath the covers and fumbled to find bare skin and grasp Maitimo firmly again.

"Ai, Káno, you know that I often wonder if I have not always needed you more."

"I doubt that very much," Findekáno whispered, kissing Maitimo yet again, suddenly aware that his warm kisses, his touch, restored his lover's spirit in a way that no healer's skill or draughts could ever do.

"There, see. You admit your weakness."

As they laughed, the door creaked open. Tadiel entered with a tray of food and drinks. Findekáno hastily struggled to his feet.

Apparently oblivious to the amorous scene she had interrupted, she said, "My lords, Master Pilimor has asked me to remind you to eat and drink as he requested. He also has ordered a bath prepared for you, Prince Findekáno. You will find everything you need in the room next to this one. The door is open. If you would like to bathe before eating, I can quickly change his bed while you are gone."

"Thank you, mistress. I know his preferences well and can assure you that my kinsman is most eager to bathe," Maitimo said. Findekáno noticed, not for the first time that morning, that his cousin's fluidity and ease in the use of Sindarin far surpassed his own. He shuddered to think of the circumstances under which he had acquired his proficiency in the language and the condition of the elves from whom he had learned it.

"Thank you," Findekáno said, nodding to the young woman. "I will take advantage of the opportunity if you are certain that you are able to manage alone."

"More skill than strength is required, my lord," Tadiel replied.

Findekáno leaned forward to kiss Maitimo on the forehead. Glancing out of the window, he caught sight of the bright morning which seemed finally to dispel the brooding darkness that had followed him since he had last left Maitimo in Formenos.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Dawn Felagund, not only for her patient Beta of this chapter, but also her generosity in allowing me to steal some details from her dark, sizzling ficlet "Hatred," included on this site in her Tales of Thanksgiving: A Drabble Collection. I also extend my appreciation to Claudio for his help on the first paragraph and responding to my questions on geography, and to Jael and IgnobleBard for reading more than one draft and offering corrections and suggestions.

Cousins, Lovers and Conspirators

Read Cousins, Lovers and Conspirators

Findekáno left Maitimo in the care of Tadiel. As she had promised, he found an adjacent chamber with an open door, which held a small bathtub filled with water. The stone tub was large enough for a man to stretch out, but did not look as though it would comfortably hold two adults.

It reminded him of the bathtubs in Uncle Fëanáro's house, which had been of a similar size and had from time to time held up to four active boys or Nerdanel and Fëanáro. It was raised upon a tiled platform, apparently with the intention of making it convenient for a healer to bathe a weakened or injured patient. The light steam in the air indicated to Findekano that the water in the tub remained warm. He recognized articles of his own clothing folded upon a wooden set of shelves built into the plaster-covered wall, along with plenty of clean towels and light robes. His father or Turukáno must have arranged to have his clothing delivered here.

 

The building in which he found himself appeared to be one of the most finished of all of the permanent structures on this side of the lake. Findekáno suspected that it had been built by the Fëanorians for the purpose for which it was now used: as a house of healing for those injured in Morgoth's attack on their encampment at Lake Mithrim. A window set high on the wall of the bathing chamber opened onto an inner courtyard. He was unable to see out, but light flooded the room. The sound of honking geese and clucking chickens indicated that someone was feeding poultry not far from the building. The sound of children’s voices, talking and laughing, reached his ears. Stables, storage sheds, and some houses had been erected. Neat rows of tents, which stretched away from the lake, were being added to by the group of people he and his father had led here.

 

This was no Tirion on Tuna, nor would it ever be by any stretch of the most zealous imagination, but it was being quickly transformed into a long-term settlement. A bit farther along the edge of the lake lay a Sindarin village, while his cousins had moved around to the far side of lake, leaving their original encampment to the newcomers.

 

In the tiny rectangle of sky visible through the small window, he could see his father's blue and silver banner flapping smartly in the wind. However, since his half-cousins had seen to the construction of this building, each of the wooden shutters on the bathroom window was carved with a bold Fëanarion eight-pointed star. He grinned in amusement at the thought of this addition to the trimmings of any bathroom and particularly such a simple and rustic one. Knowing his family, he speculated that it would not be surprising to momentarily see the heraldry of his cousins of the house of Arafinwë propped up next to his father's flag. And, if that happened, no doubt his brother Turukáno would feel compelled to put up his own banner.

 

Smiling to himself, he mused that if Turukáno did that then he would add his distinct blue, white and silver emblem and perhaps conspire with Maitimo to trump them all by requesting that his brothers bring him the Fëanorion representation of a banner for the King of the Noldor. That should stir everyone up. He sniggered softly under his breath at the lunacy of it all. It is not funny, but tragic, but I have had far too little sleep. As soon as he is a bit better, Maitimo and I will find a way together to cut through all of this nonsense.

 

He turned his attention back to preparing for his bath. Findekáno’s neck, shoulders and lower back pained him. He had not bathed since he had returned from the cliffs near Angband. Late the day before, he had taken advantage of an opportunity to shed most of his outer garments and wash off the worst of the dust and blood which had covered him when he had arrived with Maitimo.

 

He tossed his leggings, light tunic and small clothes into a laundry basket near the door and lowered himself into the surprisingly hot water. Thinking he would not tarry long, despite the seduction of the steaming bath upon sore and over-strained muscles, he lay back and stretched his legs out fully, closing his eyes. Half-asleep, he let his mind roam unchecked over the events of the last crowded days since they had first arrived at this outpost by a lake in these Outer Lands, so far from where their journey had begun.

 

When he and his father had first prepared to meet with his half-cousins a fortnight or so earlier, a sense of foreboding had overwhelmed Findekáno. He wondered if Fëanáro and his seven sons might refuse to speak with them. By unspoken mutual agreement Findekáno, his father, his brother Turukáno, and his cousin Findaráto had groomed themselves carefully for the occasion. They would not appear before their estranged relatives shabby and beleaguered but regal and as the representatives of an organized force and the majority of their people.

 

Findekáno had taken the trouble to plait the golden cords that had become an identifying style for him into his near-black braids. He blushed at his thought of how, in a more frivolous time, he had admired the look of them and even more had appreciated that Maitimo fancied his hair done in that way. Clad in cloaks of dark and lighter blues, wearing ornate, bejeweled swords and crowned with the gleaming diadems that identified them as offspring of the House of Finwë and High Princes of the Noldor, with heads held high and shoulders back, adopting a uniformly noble stance that would have made Fëanáro himself proud, they strode into their kinsmen’s encampment.

 

When they approached the open area near the center of the settlement, made up largely of tents and scattered, newly-constructed, provisional and permanent buildings, they were met by Macalaurë and his five younger brothers. Only Macalaurë looked at all like himself. He alone transmitted a sense of purpose and strength, with his jaw firmly set and wide-set grey eyes bright and clear. Tyelkormo, looking bravely handsome as ever with the wind lifting his golden blond locks, appeared nonetheless sourly depressed. Curvo seemed reserved and wary, nearly without affect, while Carnistir appeared to be in agony, unable to stand still, and more than a little crazed. Pityo and Telvo, thin-faced and hollow-eyed, reminded Findekáno of the orphaned children he had helped shepherd across the ice. These two were not, however, children but fell and unpredictable warriors, as much the sons of Fëanáro and as bound by his cursed oath as any of their older brothers.

 

Findekáno immediately spotted something terribly off about the entire reunion. Each of his cousins approached him and, although reluctant to meet his eyes, embraced first him, then his father and finally his brother and his cousin. Findekáno and his family had come expecting to meet in formal parley but were surprised that the Fëanorians did appear to regard the conference as a political engagement, but remained affectionate and familial in their greetings.

 

Nolofinwë spoke first. “Where is your father? Where is Nelyafinwë?”

 

“Atar fell,” Macalaurë said, his voice steady and his chin held high, although his sensitive lips trembled as he squinted and blinked his bright, grey eyes in an unconscious attempt to prevent tears from falling. “He was slain during our first battle by Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs.” Nolofinwë released a strangled sound from deep within his throat.

 

He reached forward and clutched Macalaurë by his upper arms and touched his forehead against that of his nephew. Findekáno leaned in close as well, ready to embrace Macalaurë when Nolofinwë released him. He heard his father whisper into Macalaurë’s ear, “I am sorry, nephew. But, Nelyafinwë? Where is your brother Nelyafinwë?” Findekáno thought he detected fear, as well as regret, in his father’s voice.

 

There was a long silence, and Findekáno grew colder with each passing second. It was broken at last by Macalaurë, half-yelling and half-sobbing, his glorious voice heart-wrenchingly hoarse with agony. "Lost!" he said. "Morgoth claims to hold him as a hostage, but actually detains him as the bait to draw our people into his trap and destroy us all and you as well."

 

Findekáno heard an anguished, near-feral scream; he felt its harsh and sharp echo in his ears before he realized that it was his own. Turukáno folded Findekáno into his arms and held him tightly, painfully so. Findaráto moved in closer to stroke Findekáno's braids clumsily, whispering, "Shhh, Findekáno, shhh..."

 

Through the frantic pounding of blood in his ears, Findekáno heard Macalaurë, "I am sorry, Uncle Nolofinwë. I did not handle that well. As soon I as recognized the four of you, the dread of telling Káno weighed me down. I could find no proper or gentle way to do it."

 

Tyelkormo appeared at Findekáno's side, kissing him again roughly yet affectionately on the cheek while shoving a heavy, ornate goblet in front of his face. The sharp scent and fumes of some inelegantly distilled drink made his eyes water. "Just a swallow, Káno. It will help. Then we will tell you everything," Tyelkormo pleaded.

 

“Thank you,” Findekáno said, taking the drink from Tyelkormo. With the sudden pain of a slash to the gut, he comprehended the dire facts of Maitimo's situation. He felt as though he could only remain standing for a moment before gravity drew him down to the ground. Somehow, instead of crumpling, a sudden bolt of strength shot through him, holding him upright. 

 

Findekáno leaned gladly upon Turukáno, mindful he could help his brother heal his own abraded spirit by permitting him to give back some of the support he had received in those dark days on the ice. Findekáno realized that Turukáno did not want to be forced to look into the faces of their half-cousins lest they could read that he unwillingly pitied or even still loved them. Turukáno still nurtured the anger that flared strongly within him. He did not yet desire to temper his bitterness with sympathy for any of Fëanáro's sons.

 

As Findekáno began to accept that Morgoth truly did hold Maitimo as his prisoner, he realized that all of his cousin's closest comrades must have died. Many of them--craftsmen, tradesmen and young lords--came from around the outlying areas of Valinor, while others, including clerks, scholars and loremasters, hailed from Tirion itself, companions of Findekáno from his youth. But all had turned warriors in support of their quest and now to a man had been cut down and vanquished in a single day.

 

Those who comprised the flower of young Noldor who had left Aman shared few things in common except that, from wherever they had drifted to join Prince Nelyafinwë’s closest circle, they had been the best, the most brilliant and the boldest. Findekáno had been a notable member of this circle at one time, respected in his own right and envied for his intimacy and closeness with their natural leader. Some knew that the Princes Nelyafinwë and Findekáno--the heirs of King Finwë’s eldest sons--were more than simply the best of friends and half-cousins, but closer in a kinship of shared dreams and discarded prejudices than blood alone could ever have made them. Together they were the architects of a philosophy and a mode of behavior that enabled the vast majority of the Noldor to accept Fëanáro’s logic of seeking freedom and independence from the Valar and follow him to the ends of the Earth.

 

Findekáno, for his part, had loved well many of those who had been murdered defending Maitimo on that last sally. He had long considered them his peers and friends. When Maitimo had left Tirion for Formenos with his grandfather, many of them had followed him there. Some scorned Findekáno for lagging behind, for visiting Formenos too infrequently, or for holding back his complete allegiance.

 

At first, Maitimo had defended Findekáno until he finally grew impatient, and the heat of the furor and mistrust between the two factions of the Noldor ignited into total conflagration. Maitimo told Findekano that he hated him and Findekano called Maitimo mad. "As mad as your father," he had said, when he first saw in Fëanáro the heroic flaw that would lead all of them to their doom.

 

Choking on the rough drink that Tyelkormo had given him and managing to stand upright by clutching hard onto Turukáno, Findekáno pulled himself together enough to ask his cousin, “What happened to Maitimo’s men?”

 

“Nelyo insisted on negotiating with Morgoth when he offered us a Silmaril,” Tyelkormo said.

 

Macalaurë released a hefty sigh and, shaking his head, interrupted his brother, “He did not intend to deal with Morgoth, Silmaril or not, but he believed he could deceive him into thinking that he wished to do so.”

 

Tyelkormo stuck out his lower lip and shrugged, “That was not what I meant to imply. My point was that because Morgoth offered a Silmaril, Nelyo thought that he might believe that we would consider talking. Nelyo armed his whole company of close friends and compatriots, thinking to surprise Morgoth’s parley.”

 

“Instead,” Macalaurë said, his voice growing husky with emotion and his eyes wilder by the moment, “Morgoth’s forces ambushed their company. Nelyo and his guards resisted fiercely. They battled on after they lost their horses, after their spears had broken. They hacked away with short swords and knives, and, at last, those remaining fought with their bare hands. Finally, Nelyo was taken alive and brought to Angband. All the rest were slain and left to rot on the plain in front of the peaks of Thangorodrim. One badly injured elf crawled from beneath the piles of corpses and found his way back to us to tell the story.”

 

“And then?” Findekáno asked. He heard his own voice level and calm in his ears; he felt surprisingly numb.

 

“Morgoth sent emissaries. He says that they hold Nelyo as a hostage. He claims he will release him, if we abandon our war, return across the Sea, or at least leave Beleriand entirely and pull out far into the South. Of course, if we did that he would only send us our brother’s lifeless body, if that,” Macalaurë said.

 

“I see. And we cannot attack?” Findekáno asked. “You say that you met them once in battle and vanquished them. Now you have our strength behind you as well.”

 

Macalaurë, pulled Findekáno from Turukáno’s embrace and into his own arms. He led him a few steps away from the others and answered softly, barely above a whisper. “That was a surprise, when they knew not our strength, and included all of Nelyo’s men, our most cohesive force. Kano, look behind you. Look at your own brother, at your father, even Findaráto. Will they follow you again so soon after all that has happened?”

 

“No. You are right. We are not ready. We must sit down and talk. I need to go and fetch Artanis, and Angaráto and Aikanáro as well. They have always been ready to stand with me,” Findekáno said, speaking more quickly now not bothering to keep his voice low and yet still aware that his heart sat like a cold lump of iron in his chest.

 

“I am so sorry, Káno. I realize you have not yet had time to absorb all of this…”

 

“No! Ai, Macalaurë. We must do something. What are we to do?”

 

Macalaurë held Findekáno close with both arms full around him and, raising his head, spoke directly over his cousin’s shoulder to Nolofinwë, “Uncle, you should know that Nelyo fought bitterly with Atar to return for all of you. It seemed that they would split our ranks again and blood would be shed. But Nelyo refused to assault Atar directly and turned his back and walked away. Atar burned the ships. They barely spoke again.”

 

“My brother…” Nolofinwë began, shaking his head in profound sorrow. “It was too late for my brother by then. I hope it is not too late for you, nephew.”

 

Findekáno jerked his head up from where he had allowed it to fall to rest upon Macalaurë’s shoulder and chest and, turned to face his father, brother and cousin Findaráto. “Too late! We all have to look ahead of us--not behind us or it will be too late--not just for us but for all of the peoples born East of the Sea. We must fight Morgoth together or we will fall to him separately, one by one,” he shouted.

 

The expressions of Nolofinwë, Findaráto and Turukano looked spiritless and flat, as did that of Macalaurë. Findekáno’s other five Fëanorion half-cousins appeared just as dull and, additionally, sullenly despairing. Then, Findekáno knew. Of course, Macalaurë could not send the remainder of his troops to almost certain annihilation on the implausible hope they might even locate Maitimo, much less have any real likelihood of rescuing him. And, by himself, he could not organize his father’s followers to back them up before it was too late. Then a sudden flash of inspiration overcame Findekáno. I will go alone!

 

He had. And, against all common sense or logic, he had succeeded. Maitimo was here again with him and it seemed that he would heal.

 

Voices from the adjoining room carried into the bathing chamber through the half-open door. Maitimo sounded animated and the young woman Tadiel comfortable with him and quick to laugh at his quips. So like Maitimo to seek to make the healer’s assistant feel at ease when he is the patient and the one in need of cosseting.

 

Findekáno heard Maitimo say to Tadiel, “You want me to drink this?” At the lilting upturn of his cousin’s voice, he could imagine the slight wrinkling of Maitimo’s elegant nose at the scent of something that he found far from appealing.

 

“Just a little,” she said. “It is important to for you to consume as much liquid as you can if you want to recover.” A soft, inaudible complaint was greeted by a sound of assent from Tadiel. Clearly Findekáno need not worry. His cousin was in good hands. He relaxed into the warmth of the water and allowed his mind to wander. The first waves of soothing lethargy were soon replaced by the nagging ruminations that had become routine for him.

 

That last night in Tirion still played out in Findekáno’s mind with nightmarish regularity. Despite all the harsh words that had been spoken and the long and bitter nights of trading accusations and insults--which had begun well before the exile of Fëanáro to Formenos--nothing could have prepared him for the finality and rapidity of those sudden, irreversible decisions that they had all made that fateful night.

 

He recalled the sky clouded with the smoke of countless smoldering torches and the scent of their oily fumes. He would never forget looking through eyes, bloodshot and itchy, upon Maitimo’s handsome, determined face illuminated in the red glow as he and each of his brothers drew their swords and, holding them aloft, joined in swearing their father’s oath. Beautiful and terrible they all had been in their fierce majesty. Findekáno had been enthralled and horrified in equal parts, as though seeing them as near-mythic in potency, forgetting for a moment that these fearsome seven had long been closer to him than his own brother.

 

With the urgent voice of his father and his Uncle Arafinwë 's quiet droning in the background, Findekáno had pushed his way through the crowd to reach Maitimo. Finally he had been able to grasp Maitimo’s arm. His cousin had turned to him, his jaw hard and lips set in a thin line, and said, “Káno, I know not if you love me still or if you have cast aside all memories of the friendship and the bond we shared, but surely your intellect will persuade you to follow us.”

 

Thinking back on it Findekáno often wondered if Maitimo could possibly have, for even a moment, thought that he might have considered taking their oath. He wondered what his reaction might have been to Maitimo if he had made a straightforward emotional appeal during that time of extreme crisis rather than trying to maintain his distance and argue logically.

 

"Fear not. We will come," Findekáno had answered.

 

"Who do you mean?"

 

"Atar, Turukáno, and I, of course."

 

Maitimo had clasped Findekáno's forearm firmly and actually broke into a boyish smile, saying, "Do not let Artanis and Findaráto or their brothers fall back. I know they want to come as well." It had been so long since he had seen Maitimo smile. How strange that the smile came under such circumstances.

 

"For certain. You may trust me to speak with all of our cousins." The surging crowd had separated them. It was the last time he had been close enough to Maitimo to talk to him, until two days ago when he had discovered him chained to the cliffs of Thangorodrim.

 

“My lord,” came the voice of Tadiel from the doorway. “Have you fallen asleep in your bath? You should dress and eat if you are to rest.”

 

Findekáno started fully alert. “Thank you, Tadiel,” he answered, climbing dripping out of the tub to towel off quickly, grab a robe, and return to Maitimo’s room. He was surprised to find that Maitimo was seated nearly fully upright on a newly made bed. His shoulders were covered with one of the used sheets and Tadiel had apparently just finished untangling and cutting the back of Maitimo's hair.

 

“There,” Tadiel said with a flourish. “Prince Findekáno, does my work meet with your satisfaction? It is a bit shorter than you may have wished. But I think it looks well. Your kinsman has magnificent hair, does he not? Please sit down, my lord, and eat something.”

 

The table held a selection of whole-grained bread and rolls, small pots filled with fresh cheese and butter, and a bowl of miniature red apples. A pot of tea, a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar sat next to two cups.

 

“His hair does look very well,” Findekáno said, smiling in the direction of Tadiel. “Did you drink? Are you able to eat anything yet?” he asked Maitimo.

 

“I had water and some broth; I just agreed to drink a cup of tea with you.” Maitimo grinned endearingly in the direction of the young woman. “In exchange for my cooperation, Tadiel has agreed to leave us alone to rest. There is a bed in the room next to this one where you can sleep if you wish. Or if you don’t mind, this bed is broad enough for two.”

 

“Mind? You would have to throw me out. I promised to look after you, at least until I know you are well and have seen your brothers,” Findekáno said. Looking in the direction of Tadiel, he added, “They can be overwhelming.”

 

“My only instructions are to leave the two of you in peace after I have seen that you are comfortable. We have been told to expect your brothers, my lord. Shall I show them in when they arrive or wait until you awaken?”

 

Maitimo laughed aloud. “It is clear that you have never seen or heard my brothers. There will be no chance of me sleeping once they have arrived.”

 

“Oh, you are wrong, my lord. Everyone in this area knows of your brothers—they are so many and so bold and handsome. But I am not afraid to put your welfare first. I can stand up to them if need be.” Tadiel gathered up the used sheet carefully from around Maitimo’s shoulders so as not to spill any of the clipped-off hair onto the bed or the floor.

 

Findekáno pulled the chair out from the table in front of the window and poured a cup of tea, looked to Maitimo and gestured in the direction of the sugar and cream pitcher. The sunlight glowed warmly on Maitimo's handsome, agreeable face, as he shrugged with indifferent amiability. Meanwhile, Tadiel had placed an additional oversized pillow behind Maitimo and reached forward to take the cup from Findekáno. Maitimo looked cozy and at peace with no outward manifestation of what he had just suffered and the difficulties he soon would face.

 

“Just another sip or two,” Tadiel said, her soft smile less shy than it had been a short while earlier.

 

Findekáno studied Maitimo, who seemed fascinatingly intense to him, from his wide mouth and full lips, which seemed made for passion, for love, to his large, fine eyes. But then all of Fëanáro’s sons affect one strongly. Although none have affected me in the way my Maitimo has.

 

Maitimo reached for the teacup with his left hand, as gracefully and easily as if it were completely natural and customary for him to do so. He took a large deliberate swig of the tea, grimacing as though he swallowed a bitter draught. Findekáno, by contrast, made a not entirely successful effort to control the haste with which he ate the roll and butter he had prepared for himself. Maitimo glanced up, catching his eye and smiled, as though he were completely aware of Findekáno’s thoughts on the troublesome mass of bread he had just so greedily stuffed into his mouth and was struggling to swallow without choking. Suddenly, Findekáno felt blissfully, inexplicably happy under Maitimo’s gaze.

 

Tadiel took Maitimo’s cup, helped him adjust from a semi-upright into a reclining position, and smoothed the light blanket over his arms and shoulders. “I am sure that is enough liquid for now. You look so much better already, one would hardly recognize you.” She quickly moved toward the door, turning to add, “Good morning, my lords. Rest well.” And she was gone.

 

“I suppose that we should talk before your brothers arrive,” Findekáno said, pausing to take another quick bite of an apple.

 

Maitimo’s eyes lit up with ill-concealed glee. “Perhaps you should finish eating first. It would unduly distress me to see you expire from asphyxiation by bread and butter after all that we have survived together over the last couple of days.”

 

“Extremely rude of me. Please forgive me. Although I hope by tomorrow you will begin to become interested in food yourself.”

 

“You are forgiven. I really have no choice but to put up with you. We apparently are stuck with one another yet again. I cannot picture your father and my brothers uniting of their own volition to solve even our most immediately pressing problems.”

 

“Ai, ‘tis true, beloved. But together we can make them listen.”

 

“Will you lie here with me?” Maitimo asked.

 

Findekáno quickly shed his robe and slipped under the sheet and blanket, wrapping his arms around Maitimo’s torso, taking care not to jostle his wounded arm and tender shoulder. “I love you so much,” he said.

 

“Not as much as I love you,” Maitimo answered.

 

“Don’t joke around with me. I am still recovering from the fear that I had lost you. You should be gentle with me.”

 

“I will be gentler of your feelings, if you agree to be a little less temperate with my body. Will you give me an earnest kiss?” Maitimo’s soft tone and teasing seductive words rendered Findekáno incapable of verbal response. A sharp intake of breath followed by a quick exhalation left Findekáno looking intensely into Maitimo’s quizzical and tender grey eyes as though he could find the resolution there to any question he had ever left unanswered.

 

“It nearly rips my heart out of my chest to hear you make that little huffing sound and then to look at you and see your pupils dilated with physical arousal. Do you have any idea how erotic you appear at this moment?” Maitimo asked.

 

“No. I know how I feel and that I can barely breathe. I know you make me want to laugh when you speak of dilated pupils and physical arousal when poets would write of eyes darkened by desire. I want to give you the kind of kiss you asked for.” Findekáno captured his lips to find they tasted of lightly sweetened tea and a much-loved wet warmth that he recalled as being distinctly Maitimo.

 

“Please, help me. I do not want to hurt you. You are not well yet,” Findekáno said.

 

“Do not be afraid. Just love me. You know how to touch me.”

 

“It would be easier for me if you would open your mind. Why do you hold back from that? What do you fear?” Findekáno asked.

 

“I fear I am not prepared yet for you to know everything I have suffered. There are dark things I would not have you experience,” Maitimo answered.

 

“I know no other way of loving you.”

 

“Well then, if you wish, my valiant Findekáno. I can deny you nothing,” Maitimo inhaled softly and deeply, allowing the last barrier to shared consciousness slip away. A searing pain accompanied the healing balm of mutual acceptance and forgiveness. The joining of their fëar after the passage of so much time apart hurt more than Findekáno expected but not as much as Maitimo feared. Maitimo experienced the blinding snow, ice and death of the Helcaraxë and Findekáno learned of the terror, humiliation and pain of Angband. Grief for innocence lost expressed itself in touch and through silence with an eloquence beyond what might be conveyed with any spoken or written words.

 

Findekáno renewed their kiss, drawing upon all of the intimacy of two who have known one another long and well. When he pulled away again he could feel a bright joy that he was sure must have lit his face before Maitimo.

 

“You were right, of course.” Findekáno said. “I underestimated how much the torment you suffered would wound me. But now it is done and we are one again, without secrets, my love.” He felt for Maitimo with his right hand, as Maitimo reached for him with his left, and they each simultaneously gasped twin erections, hard as steel and soft as silk. Findekáno first began to stroke, to touch, to rediscover that sweet hröa once familiar and for a second time new.

 

But then Maitimo stretched to touch him, determined and relentless in his desire to please. Their minds linked so that Findekáno did not need to worry that Maitimo would injure himself in his efforts to bring him to completion. Repeating his name over and over again, Maitimo caressed Findekáno, kissed and nipped his neck, lips and shoulders and refused to relent until his cousin had spilled all over his hand and both of their bellies crying out, “I love you, Maitimo. Only and always you.”

 

“Always and forever, Káno.”

 

“I pledge myself to you, Nelyafinwë Maitimo Feanárion, until Arda is remade and beyond.”

 

“Careful, Findekáno…” Maitimo began tenderly.

 

Findekáno laughed aloud and silenced Maitimo with a vigorous kiss. “Oh, it’s much too late for caution on my part. I am as hopelessly besotted with you as ever and cannot consider dooms, cursed oaths or unruly brothers that are swept along in the wake of our love. I am yours and you are mine and it is just that straightforward for me.”

 

“Káno, you always want too much and go too far.”

 

“But that is why you love me and why I am able to love you. Do you think anyone else could have put up with you for even this long?”

 

“Ai, you are probably right. I think you have forgotten something though,” Maitimo said rubbing his still stiff organ against Findekáno’s thigh.

 

“Oh, no. I think that you have overexerted yourself and I really ought to permit you to rest until you are feeling much stronger.”

 

“Cheeky scoundrel,” Maitimo said, grabbing the back of Findekáno’s head with his left hand and pushing it forcefully downward.

 

Not to be outdone in boldness, Findekáno so swiftly enclosed Maitimo with his mouth that he was greeted with a yelp of surprise and joy. Findekáno was determined to spare neither tenderness nor skill in banishing all thoughts of lost time or sorrows endured since he had last handled Maitimo in such a way. When finally he brought Maitimo to climax, their shared consciousness revealed to him that its intensity rivaled anything they had heretofore achieved.

 

“Káno, how can one of such an enchanting mouth think to tease me about my purported artistry in love?”

 

“My motivation has never been higher, nor could the waiting have been more excruciating,” Findekáno said, with complete earnestness.

 

“There was no one during the years that we were apart? Not even when crossing the ice? You must have huddled together for warmth?”

 

“I was broken-hearted and only thought of you,” Findekáno said. “Oh, there was Findaráto, but that was only one time. No. Sorry. Twice.”

 

“Findaráto! You are joking, are you not?” Maitimo sounded thoroughly startled.

 

“Sorry, Maitimo. I truly do not have sufficient imagination to be able to invent that.” A shy grin turned into an embarrassed guffaw.

 

Maitimo smiled dangerously and, after swearing softly under his breath, said, “You certainly have more imagination than I do--to have approached him of all people.”

 

“What makes you think I approached him? I am hurt that you would think I would go out of my way to seek comfort in anyone else.”

 

“Don’t be pedantic. Sought or accepted such comfort. The line is thin. Are you saying that he actually approached you?” Maitimo’s voice rose in disbelief, before he laughed outright.

 

“You are enjoying this tale much too much in entirely the wrong way.”

 

“I don’t particularly enjoy imagining you with someone else. But I am curious about Findaráto. What was he like?”

 

“He did not have your talent or my enthusiasm, but he did remind me of one small thing that I will share with you. All in all he is exactly as you might expect Findaráto to be: gracious and self-contained, very blond and quite beautiful.”

 

“That is not comforting to me. What must you see when you look at me now?”

 

“I see you--all the sides of you that I have known: one of my earliest teachers and mentors; the bold, handsome Nelyo of the nearly forgotten immature pranks and misbehavior of your youth; my one and only true love, my dearest friend, confidante and co-conspirator; today all of those parts join together to make up this battered and bruised King of the Noldor, who is above all else a triumphant survivor of Morgoth. Have I not followed you to the very ends of Arda?”

 

“But once you looked upon me and saw perfection or said you did,” Maitimo said, his tone carefully matter-of-fact yet containing a lost-boy poignancy that Findekáno remembered hearing in their youth, whenever his eldest cousin sensed he did not live up to the expectations of Fëanáro. Findekáno looked down at the once so familiar figure, overwhelmed by its uncharacteristic fragility, its alien angularity. Maitimo no longer reflected the perfect exquisiteness of form and face that he recollected, but nonetheless appeared magnificent to him, if stark and disturbing, like this heretofore unknown way of being.

 

“I probably did call you perfect with the absolute foolishness and certainty of the young. But that was wrong of me. For you were not perfect then and were never intended to be,” Findekáno said.

 

“Interesting that I wanted to be perfect for you and for my brothers, but one of the things that I loved most about you was that you never pretended to be without faults before me,” Maitimo answered.

 

“No one expected that of me,” Findekáno said laughing. “But of all the things I wished of you—love, loyalty, patience, tolerance, forgiveness—I never counted perfection among them. I observed at a very young age how the yearning for perfection haunted you and each of your brothers. Now you should at last be able to cast that notion aside. Cannot you finally see that the one even the Valar praised as the greatest of all the Children of Eru, the one you idolized and believed to be perfect, never was? Anyway, if any of the Valar had ever been kissed by you, they would have been forced to re-think that characterization.”

 

“I do adore your flattery and charming nonsense. I am quite certain you could seduce any Vala. But truly you do not find me repulsive to look upon now? With all of these scars and flaws?”

 

Findekáno could not resist running a hand down Maitimo’s leg, from hip to calf, long and pale, thinner now than it should be, but still so elegantly formed.

 

“The marred and imperfect body I see is no less beautiful to me than it was when I perceived it in its pristine state. Quite the opposite, in fact, I see evidence of endurance and courage, magnificent and appalling. You are far from perfect now, but splendid.”

 

“So, did you give yourself to Findaráto, or take him?” Maitimo asked, with a grin that would have appeared convincingly unserious to most but to Findekáno concealed hurt and insecurity behind the pretense of salacious curiosity.

 

Findekáno kissed him fiercely, after protesting in a harsh whisper, “Neither! Our relations, if one could call them that, consisted of some furtive touching, rubbing against one another and a few kisses. Be assured, there are some things I would only share with you, beloved. You are unassailable, first in my heart, no matter how long the separation or dark the circumstances.”

 

“Thank you,” Maitimo said. “Later, after we have slept, show me what he did that you wanted to share with me.”

 

“I can show you now.” Findekáno took Maitimo’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled. “He did that to me. Remember how I used to do that to you? I had forgotten how much you liked that.”

 

Maitimo whispered, "Ai, do you see what you have done to me? Now I can’t sleep."

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“No. You are not. You are very greedy, Káno. You always have been.”

Lost But Not Forgotten

Note: This chapter has a larger than usual cast of characters, so the Sindarin/Quenya names are posted at the bottom.

Read Lost But Not Forgotten

 

Maitimo woke up to a dull throbbing pain in his right arm and a sickening sense of lightness where he expected to feel his missing hand. For the briefest of moments panic and despair threatened to crush him, before the sound of Findekáno's soft breathing and the pressure of his companion's arm draped across his torso reminded him of where he was and who was with him. Findekáno's head rested solidly upon his good shoulder and their legs tangled together among the bedsheets. Maitimo squirmed a little, sliding Findekáno's head to one side, gently so he would not wake him. He wanted to see Findekáno's face, to look upon his heavy lashes resting against lightly flushed cheeks and dark hair tossed across the pillow.

Maitimo stroked Findekáno's hair and whispered, "It was all worth it, if it led you back to me."

"Are you deliberately trying to wake me?" Findekáno said as his eyes fluttered open, intensely blue and focused upon Maitimo, and an irresistible smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Or are you incapable of remaining quiet now that you are recovering?"

"Hmm. I suppose I did want to wake you." Maitimo grinned and kissed him. Findekáno's lips were warm and this kiss involved an increased amount of tongue, more like old times, the remnants of guardedness slipping further away with each new encounter. As he raised himself upon one elbow, Findekáno's unbraided hair fell upon Maitimo's chest in a tangled, shockingly alluring mass. He is sensuality incarnate, Maitimo thought. The pain in Maitimo's arm lessened and his shoulder stopped aching entirely.

"I love you," said Findekáno, "but what an appalling thing to say--about it being worth it. You could have won me back without either of us suffering so much, but you did not."

"I was a fool. Yet you took on an impossible task. You faced death on my behalf without flinching."

"Ai, you do not yet understand how small that was for me to risk death to find you. What was my life worth without you? The big things that I might have done to keep you close to me I could not summon the courage to do, like when I stopped coming to Formenos because in a fit of spitefulness you forbade it, or when I would not take your wretched oath. Do you know how close I came that night in Tirion? One word from you . . . "

Maitimo suddenly felt slightly sick. The air felt heavy and warm around him, yet Maitimo shivered at Findekáno's words and shouted, "Stop it, Káno! You speak so lightly of your death and murderous oaths." Then he lowered his voice to almost a whisper while catching great gasps of air. "And you claim that I say appalling things. Would that I had had the courage or foresight to refuse that oath. I held back at every step along the way, but capitulated over and over again at every critical point. He was a great man, Káno, and right more often than not, and I adored him. We all loved him so. But I don't want to discuss that now. Tell me what I might have done to win you back to me?"

Findekáno said, "Like saying 'I miss you,' or 'I still love you,' or 'I am sorry I treated you badly.' Any combination--no, actually, any single one of those statements would have succeeded at so many points. Anyway, it does not matter. We are here now." He wrinkled his nose at Maitimo in a clowning, flirtatious smirk, incongruously appealing on his noble features.

"You always oversimplify everything." Maitimo laughed lightly, relieved at steering away from dangerous topics.

"Oh? It seems to me that you always seek to construct extraordinarily complicated theoretical ballast for the smallest adjustment," Findekáno answered, his voice lifting as he raised an eyebrow with his return to a gentle, teasing manner.

Determined to defy expectations, Maitimo struggled to find something mundane to say, finally deciding upon, "You smell lovely, Káno." A huge smile broke across Findekáno's face.

"You smell wonderful. I remember Macalaurë once telling me that he thought you smelled like the light of Laurelin on a spring day. He did add: 'When he is clean, of course.' I wanted to answer that you always smelled of love to me. But in those days--we were all very young and crass--I was afraid he would think I meant the scent of certain bodily fluids." Findekáno snorted with laughter before continuing. "Not what I meant at all. Although there often enough has been that," he grinned, playing the fool deliberately before turning thoughtful. "But there was something else, something indefinably vivid and always fresh about you--that was what I meant by love. You did, you do, have your own distinctive scent. It was absent when I found you, but now it is rushing back. Irresistible." Findekáno breathed in, barely audible, "I love you."

Maitimo did not speak but kissed him. Findekáno moaned against his lips saying, "Umm. You are regaining your health. First your scent, now your brute force."

"Stop chattering," Maitimo ordered, kissing harder.

Suddenly, they both started at the clatter of hoofs entering the courtyard, greeted by barking dogs and squealing, laughing children. Findekáno struggled to reposition himself while Maitimo shifted to prevent him from sitting upright easily and said, "Stay as you are. It is my brothers. I love them dearly and have missed them, but we can delay seeing them for a short while. I have waited much longer to be alone with you."

Maitimo listened to his brothers talking as they dismounted. Tyelkormo's and Macalaurë's well-cherished voices dominated. He sensed Carnistir's presence and blessedly no longer as the open-wound he had perceived in the last several times he had been aware of him. Through Carnistir's ability to communicate mind-to-mind, his strange, quiet brother had touched his heart and soul several times while Maitimo suffered Morgoth's foulest torments. Although he drew strength from his brother's attempts to give him succor and support, Maitimo had pled with him to leave him when he sensed the terrible pain Carnistir suffered on his behalf.

Findekáno remained still, listening also to the tumult in the courtyard. Maitimo turned to Findekáno with a sense of sudden urgency. "If they should ask today, we shall tell them that I am not leaving for a while yet. I want to stay here with you. You must do most of the talking. If I sound too well then they will want to insist that I leave sooner. Not Macalaurë, he will understand. And he can oversee my brothers and the others a bit longer."

"Please. You need not try to convince me. You were all but dead yesterday. You haven't even eaten anything of substance yet. You know it is your connection to my fëa that is helping to heal you, don't you? They would not dare ask you to travel," Findekáno spoke, his voice severe and loud, his eyes all but shooting blue flames.

"Calm yourself, Káno. We are allies in this matter. And Macalaurë will agree with us." Maitimo could not hold back a chuckle and took another kiss. Findekáno returned it; his mouth was fierce against his lover's, his earlier reserve abandoned in favor of an intensity more to Maitimo's liking.

A soft tap on the door interrupted them.

"Russandol? Káno? May I enter?"

"Ai, Manwë's bollocks. Reminds me of Fëanáro's house in Tirion. Now it's Findaráto," Findekáno said, with a huge, heaving, tortured sigh.

Maitimo found Findekáno's exaggerated attempt to convey a lack of sympathy for their cousin more than a bit false and experienced a prick of jealousy--not an accustomed emotion for him. The last time he had felt it they were young, their yearning for one another still undeclared, and his uncertainty at ever winning Findekáno's love caused him to see potential rivals around every corner. He realized for the first time that after they had pledged themselves to one another, even when he had claimed that he hated Findekáno, he never doubted that they would somehow find one another again; that underneath every calculated consideration of why they should separate he had always had confidence that nothing could keep them apart for long: not their family, the Valar, nor any other chance or doom. Now he feared he had been far too confident that he could never truly lose his Findekáno.

"Oh, our dearest cousin and your special friend," Maitimo answered, feeling petulant. But though Maitimo had no desire to coddle Findekáno, neither did Findaráto deserve his malice. He allowed his voice to soften and added, "Please, tell him he is welcome and be gracious." How could he be angry with either of them in light of his own cruelty toward Findekáno in those last months before they left Aman?

"Ingo, the door is open. Come in!" Findekáno called out.

Findaráto slid into the room and closed the door behind him. Clad in a pale blue woolen tunic over elegantly tailored soft leather britches dyed a rich, dark blue, he looked every bit a son of Arafinwë. His golden hair falls thick and wavy upon his shoulders, as bright as ever--no even brighter than I remember. Findaráto's lightly Tree-tanned skin offset his unusually pale bluish-grey eyes. The square jaw and high cheekbones of Findaráto typified all of the men of the House of Finwë and were distinctly reminiscent of the handsome features of Finwë.

"Russandol! I am pleased to see how well you look, so much better than yesterday. You really had me worried." He radiated the good-natured kindliness that reminded Maitimo of Findaráto's father Arafinwë. But Maitimo did not want to think of Arafinwë just then, as that always brought thoughts of Tirion and what he had left behind, not least of which was the goodwill of his once light-heartened uncle not much his elder.

Maitimo could not but compare Findaráto's fair-haired elegance to his own lost beauty. Findaráto virtually gleamed, nearly luminous in the sunlight-filled the room. It appeared to be early afternoon, which meant that Maitimo and Findekáno had slept perhaps four hours. Unlike the day before, which had seemed dark and cold from what little impression he retained of it, today it looked warm and pleasant outside. Findekáno jumped up naked from the bed and managed to locate the robe he had worn after his bath, struggling into it as he crossed the room to greet Findaráto. Maitimo watched them exchange a swift, easy embrace. His jealousy flared reflexively again at the sight of his lover's relaxed demeanor with another despite how uncomplicated their brief clasp seemed to be.

He observed the aspect of serenity coupled with sagacity that always adhered to Findaráto. Peace is often overrated and vacancy known to masquerade as wisdom. But I think this is not the case with my cousin Ingo. Why should not Káno find some balm for his injured spirit? Should I not try to step aside and allow his restless, rebellious nature to be soothed rather than relentlessly rubbed raw by my eternal regret and cursed oath? Findaráto reached Maitimo's bedside and bent over him.

"Good to see you, Ingo," Maitimo said, yet instinctively turned his head to one side, causing a kiss Findaráto had aimed at his mouth to land upon his cheek. Whatever higher inclinations Maitimo believed he should hold, he could not so readily forgive what had passed between Findaráto and Findekáno.

Blushing deeply Findaráto said, "Káno told you! I would have told you myself had he not been so hasty." Then Maitimo felt embarrassed and ashamed at his own resentment.

"Am I so easy to read?" Maitimo asked.

"Not usually," Findaráto answered. "It must be the distress of all that has come to pass. I apologise if I have hurt you. It was never my intent."

"Nor did I mean to be churlish. I turned my back on Káno. Neither of you owe me any explanation under the circumstances."

"But I would give you one if you permit me," Findaráto said, "I do not know if I can adequately describe the emptiness and cold we endured. Káno pined for you ceaselessly while trying to be resolute and to support others, not knowing if you had abandoned him willingly or under protest. I had finally realized I had truly lost Amarie. Meanwhile, we both were driven nearly mad by being forced to listen to Turukáno's relentless hostile grief. I was not even convinced you could have survived the burning of the ships, although Káno thought you had. He said he would have sensed it if you had perished."

Maitimo spoke forcefully to prevent Findaráto from going on, "You do not need to justify . . . "

"But I would have you know. I never imagined interfering with what you share with one another. None could think to rival a passion such as yours, one that could withstand the pain, the ice and the fire." Findaráto, although he appeared somewhat caught off guard and voiced his apologies with unquestionable sincerity, was every bit as outwardly poised and regal in demeanor as ever. Then, he added. "If you must blame someone, blame me. Did he tell you how it happened? I got him drunk and then seduced him."

Maitimo would have recognized the lie even if Findekáno's mouth had not dropped open in disbelief at the statement. Findaráto smiled shyly and reddened at having been caught out, no longer regal. "Forgive me, Russandol."

"You honor me with your forgiveness of my part in the wrongs you have suffered. Friends then?" Maitimo asked. He reached upward with his left arm toward Findaráto, who bent over him, making it possible for Maitimo to kiss him.

"Friends! And I am grateful that you pardon me. I assure you that Káno made it clear that his heart belonged always to you and you alone--our beautiful Russandol. I see you will be healed again soon," Findaráto said, with a brilliant smile. Maitimo did not truly know until that moment how much he had longed for the reconciliation with his second most-loved cousin. Neither spoke for a moment as they held one another close.

"What about me?" Findekáno said closing his lips in a childish pout that he never would have dared as a youth, accompanied by an amorous gaze in Maitimo's direction. Happy to have smothered his own bitterness, momentarily at least, Maitimo could not hold back a laugh at Findekáno's unashamed manifestation of his emotions.

Findaráto, without a doubt similarly relieved, said, "You of all people ask for reassurance? Of all the chivalrous exploits and heroic deeds that led us to name you Findekáno the Valiant, this latest one surely surpasses them all. Anyone who has ever loved with great fervor or wanted to be loved in such a way will be envious to hear what you have accomplished on behalf of your beloved."

"Then the word of Maitimo's rescue is spreading about?" Findekáno asked, his frown turning into a grin, for the first time revealing that he might be pleased with himself over his recent accomplishments.

"Ai, Káno, for most of your adult life, your relationship with Russandol has been a periodically re-emerging scandal, albeit within a narrow circle. Now it will become the stuff of legend."

A sudden outburst of squawking fowl and a renewed barking of dogs reached them from the courtyard, along with an increasing din of strong male voices. Maitimo heard a distinctly feminine peal of laughter, which he instantly recognized as belonging to Irissë, followed by a shriek of "Put me down, Tyelkormo, before you drop me in the chicken dung. Pityo, Telvo, come! Give me a kiss." Irissë appeared to be in high spirits to see the two youngest of Fëanáro's sons. Years of close companionship and shared tastes made those particular cousins her favorites and she had long chafed under the critical eye of her father and her brother, Turukáno, with whom she shared little understanding.

For a brief moment Maitimo wondered if most elves in the compound were glad that the nonsensical ragging of his cousin Irissë and his brothers could not be fully understood by the native Moriquendi. Although perhaps the proudest of the vain and haughty Noldor, the scions of the House of Finwë--except for Nolofinwë and, at one time, he himself--did not exercise restraint among family nor often heed how they might be viewed by others.

"Well, it sounds as though your sister at least is willing to open-heartedly hail my brothers in friendship," Maitimo said.

"If only she were wiser or more politic and would greet them a bit more sedately," said Findekáno, laughing. "But then my sister never has had a reputation for discretion. Least of all in the presence of your brothers."

"Unlike you," chuckled Findaráto. "The paradigm of restraint and discretion among all of Finwë's grandchildren."

"Poor long-suffering Atar and Turukáno. They never expected anything from me except what they got and sadly now have to endure Irissë's irrepressibility as well. She has grown indispensable to Turukáno in helping to care for Itarillë since the loss of Elenwë," Findekáno responded.

Findaráto sat upon the edge of Maitimo's bed and took his uninjured hand, "I am glad to have you back. I believe that even Turukáno must feel that way, although he will not say so and may never wholly forgive you and your brothers for swearing your father's oath or for the deeds that followed. For my part, I do not presume to sit in judgment upon either you or him but prefer instead to consider how we will meet our common enemy in the future."

"Your sentiments mirror mine exactly and those of Findekáno as well. Have you spoken with my brothers yet?" Maitimo asked.

"I talked mainly with Macalaurë but briefly with Tyelkormo also. You should be filled with pride in Macalaurë; he has shown his strength. He held your supporters together in your absence with precious little help from your brothers that I could see. Your other brothers appear to have had a rotten time of it," Findaráto answered. "They suffered greatly in your absence."

"Macalaurë is my rock." Maitimo lifted his chin in an expression of affection and pride. "Few realize his firmness. They think of him as an artist, somehow soft. Perhaps they will better understand his quality now."

"I came to tell you that Uncle Nolofinwë and the healer Pilimor intend to speak with them before they all march in here and begin demanding things of you."

"Thank you, Ingo," Findekáno said. "Perhaps if you would delay them just a little while longer I can dress. I am concerned that Maitimo will have to see company all day, and I cannot allow them to exhaust him and cause him to lose ground again."

"Pilimor told your father and me that Russandol's condition is not robust, so I am sure he will explain that to the brothers Fëanárion."

The door swung open wildly, crashing against the wall and causing a small sprinkle of plaster dust to puff out from alongside it.

"Too late," Findekáno sighed.

"Nelyo!" Carnistir shouted, pushing by Macalaurë as though his older brother were an awkwardly placed piece of furniture. Macalaurë rolled to one side without a hint of annoyance. His face was suffused by a youthful, wet-eyed smile of pure bliss. Meanwhile, Findekáno kissed Maitimo on the forehead and stood, moving away from his place on bed with a deliberateness which he undoubtedly hoped would indicate that he relinquished his spot willingly but without bowing to any pressure from the whirlwind of color and sound that had burst so abruptly into the small space. Findaráto backed up against the wall next to the window grimacing in a pretense of avoiding being crushed by the onslaught.

"Carnistir," Maitimo said. "All is well now."

Carnistir crawled onto the bed and embraced his brother, carefully avoiding Maitimo's bandaged arm and shoulder hidden largely by a sling, buried his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and released a muffled sob of "Nelyo."

Macalaurë crawled up onto the bed behind Carnistir, embracing both of them, looking down at Maitimo's shrouded limb. He kissed Maitimo on the mouth and mumbled, "What happened to your arm? How did Káno ever find you?" before kissing him again.

In a near pileup at the foot of the bed, Curufinwë grinned foolishly and Tyelkormo laughed out loud, while Pityafinwë and Telufinwë pushed against them from behind. The noise level seemed to have reached earsplitting proportions and for one short-lived moment Maitimo felt himself transported back to the chaotic security of his childhood home in Tirion.

"The story of how Káno found me is interesting perhaps, but not pretty. I'll tell you all the details later. I lost a hand in the process. But the important thing is that he did find me," Maitimo said in answer to Macalaurë. Turning to Curufinwë, he asked, "Where is Tyelperinquar?"

Curufinwë squeezed by Findekáno to reach Maitimo's bedside and lean over and kiss him. "Outside. He knows you are here and safe. I told him you are not feeling well. I wanted to see you before I brought him in. You look so much better than I feared."

"Of course, we would not want to frighten him and I don't want to be responsible for giving children nightmares," Maitimo said, immediately regretting the tinge of cynicism in his choice of words. He continued in a softer tone, "Can you bring him in before I get too tired and look worse again?"

"Let me get him." Curufinwë kissed him again, hugging him around the neck, before scrambling in the direction of the door. "I love you, Nelyo." He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, sniffed, and then gave a hint of a smile.

Macalaurë moved down toward the end of the bed and motioned to the twins and Tyelkormo to approach. After more greetings, hugs and kisses, and answering of questions, the door opened again. Curufinwë reentered holding a small boy, barely more than a toddler. As soon as he sat him down upon his sturdy, chubby legs, the child approached the bed confidently and took Maitimo's hand.

"You cut your hair. Did the dark one or his fell beasts hurt you?" Tyelperinquar said, pointing at the sling. Maitimo winced at the matter-of-factness of the boy's manner in speaking of such horrors.

"They did, Tyelpo. But there are good healers here and they are helping me recover. Crawl up here with me." Tyelperinquar squirmed to insert himself between Maitimo and Carnistir, forcing his uncle to his feet. The child stroked Maitimo's shortened hair in fascination.

"Hold still, Tyelpo," Curufinwë said. "You could hurt your uncle wiggling around like that." Tyelperinquar frowned at his father. Maitimo laughed at how like Curufinwë he had looked for a moment.

"Is it true you came on a giant eagle with our cousin Findekáno?"

"Yes. Thorondor mightiest of the Eagles carried us here."

"Which one is Findekáno?"

"That would be me, little one." Findekáno's wide smile, alight with all his charm and energy, and startlingly blue eyes clearly interested the boy.

"I have heard about you. You look like a brave hero." Looking around the room, Tyelperinquar asserted to no one in particular, "Uncle Nelyo is back and we are all happy again now." He wrinkled his forehead in consternation at the loud laughter his innocent remark elicited.

Maitimo suddenly began to feel lightheaded, as though he were terribly hungry. He sank back into the pillows, the clamor of his brothers becoming a roar from which he could no longer discern one voice from the others. The sensation caused by the racket reminded him of when he was young and had stuck his head inside of an empty metal container near the forge and Macalaurë whacked it with a stick.

At just that moment Findekáno interjected himself into the commotion with a tone of command that caused everyone else to stop talking at once. "All right then. That is enough. There are now ten people in this small room. Maitimo needs a quieter environment and I would like to dress. Perhaps Macalaurë and Findaráto could stay for now and the rest of you can return in twos later in the afternoon." He picked Tyelperinquar up from the bed and changed his expression to one of gentle affection. "There are a couple of women and a girl outside who would like to see you. Maybe you could come back with them in a little while."

"What kind of a girl?"

"A girl who is a little older than you and very pretty and clever. She is a cousin you have never met."

"I think I saw her outside. She laughed when Uncle Tyelkormo picked up the beautiful lady with the black hair."

"I suspect that was the same girl. And the dark-haired lady is my sister. She makes everyone laugh, whether they want to or not. She will play with the two of you. Now run along." Findekano held the door open and the five youngest of Fëanor's sons trooped out as well, each pausing only to give Maitimo another kiss. They obeyed their cousin as though he were a respected schoolmaster.

Maitimo watched with curiosity at how readily his younger brothers followed Findekáno's instructions. Would that I could give it to him instead of his father. Nolofinwë is wiser and infinitely more practical, but what a light burns in our reckless Káno. He almost could have been my father's son, but for that streak of innocence that none of us have ever had.

"Well," Macalaurë said expectantly.

"Well, indeed. I am proud of you," answered Maitimo, voice cracking despite his effort. "I thank you for not coming after me. Although I cursed you more times than I can count when I wasn't feeling relieved and grateful to you that you had not. I must admit though that my despair overcame my satisfaction when I realized that you definitely would not come."

"Every day I nearly weakened, until Findekáno arrived. I thought I should tell him not to try any heroic stunts, and I did warn him of the dangers, but secretly hoped he would heed his own counsel," Macalaurë said turning to face Findekáno. "Thank you for returning my brother to me."

"I'd like to pretend my intentions were noble and unselfish but none of you would believe that. I was scared shitless and more than half-mad with rage and grief. But I will accept your thanks anyway. If you will excuse me, I will go next door and finish dressing."

Before Findekáno could reach the door, it swung open to admit Tadiel, once again bearing a food-laden tray. "My lords," she said in Sindarin, nodding to all. Findekáno relieved her of the heavy tray and placed it on the table beside the window.

"Nelyafinwë must eat and Findekáno," she announced. "Shall I get another pot of tea for your guests?"

Maitimo could not resist answering, "These are not guests. They are my family. Tea would be good, but if you had some wine or spirits it would be even better."

"I certainly can manage that. But neither you nor Findekáno should drink any." Tadiel smiled.

"Don't worry about me. I am trying to convince myself that I can actually eat some of the food you have brought. I promise that I'll watch Findekáno carefully," Maitimo said. The previous sense of hunger vanished immediately as his stomach roiled at the sight and smell of the simple, rather bland, dishes that were arranged on the tray.

"Try the broth again. And it would be good if you could manage the custard. It is nourishing--made of eggs and milk. The rest is for your cousin. We will start with simple things until we see how well you tolerate those." Tolerate. That sounded difficult but he was anxious to regain his strength.

"I will be quick," Findekáno said, closing the door behind him. He immediately stuck his head back in. "Should I ask Atar to join us?"

"Not yet. Perhaps you should find him though and tell him that I look forward to speaking with him soon. Tonight, if I feel well enough, or tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Findekáno said, exiting backwards while bowing obsequiously.

"Káno!" Maitimo said, raising his voice. Findekáno's head popped around the corner of the door. "I am worn-out. Will you figure out what to say and how to say it, please? But make it sound . . . respectful."

"I'll do my best," Findekáno said grinning.

When Findekáno had gone, Macalaurë said, "Ai, I see you have patched things up with Káno. Reminds me of the old days. The two of you hatching plots and working around Nolofinwë."

Maitimo smiled. "Findekáno is difficult to remain on bad terms with--impossible when he comes looking to rescue one from the most foul and desolate place in Middle-earth, alone and against all odds, and succeeds spectacularly, including securing transportation directly from Manwë."

"I am happy for you," Macalaurë said, his voice low and tender.

"I did not feel whole without him," Maitimo answered with a shrug, nodding toward his injured arm. "I suspect losing my hand will be less of a hardship than trying to imagine an existence without him."

Findaráto, who had been leaning quietly against the window sill, arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed, stood fully upright and approached the bed, taking a seat on the foot of it. "So, am I an invited guest at the cabal of Russandol, Findekáno and Macalaurë, or a full-fledged co-conspirator now?"

"Hmmm." Macalaurë said. "I was never truly part the group you speak of myself. But Nelyo has my complete attention now. Everything that once distracted me has been lost." Macalaurë tossed his loose dark hair out of his face so that it fell down his back, looking at his brother with an half-smile that indicated something midway between bemusement and cynicism.

"Yes. Lost but not forgotten. If we intend to build any sort of a tolerable existence here we have to recognize we must defend it together," Findaráto said. "Knowing you, Russandol, I am assuming that you have a plan and you have already discussed it with Findekáno."

"Actually, I haven't discussed it with anyone. We should wait until Káno returns because I think I am too knackered to repeat it twice. But if you stay to hear the details, you can never reveal what you heard, or that you were part of these discussions, or that they even took place."

"How sinister sounding. I'm terrified," Findaráto chuckled. "I suppose trust has to start somewhere. I am in . . ."

Macalaurë spoke up. "You looked so well and now you are visibly fading like a Vanyarin gentlewoman on a day in the country with our family. Remember when Atar invited guests for those? Bloody awful affairs they were--tromping through the underbrush, flies, ticks and mud. What was Amil thinking to let him do that?"

"It would not be wise to speak ill of Vanyarin ladies later when Turukáno might be present. It is unlikely he will ever forgive us, but if he is even to temporarily put aside his resentment for the sake of our people you must guard your careless tongue," said Maitimo.

"Ever the diplomat. My joke was at the expense of Atar and not those unfortunate ladies." Gesturing upward at Maitimo with a spoon. "Let's start with the broth like the good healer said."

Maitimo grinned up at Tadiel. "It is rude to speak in a tongue which the lady does not understand. She will gladly tell you that she is not a healer, but an apprentice to the master here. A student."

Tadiel fussed about the bed, rearranging the pillows, and touching Maitimo's forehead. "I should tell you that Master Pilimor intends to warn your brothers that too much activity will strain your nerves. Your uncle is looking after you as well and has already spoken to your other cousins."

"Open up?" Macalaurë said, reaching around Tadiel with a spoon, dangerously close to spilling broth onto the bed.

"Give me the cursed broth. I can do it myself. I am not a helpless invalid."

"Point of fact: that is precisely what you are. You must be exhausted, Nelyo. You are the one who is supposed to be the master of words."

Grabbing the bowl out of Macalaurë's hands, he lifted the whole thing to his mouth and took a long swallow. "Tadiel, do you know my cousin, Findaráto? My brother, Macalaurë?"

"By reputation only. Gossip is rampant here, my lord . . . I mean, Nelyafinwë. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lords," she said, and then turning back to Maitimo added. "Please excuse me. I need to report to my Master that you still have no fever and he needs to recommend a draught for you. Not as strong as the one you had before. But the pain must be returning."

"Thank you, Tadiel. It is. If he gives me something, I will not complain."

"Lovely," said Findaráto, after the lady departed. "And more than a little in love with you it appears from the way she watches you and smiles at your every utterance."

Macalaurë snorted. "Every woman falls at least a little in love with my brother. What does Káno think of her?"

"Oh, he likes her well enough. I think she is infatuated with him. Not a bad situation altogether. She may give us some valuable information. Interestingly, she is apparently a distant kinswoman of yours, Ingo, related through Elwë Singollo. Which would mean she has traveled far to have ended up here, which further means she must have an remarkable story herself," Maitimo said.

"Truly?"

"I am not sure, but that was one of the many rumors going around according to what Káno has heard. The natives of these parts like to gossip as much as the elves of Aman. And she certainly likes to talk. You will have your chance to chat with her."

Maitimo felt increasingly tired and unfocused. Macalaurë played the aggressive nursemaid in a typical Fëanorian way. He managed to get his older brother to consume all of the broth and swallow fully half of the custard, by having him wash each mouthful down with a swallow of weak tea. His hand across his slightly less concave belly, Maitimo said, "That was disgusting. Now I feel like I am going to burst."

Macalaurë was sitting on bed, still hovering over and fussing about Maitimo, when Findekáno came back into the room. Once again Findaráto rested with his backside against the windowsill, long legs, extended out before him, crossed at the ankles.

Maitimo noticed from Findekáno's intense eyes and brisk manner that he had something he was intent upon sharing.

"What it is, Káno?" he asked.

"Horses," Findekáno said. "We need horses. Give us a generous number of horses as an opening gesture. Even Turukáno will not think to turn those down. You know, I had to come after you on foot." He ran his hand down Maitimo's cheek and cupped his chin, while learning forward to brush a whisper of a kiss upon his lips. He silently formed the word "Beautiful." Maitimo grabbed him by the back of his head and returned the kiss.

Macalaurë coughed and cleared his throat in a parody of disapproval that elicited a guffaw from Findaráto, saying, "Please excuse us, Káno, if we are interrupting anything. We can leave if you would like, but it was my understanding that Nelyo wanted to speak with us."

"Sorry," Findekáno answered, blatantly without remorse.

Maitimo said, "Yes, I like the idea of horses. Macalaurë, would you please consult with Tyelkormo about the execution of that plan. Tell him to consider generosity to the point of foolishness as a guideline when deciding how many and which ones to turn over to our kinsmen. I have thought of offering something much larger, however. I doubt that three of you will disagree with me. But let me explain how I view it and then I'd like to hear your opinions on how best to present it to the others."

* * *

Early evening had nearly overcome the remaining sliver of the bright, deep-red sunset reflected in the far edge of the lake and the last exhausting visitors had been shooed away so that Maitimo could finally settle down again. He accomplished his second attempt at eating more comfortably than the first. Leaning heavily upon Findekáno, he managed to walk with difficulty to the bathroom and back without any apparent ill effect. Resting quietly again, Maitimo turned his full attention to Findekáno. Of all the possible scenarios of reconciliation, Maitimo had never in any of his wishful dreaming imagined anything like the current one. He was content to lie back and watch the deepening shadows play across Findekáno's face.

"Do you know how beautiful you are, even so thin and pale?" Findekáno said. Maitimo smiled at the congruence of their thoughts.

"No. But I hoped I still was, just a little, for your sake."

"As soon as you are better I am going to make it apparent to you how exceedingly attractive you are and how appealing I find you."

"You don't have to wait. I need you now," Maitimo said softly, his eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. Looking down upon him, Findekáno perceived him as he had been when still clothed with the transcendence of youth and innocence in the happy realm of the Two Trees.

Maitimo then smirked and said, "Findaráto told me that you are far too difficult and demanding and he is glad to see me back, to keep you out of his way."

"Just as well," Findekáno said, smiling at the preposterous lie, as he reached for Maitimo and closed his hand firmly around his arousal. "It is only you that I want. You want me to make love to you? I do not want to hurt you."

Maitimo gasped at the black-fringed, dark blue eyes, excruciating in their beauty, wide-open and fixed possessively upon him. His voice quavered, filled with wistfulness and surrender. "You will find a way. You are very creative. Please. I cannot wait until I am able take you the way you like to be taken. Love me now, Káno."

"Ai, beautiful beyond bearing you are. I would do anything you ask," Findekáno said.

Maitimo rolled onto the side of his good arm, shifting his hips a bit to provide a better angle for Findekáno. After some gentle yet insistent preparation from his partner, Maitimo, breathing roughly, tossed his shortened hair as he turned to look back over his shoulder. He said with just a hint of a grin, "I'd forgotten how sizeable you are," followed by an audible sharp intake of breath as Findekáno pushed against him and he was slowly but intrepidly entered.

"Ai. Ai. Complainer!" Findekáno said.

"No, Káno. Never complaining. Worshiping."

"You do like this, don't you?" Findekáno panted, all the while holding Maitimo steady with his hands on his hips, not wanting jostle him or cause pain unnecessarily.

"Yes. Always did. Like it. But, you seemed to develop a preference--ai, yes, perfect--people do fall easily into habits over time. So, perhaps--ai, Káno!--after a while we found ourselves in a routine. It was never that I did not like it this way . . . "

"Stop talking," Findekáno said, moving more strongly. Maitimo shuddered, groaned and jerked compulsively, pressing back hard against Findekáno, who let out with a jubilant exclamation as they climaxed.

"Oh, sorry. Just give me a few moments and I can do much, much better," Findekáno said, kissing Maitimo on the corner of his mouth. "I promise I can love you long and well." He collapsed with his chest flat against Maitimo's back and wound one arm tightly across his waist, protectively aware his beloved's injured limb.

"I know you can, my love."

"Unless, of course, you are too tired." Findekáno laughed.

Maitimo frowned and rolled carefully onto his back again. "Come here, you rascal. Treat an injured man with a little respect." Findekáno straddled him and raising himself upon his arms above Maitimo bent over him to kiss and caress him until he moaned and whimpered. They both became decreasingly aware of the rapidly falling darkness.

Quenya - Sindarin
Findekáno/Káno - Fingon
Maitimo/Nelyafinwë/Nelyo/Russandol - Maedhros
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Turukáno - Turgon
Irissë - Aredhel
Itarillë - Idril (would be the little girl referred to above)
Macalaurë - Maglor
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Carnistir - Caranthir
Curufin - Curufinwë, Curvo
Pityo/Pityafinwë - Amrod
Telvo/Telufinwë - Amras
Tyelperinquar/Tyelpo - Celebrimbor
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Findaráto - Finrod Felagund
Artanis - Galadriel
Angaráto - Angrod
Aikanáro - Aegnor

Scars and Bad Tempers

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Findekáno heard Maitimo moving slowly and carefully to the door of the small room that had housed the two of them for more than five days. He speculated that it was at least two, maybe three, hours past dawn. His rest had been broken twice during the night by Maitimo's nightmares. Holding Maitimo in his arms like a child, he had sung lullabies and finally sentimental love songs from their youth until Maitimo fell asleep again. Findekáno was careful to avoid the air he had sung at the foot of the cliffs of Thangorodrim. At dawn he had awakened briefly once, relieved at the sounds of Maitimo's brothers finally departing to return to the other side of Lake Mithrim.

As Maitimo slipped into the hallway, Findekáno heard him quietly greet Tadiel. The healer's young assistant and Maitimo took care to avoid waking him and Findekáno pretended to sleep. He controlled his desire to jump from the bed, to support Maitimo as he walked, to assist him in relieving himself and with whatever ablutions his beloved required to prepare for the new day.

But numerous troubling incidents of the preceding few days still bothered Findekáno. It hurt him that Maitimo increasingly disliked revealing to him any signs of his remaining debility. He listened to the conversation in the hallway. Although their voices were muffled--they spoke in Sindarin and Findekáno was half-asleep--he could make out the gist of it. Tadiel offered to help Maitimo bathe and her proposal was accepted. Shortly, Findekáno heard the slosh of water in the adjoining bathroom. He dozed for a short while and awakened again when he heard fragments in Quenya coming from the bath. Findekáno recognized the resonant, if slightly tense to his ear, tones of his younger brother's voice. Apparently Turukáno was in the bathroom talking to Maitimo. What? The annoying man will let my brother visit him in his bath, despite their lack of understanding or scarcely a remnant of past affection for one another, when he shoos me away? A light laugh from Maitimo and a reluctant-sounding, answering one from Turukáno next reached Findekáno. At least they are talking.

Three full days with all seven of Fëanáro's sons had gone a long way toward unraveling Findekáno's newfound hopefulness. Not to mention what it had done to his temper. Due to them, the days immediately after Thangorodrim had turned into a barely tolerable ordeal for Findekáno. Not only had the brothers completely occupied Maitimo's attention, but they overwhelmed him with their idiosyncrasies, their dependency upon him that alternated with rebelliousness, and worst of all, the display of an increasingly obvious passive resistance to every suggestion relating to moving forward toward the reunification of their people. Given the wearing effect of all this upon Maitimo's continued recovery, Findekáno found inadequate comfort in indulging recurring fantasies of punching one or another of the Fëanarion brothers in one of their handsome, wide-eyed, open-mouthed faces.

All purported to agree with the plan to give horses to Nolofinwë and further to restore possessions recovered from the ships that belonged to anyone left behind, along with sharing supplies, grain, and foodstuff from their stores. In the end, Tyelkormo had followed Maitimo's instructions to the letter, albeit thin-lipped and unreadable throughout, except for his constant requests for clarification of the most inane and trivial details. Curufinwë proffered the unsolicited opinion that Maitimo proposed to hand over far too many horses and too much of their stores. Even the twins nagged that specific horses chosen would unnecessarily interfere with a breeding plan they had recently developed in collaboration with Tyelkormo. Maitimo listened and responded to these complaints smoothly, although Findekáno noted over the last half-day a tightening of his jaw and narrowing of his eyes that belied his lover's patient tone. The signs of persistent pain revealed by the small lines around Maitimo's mouth and the stiffness in how he held his neck added to Findekáno's ire. Couldn't they see he needed to rest?

While Macalaurë contributed supportive and useful suggestions in general discussions among Maitimo, Findekáno and Findaráto, he appeared to have shrugged off like an ill-fitting cloak the tasks of implementation that he had handled so ably in his brother's absence. Maitimo had not sufficiently recovered to cope with such details himself and Findekáno feared that if he attempted to step in he would be regarded as a usurper trading on their brother's love to gain power and authority. Findekáno thought with a grimace that those were the last things to interest him under the circumstances. He wondered if they reacted thusly to the first token offerings of reconciliation, how might they respond to the second stage of Maitimo's design?

Nor did Findekáno accept his growing aggravation with Maitimo's brothers without mourning his once easy tolerance of the worst they had to offer. Dating back to his childhood, he had loved each of Fëanáro's sons on his own merits. Of course, his love for Maitimo burned uniquely even then. Yet, he had grown to cherish Macalaurë as a true brother, unconditionally, as he had always wished he could have accepted his own brother and never had; perhaps he particularly loved Macalaurë because he was Maitimo's favored one and shared Findekáno's adoration of Fëanáro's eldest.

Findekáno often found Tyelkormo sweet and generous although giving voice to that opinion on occasion often had been met with laughter or disbelief. One-on-one, even testy Curufinwë proved himself to be a pleasant companion with his sharp wit and appreciation of beauty in the oddest things. Singly or together the twins could be refreshingly bright and amusing, bighearted and loyal, though they tended slip into bickering in the presence of their elder brothers. Even strange Carnistir seemed more social and observant when alone.

Although Findekáno spent little time with his father during the course of those days, their few encounters had been reassuring. Nolofinwë had visited Maitimo and graciously accepted apologies less guardedly than either Maitimo or Findekáno had expected. Maitimo intimated to his uncle that he had much more to discuss, but that he needed to recover his strength and wits before he would be able to fully engage in such negotiations. Nolofinwë left his son and his cousins to their own counsel. Findekáno found himself surprisingly impressed with his father's wisdom and self-assurance.

Nolofinwë's men had rowed Tyelkormo and a squire back across the lake the first day after the Fëanorians had arrived, while the other brothers stayed, never fewer than two of them, often more, in Maitimo's room at any given time. The next day Tyelkormo and his companions returned with the horses--an event that perceptibly lightened the mood throughout the settlement and lessened the number of harsh and bitter looks directed at or through the Fëanorians.

Macalaurë and Tyelkormo made an impromptu, near-formal public presentation of the horses to Nolofinwë on behalf of their brother. Their remarks were couched in pretty words and affirmed that their brother, despite his state of convalescence, functioned and was accepted by the Fëanorians as head not only of the House of Fëanáro but High King of the Noldor on this side of the sea. Nolofinwë's acceptance speech subtly affirmed that he and Nelyafinwë Maitimo Feanárion had made their peace and implied that, for the moment at least, he chose not to make an issue of the claim of kingship by the latter.

Findekáno concentrated harder on the sounds issuing from the adjoining room and could pick up fragments of conversation. " . . . let me help you with..," followed by, " . . . thank you, next to the door . . . " Another laugh--Maitimo again--and more splashing seemed to indicate that Turukáno was helping Maitimo extract himself from the high-sided tub. An unintelligible murmur by Turukáno, barely a trace of truculence left in his voice, was followed by an expression of gratitude from Maitimo.

Their voices, switching back into Sindarin, were joined by the higher, brighter tones of a woman again. Now this is ridiculous. Findekáno rankled at the thought of Maitimo dripping and naked in the company of his brother and that Sindarin girl while he had been all but banned from viewing his beloved unclothed except in the soft light of the moon or a dim candle placed discreetly across the room. Fuming, he struggled from the bed, banged his shin on the chair in front of the window and swore stridently. Findekáno tossed and shook the bedclothes about until he recovered a wrinkled robe and marched over to the bathroom door.

Intending to charge into the bathroom, the sight of Maitimo, alone now with his back to him, stopped Findekáno cold before he had passed halfway through the doorway.

Maitimo stood with his weight shifted onto his left leg, no doubt to remove strain from his still tender right shoulder and injured arm. He no longer presented an image of emaciation; all of the slackness and flaccidity had disappeared in the four short days since Findekáno had rescued him from the cliffs of Thangorodrim, leaving only a winsome slenderness that recalled the dashing youth who had first captured Findekáno's heart as a child. The contrast between flexed and relaxed muscles, the elegance of proportion, his slightly elongated legs, broad upper back and shoulders, gracefully bent right knee, the tantalizingly rounded buttocks struck Findekáno as heart-achingly beautiful.

True, in his newly recovering state, Maitimo hardly represented the ideal of a sculpted elven male of near-Valarin perfection, but there was something touching in the naturalness of his stance and the refinement, just short of delicacy, of the slim figure that Findekáno now viewed. From Findekáno's perspective in the doorway he could not see the bandaged limb. The sling had been removed for Maitimo's bath. Crisscrossed scars covered Maitimo's back and thighs; ones that had burned red a few days earlier had faded to silvery white already and the crusted scabs of others had healed, although the skin over those still looked inflamed and raw.

At the sound of Findekáno's arrival, Maitimo turned. His brow furrowed as he pulled the large towel he had held loosely in his left hand up against his chest in an unsuccessful attempt to cover himself. Findekáno noted but ignored the regrettably now-familiar signs of self-consciousness and self-loathing evident in Maitimo whenever he was forced to display his marred body before him--his sworn lover, the other half of his soul.

Findekáno moved quickly to envelop him in his arms and kiss him. Maitimo returned the kiss with a tight smile but relaxed into Findekáno's embrace. Finally releasing a little of his dread of Maitimo's black moods, Findekáno reflexively traced one of the longer, deeper scars on Maitimo's chest.

"Let me rub some salve into these, love. Pilimor said it will help them to heal, leaving barely a mark of where they were," Findekáno said, reaching for a jar on the shelf upon the wall. Maitimo's lowered his eyebrows and yanked his head up from Findekáno's shoulder.

"Leave me alone. I've asked you to let me at least bathe and dress in peace. You are not a healer. I endure them because I must but I refuse to suffer your constant examinations and fussing as well. If you don't like what you see, you don't have to look," Maitimo said, his voice harsh with barely controlled anger.

"Don't start with me again, you bloody fool. You know nothing about how I see you. I was standing here admiring you. I would have never imagined you were so vain. Or that you could have the temper of a wounded boar. You can go fuck yourself." Findekáno whirled around and headed back out. Maitimo grabbed his arm, allowing his towel to fall in a sodden heap on the floor.

"Don't want to," Maitimo said almost inaudibly,

"What?" Findekáno shouted, hurling himself back around, fisting his hands and scowling.

"Don't want to fuck myself. I want you to fuck me," Maitimo said, his voice soft and steady, his mouth twitching upwards in the corners. Findekáno ducked his head, looking down at his own bare feet growing cold in a puddle of water on the floor, fighting the impulse to so quickly relent. Maitimo took his chin and lifted it up, reminding Findekáno that his lips were tightly pursed in a way that had caused his lover to laugh and tease him out of a bad temper in both the distant past and far too many times recently.

Findekáno could no longer withhold a smile. Maitimo grinned back and then kissed him like he had the first time they had ever kissed, tender yet skillful, wickedly sensual but completely non-demanding. "Don't leave me," Maitimo whispered.

"You truly are a bloody fool, aren't you?" Findekáno wrapped his arms around him.

"I think not entirely." Maitimo grinned again, all of the darkness leaving his eyes. "I am in your arms now aren't I?"

"By the way, what did my brother want?"

"He said, 'Thank you for the horses.'"

"I'm sure Atar ordered him to do so. He managed to forestall seeking you out until your brothers had left. Still, I bet he almost choked on it."

"He actually made a joke. He claimed he came because Findaráto threatened him." A huge smile lit up Maitimo's face. "He managed to be perfectly civil."

 

* * * *

 

Back in their room, Findekáno considered the possibility of moving them to the large, well-equipped tent that he had spent a few hours each day preparing while Maitimo spent time with his brothers. He had worried whether it might prove insufficient to Maitimo's needs, but summer was upon them, he mused, and it should not be cold or wet. He had engaged a Sindarin carpenter to construct a real bed, which he thought might already be finished. He grimaced at the thought of the vanloads of things they had dragged across the ice. Stupid Noldorin sensibilities. At least his immediate family had not shown the excess in pride of possessions to the degree that Arafinwë's brood had. But now with Maitimo under his care he was grateful for the warm blankets, fine sheets and clothing that they had transported at the cost of such effort. Those, along with his personal cache of precious stones and gold, should enable him to provide every comfort for his beloved until he healed. And heal he would, of that Findekáno had no doubt. Although he strained to comprehend how the physical wounds disappeared so quickly while the shadows on Maitimo's spirit seemed to have only begun to reveal themselves.

He continued to massage the healer Pilimor's salve into the scars on Maitimo's back.

"That should be almost enough for now," he said. "You will permit me to do this thoroughly every day. Twice a day I think would be better."

"Humpf." Maitimo straightened his back and squared his shoulders.

In reaction, Findekáno grabbed Maitimo's head, jerked it around and planted a playful kiss upon his parted lips. "Don't forget that I still outweigh you. I intend to take full advantage of the situation as it is obvious now that it is time-limited."

Maitimo gave him a slow, crooked smile. "You are prone to exaggeration. You were never were much, if any, lighter--well not since you turned fifty. I am just beginning to realize that we do have time though."

"Indeed?" Findekáno queried, with a wrinkling of his forehead.

"The horse-breeding plan has great merit, for example." Maitimo could not complete the short sentence without laughing at himself. Findekáno joined him with a loud guffaw, thinking of their endless indignant squabbling with Ambarussa on that subject, insisting the twins should reorder priorities, and questioning their motives for raising the issue under the circumstances.

"And horses are not all we will need," Maitimo continued. "Military training, organization, discipline--we know nothing. Well, your father understands governance and you and I know a bit. But the rest of them must as well. We finally have attained some passable skill with arms. Well, you and the rest have at least--I will be starting over."

Findekáno interrupted, "I'll train with you until you are better than you ever dreamed of being with your other hand!"

Maitimo smiled. "But our level of competence in many areas reminds me of pampered youth showing off their equestrian skills for their parents and grandparents when they have never ridden beyond the outskirts of Tirion. But we will learn. I am certain your father will agree. He will be invaluable in making it happen. Then we will also spread out; cut off Morgoth's access to the south first. Settle the adjacent areas. I will take the area closest to his stronghold. The least desirable, but most strategically important."

"Just wonderful. Well, that will give me an excuse to spend a lot of time there. Checking to see if you are dead or alive or have gone totally insane, that sort of thing." Findekáno's attempt at forming a frown that could indicate any real irritation completely failed. He acknowledged his defeat by reaching out to push an unruly mass of short red curls off of Maitimo's forehead.

"Are you even listening to me, Káno?" Maitimo asked, the slight upward movement of his chin and narrowing of his eyes a parody sternness.

"Don't patronize me, Nelyafinwë. I know exactly what you are talking about. I just got caught up with the picture of you perched on some Eru-forsaken, frozen rock looking out at Angamando. It wasn't a pleasing vision. Especially given your already foul humor and your wretched nightmares. Naturally, while you are doing this, I would be half a world away, recruiting reluctant wood-elves to learn swordplay or some such thing."

"You would do well to learn better Sindarin first." Findekáno allowed his mouth to fall agape in a mime of outrage. Maitimo continued seemingly unperturbed, yet stroking Findekáno's arm in sympathy, "Seriously, it will not be like that at all. We will be together a great deal of the time. We will stay with one another on a regular basis; I give you my word. I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me. We will make that a fixed part of how we arrange our lives--a year here, a year there. And I'm sure we'll necessarily go on campaigns together." As he listened, Findekáno shook his head in disbelief, while simultaneously memorizing every promise being made in order to recite them back to Maitimo in future arguments. He only hoped that some small part of Maitimo's projection that they could be together for a significant part of their lives would be true.

"I love that last part. That will be agreeable. Scouting around the edges of what we control; slaughtering a few orcs now and again. Cooking in the open air. A bit like those camping trips Tyelkormo used to take us all on in Valinor I suspect."

"Don't be snide. We are fortunate to have found one another again. You are supposed to be the strong one, Káno. I'm the crippled, half-mad one with the nightmares. Remember?" Maitimo's lips formed an acrid smile.

"I'd like to kick your crippled arse. Fine. I suppose then I should stay here with Atar until things are well established before I stake out my own vast forlorn area between you and him. Except for those camping trips--campaigns you called them--and, of course, the occasional lovers' tryst with you on those bleak rocks." Maitimo cuffed him on the side of his jaw and then leaned forward to get a kiss in return.

"Your lips," Maitimo said. "I could write a poem about them--the shape, the texture, the color, the taste." Findekáno grinned and blushed, aware he looked utterly besotted in the most foolishly stereotypical manner.

"Ingo says he wants to seek out his uncle, Elwë, King of the Sindar, recognized even here, although they have little to no contact with him in these parts," Maitimo continued, raising his eyebrows in expectation of an opinion from Findekáno.

"Well, we will talk him into letting one of his brothers do that for him. It is not a bad idea at all, although it should be conducted with caution. But there is too much to sort out here right now for him to go on a quest. We have no idea how far it is or how long it will take. Let's hope you don't find the need to go rushing off somewhere on the basis of a rumor as soon as you are able to ride," Findekáno grumbled.

"You are right about Findaráto. And, no--I will not. Our strategy is to build strength and stability first. No more suicidal forays, my love. Your extravagant rescue of me was the last of those for a long, long while."

"It was actually rather brilliant, if I have to say so myself, although that aspect of it was accidental. The new light and our arrival coinciding with it must be as puzzling to Morgoth as it is to us. As unwelcome to him as it was fortuitous for us. And I am quite sure that I, for one, look smarter to him than I am," Findekáno said.

"And better connected, which is good for all of us. Thorondor's arrival was a stunning detail. It was a small dim victory for us but a significant one. He lost me, which surely rankles, and getting me back cost us nothing but a few scratches and bruises on your part. Oh, and your fine cloak ruined by my blood, of course."

Findekáno flinched. And a hand. He tried to cover his reaction by scratching his nose, shrugging his shoulders, and then saying, "Holding you in my arms now, it does not seem small or dim. It seems enormous and bright. Like a bright new day."

"There's your exaggeration again," Maitimo interrupted him to say but with a warm look and voice rough with affection.

"A chance to begin anew." Findekáno laughed and tried to make a jest, unconvincing though it might be. "Just like your father promised us: our deeds shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda."

"Not exactly, perhaps. Although, if they were to be, my love, your stunt would seem to be the first on the list of those." Maitimo said, chuckling. "But I will take what we have gratefully. As long as I know that I have you I can face whatever lies before us."

"I'm here. Always and forever. Even if we are separated by time or distance, you may be sure that I am yours and will always return to you at the first possible opportunity. Unfortunately, I suspect I am going to spend a lot of time on horseback. But I'm not in the habit of the repeating the same stupid mistakes. I rather tend to invent new and different ones."

"Don't whine, sweetheart. It's unbecoming in such a gallant champion. And, don't always be so competitive. I think of the two us I rather have the corner on spectacular mistakes."

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks again to Dawn Felagund and IgnobleBard for endless support and patient Beta work.

The Games They Played

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Findekáno sprawled on the grass, his back against a large shade tree, with a handsomely carved and intricately inlaid miniature harp in his hands. Artanis and Irissë sat with Maitimo at a table arranged in front of the tree. The midsummer morning had been hot and bright, but the afternoon had turned cooler. Each gust of the light wind off the Lake lifted random wisps of Irissë's thick, but fine-as-silk, dark hair and blew them across her face. Findekáno noticed that in contrast Artanis's hair, heavy, golden and touched with silver, coarser and curly like Maitimo's, appeared nearly unaffected by the breeze.

Consciously attempting to look abstracted from the discussion of the others and the small battle playing out before him, Findekáno closely observed each member of the small grouping. But he did not bother to hide the smile that flitted across his face as he watched Maitimo reach out to move a red horse on the game board. The ruby-colored piece glittered in the sunlight, appearing not to be made of glass but of precious stone. Maitimo gave a triumphant glance at Artanis, ill-concealed behind an insincerely sweet smile. The opaque pale blue figurines piled haphazardly in front of Maitimo made a lovely contrast to glittering, miniature, scarlet lords, ladies and horses still triumphantly aligned on the board.

The cousins had chosen a large old tree as the site of their impromptu gathering for its proximity to the open tent that served for the time being as the home of Maitimo and Findekáno. Maitimo remained under the care of the healers for rehabilitation and treatment and would for at least a few weeks more. After that he had determined to train a while longer with Findekáno and complete some significant negotiations with Nolofinwë before joining his brothers on the far side of the Lake, possibly sometime around the first snow. Findekáno dreaded the parting. He consoled himself that at least for the foreseeable future, even after Maitimo returned to his brothers' encampment, he would be no more than a matter of hours away--a day or a bit more by horseback or a few of hours across the Lake by boat.

Artanis sighed and turned sharply to Findekáno. "Káno, is there something amiss with that instrument?" she asked.

"Indeed not. It's a marvelous harp, crafted by Macalaurë's favorite maker in Tirion. He gave it to me to replace the far inferior one that I lost when . . . that I lost. A princely gift indeed."

"A bargain for the return of his king and favorite brother," Artanis said, while Findekáno shook his head in disbelief at her audacity. He let her remark pass without comment. Findekáno had determined, before the women arrived, that he would not quarrel with his cousin. Artanis continued heedlessly on, "So, then, stop your annoying tuning of that harp and play us something."

Findekáno released, with a dramatic flourish, a single rousing chord and shot her a challenging grin, before resuming his seemingly random plucking.

Irissë laughed, tossing her loose hair back and refastening a golden clasp to hold it more securely in the rising wind. "Don't be such a sore loser, darling. Victory never comes to the faint-hearted."

"I am not faint-hearted. He is careless, reckless and rash! Hence completely unpredictable," Artanis said, poking a finger into Maitimo's chest.

"Possibly, but not in this game," Maitimo drawled, with a slow dangerous smile, grabbing her finger and holding onto it for a moment. "Would you like to try again? I'll give you the first move."

"I have had enough. I'm at least bright enough to know when to stop. Have I ever bested you?"

"A few times. But never in this game."

Artanis allowed herself to laugh. "I concede to your superior strategy--in board games that is. But, let's stop feeling sorry for me and talk about something else. I am considering going with Aikanáro to seek out our grandfather's brother, Elwe Singollo or Elu Thingol they call him. I rather like the sound of that." she said. "Thingol," she repeated, slightly overemphasizing the initial consonants Findekáno thought. He had recently had been concentrating on improving his own pronunciation to circumvent Maitimo's teasing.
 
"You must not go this time around. Perhaps, you could go on the next trip, after we know the route and its conditions. When Ingo goes," Maitimo asserted. Findekáno winced at the thought of what a prize his elegant cousin would make for the Dark Lord's minions if something were to go wrong. Her bearing and looks might draw attention that even her considerable skill with arms and the earnestness of her defenders would be hard-pressed to repulse.
 
"You are not my king, Nelyafinwë. I do not answer to you. I merely informed you of a thought I entertained," Artanis answered.

"Indeed. Ask Nolofinwë who is king," Maitimo said. His grin was completely wicked.

"Pftt. I don't care what he thinks either. Did we not come here to get away from masters? From begging permission for our every move?" Artanis asked. "I suspect that is why Uncle does not challenge you. Because he intends to do as he pleases in any case."

"Perhaps he does not challenge me because I am not my father or out of respect for Grandfather Finwë. He certainly watches and waits to see what I will do next and I respect that. He appreciates the need for unity. Our uncle does not wish unnecessary strife."

Dark clouds moving quickly replaced the soft white ones that had been drifting slowly overhead. Maitimo returned the red and blue markers to their wooden box, shoved it under his arm, and picked up the game board. Findekáno stretched his legs, stood, threw the small harp over his shoulder by its leather strap, and approached the table.

"I think we should move inside unless we want to get soaked. I will make tea and I can offer you some tolerable wine," Findekáno said, motioning to them that he intended to pick up the table.

"Everyone grab a chair. I'll help you with the food, Káno, but I want mine with wine. They always have treats," Irissë said turning to Artanis. "He is still trying to fatten up Maitimo. Although it looks like he should stop soon or he will have gone too far." Irissë puffed out her cheeks and reached up to pat Maitimo on his lean jaw.

"Well . . ." Artanis responded.

Irissë stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Come along. I'll protect you from these big brutes. I'm starving and I predict there will be butter, cream and jam, bread and cakes, cheese and fruit, perhaps even some cold roast chicken. Am I right, Káno?"

"You know you are." Findekáno held out his hand palm up, after being hit on the forehand by a single drop of water. "Here it comes."

"Yes, Artanis. I insist," Maitimo said. "I want to continue the discussion you began. Not the one about your proposed trip--I hope your own better judgment will convince you I am right about that--but the one about the necessity and function of leadership."

"Fine," said Artanis. "I am certain that will be fascinating." Knowing well how Artanis hated to be contradicted, Findekáno assumed she was nearly grinding her teeth from the effort to control her irritation. She finally succumbed to a breathy laugh at Findekáno's successful attempt to capture her gaze with a wide-eyed innocent smile.

The downpour hit, forcing a tumbling, undignified entrance into the tent, accompanied by much laughter and the shaking of rain from their hair and clothing. Everyone pitched in to set the table for tea. The table was a long, heavy rustic affair of which Findekáno was inordinately proud. It seemed to fit this rough, austere land and yet still served its purpose admirably, encouraging one to linger, leaning upon it while seated in one of broad low chairs that flanked it.

The inside of tent was large, high and airy. Battle flags with the heraldry of both Maitimo and Findekáno hung from a support near the back--one blue and silver and the other scarlet and gold. The oversized, carved wooden bed that Findekáno had commissioned stood partially concealed by a curtain to the back and side of them. A large writing desk and shelving stacked with books and rolls of parchment partitioned off one area and partially hid an impressive array of armour, bejeweled helms, shields, swords and pikes. The overall impression was one of simple comfort based solidly upon the gleanings from a sumptuous past. Findekáno looked to Artanis to see what she would think of their accommodations.

"The two of you have made this tent look so handsome! It far more pleasing than the house my brothers and I share or even that of Uncle Nolofinwë." Artanis blushed. Most likely, Findekáno thought, at the astonishment she had revealed in her exclamation. Artanis did not like to divulge surprise at anything.

"Thank you. We wanted it to be comfortable. Although, of course, it is only temporary. Maitimo won't be here long," Findekáno said with a sigh.

Maitimo, fussing with the nearby metal camp stove and putting a teakettle on to boil, reached out and stroked Findekáno's cheek with the back of his hand. "I can take no credit. Findekáno did everything," he said.

Artanis looked at Maitimo and said, in a softer voice, "I am happy to imagine you here. More than you may think. I don't mean you to assume I do not love the two of you or wish you to be happy. I only feel that we want such different things."

"Not as different as you may think, Artanis," Maitimo responded, his eyes wide and serious. "We desire first the peace and security of our people and that of the Moriquendi we have found here. All other concerns must come later. Surely you would agree with that."

Irissë turned to Findekáno with a sly wink. "Yes, I'll drink to that. Now where are you hiding the wine, sweet brother?"

They had barely settled down at the table to the rumbles and claps of thunder and the beating of rain upon the thick canvas above them, when a loud, utterly recognizable whistle sounded at the entrance of the tent.

"Anyone in there? Findekáno, open this thing up. It's tied shut and we're getting soaked."

Maitimo laughed. Findekáno shrugged, pushing his chair back and heading toward the sounds of the voice, not in the least unhappy to forego the predictable--pointless he thought--argument between Artanis and Maitimo.

Only Findekáno, Macalaurë, and Findaráto were aware that Maitimo intended to relinquish his claim to Kingship of the Noldor to Nolofinwë. Findekáno found it annoying when Maitimo seemed to enjoy playing games based upon their ignorance of his decision. He feared Maitimo underestimated the resentment of Artanis and Turukáno, not to mention their shrewdness and ambition.

Maitimo insisted he did it with a purpose--to mislead. He did not want anyone to know of his decision before his brothers, whose legacy and birthright he intended to renounce. Findekáno understood and completely supported Maitimo's choice of abdication, but it pained him. He carefully concealed the anguish he felt when he considered how Maitimo, in better times and before the oath, would have made such an admirable king.

Findekáno opened the flap to admit two tall redheaded elves, who grinned at the others, while dripping copious amounts on water onto the richly woven rug just inside of the doorway.

"Telvo, Pityo, come in out of the rain. Let me close this again before everyone gets wet," Findekáno said.

"Is Irissë here?" Telufinwë asked. "Ai, there you are, you wicked girl. We've brought the sweetest thing for you. Well, not for you exactly, but for your niece. Have any more glasses, Káno? We wouldn't turn down an offer of some of that wine you're having."

Pityafinwë smirked. "Hullo, Artanis."

"Artanis, how lovely to find you here," said Telufinwë.

There were times when Findekáno warmly appreciated the cheeky Ambarussa, like when he yearned to see Artanis knocked down a peg or two.

"Hello to both of you," Artanis answered, with a studied avoidance of showing either ill will or enthusiasm.

"Nelyo, you are looking well," Telufinwë said. "Isn't he, Pityo?"

"Absolutely stunning in his splendor," his twin answered.

"The two of you look like drowned rats," Maitimo said, leaving the table to return with two more wine glasses. "Now, please, move off of Káno's favorite rug. Take off your boots, and get rid of some of those wet clothes. Hang your cloaks on that rack near the fire."
 
"Ai, Maitimo, you make me sound like a fussy housewife. That rug has seen water and far worse before," Findekáno said, irritated. Maitimo worried so about protecting him that he even extended his defensiveness to his belongings, as though he owed him something, a debt that could never be repaid.

"Have you eaten?" Findekáno asked.

"We stopped at a quaint Sindarin vendor selling some sort of mystery roast beast or fowl on a skewer--gamy, but well-cooked, and moderately well-seasoned. Could have used a bit less salt though. Wine would be perfect right now," Pityafinwë said. Irissë, meanwhile, had approached the twins and was helping them shed capes and boots, heedless of the water and mud splattering onto her elegantly embroidered, white summer dress.

"Did you ever notice how Fëanáro's sons have to pass judgment on everything they see, hear or eat in tedious detail?" asked Irissë, her voice warm with affection.

Telufinwë, ruffling her hair with dripping fingers, interrupted her to continue. "We stopped right before the storm broke. Then we went directly to Nolofinwë's place with our surprise. Spoke to Turukáno. Left the poor, unappreciated creature with some of his men and headed over here. Insufferable prig your brother is."

"He informed us that he couldn't accept the gift without clearing it with Irissë first. Says she has taken charge of such minor details concerning Itarillë now," Pityafinwë said, giving Irissë a clumsy hug around the shoulders and a kiss on the cheek. "Said we'd find you here." Then he added "as usual" in a mincing, pinched tone. And laughed uproariously at himself, joined by Telufinwë.

"Minor details! Ungrateful sod. Just wait until you see him. He is the prettiest little thing you ever have seen. Warm-blooded and gentle but intelligent. We surely never saw anything like him before," Telufinwë said.

"Yes,"  Findekáno said. "We are all aware that my brother has no tact. Now please sit down and quit babbling incoherently and tell us what you are talking about." 

Maitimo added, "I've deduced the pretty he you refer to is not Turukáno but is this precious gift, which I presume is a member of the animal kingdom and suitable for a young girl--at least in the eyes of some whose judgment is all too often questionable." Artanis lost the battle she fought to maintain her look of cool disinterest and laughed. Findekáno caught Artanis's eye and smiled pleasantly. She slapped him on the arm.

Telufinwë said, "It's a horse."

"A horse?" asked Irissë, wrinkling her forehead in doubt as she slid into her seat again, hastily cleaning her hands on a napkin she had indelicately dunked in her water glass.

"Well, actually, more of a pony," said Pityafinwë.

"But finer-boned, longer-legged than a regular pony," added Telufinwë. "Better temperament than a pony too."

"Still much smaller than a horse," Pityafinwë said.

"But fully grown we were told," said Telufinwë.

"He had a matching brother. We acquired the two of them from a Sindarin trader," said Pityafinwë. "Swapped an ordinary horse for them."

"Far superior to an ordinary horse," Telufinwë insisted. "We traded a magnificent horse for the two so-called ponies. We gave one to Tyelpo--Curvo seemed appreciative--and we thought the other would be perfect for Itarillë."

Findekáno exchanged a glance with Maitimo, whose bright grey eyes glittered with amusement. It made Findekáno happy to see Maitimo distracted by his brothers' antics. Two-at-a-time were perfect, more than two was chaos. And he wanted to speak to Maitimo before he attempted any further engagement with Artanis. Findekáno knew her far better than Maitimo did. He thought that Maitimo still thought of her as the more malleable young women they had known before the years of the Fëanorians' banishment to Formenos and her long trek across the Helcaraxë.

Findekáno had dreaded that Maitimo and Artanis would have argued throughout the late afternoon and into the early evening, causing him to drink far too much wine, as he often did when Maitimo was upset, and ended with neither of his cousins having changed the other's mind one jot. The fortuitous arrival of Maitimo's brothers interrupted this probable scenario.

"Oh, I want to see him now!" Irissë said, clapping her hands and jumping up. "He sounds wonderful."

Pityafinwë let out a whinny of a laugh, causing Findekáno to startle at its shrillness. "I adore you, Irissë! But there's a bloody thunderstorm outside the likes of which would send Oromë running for cover," Pityafinwë said.

* * * *

On a grassy hillock looking down upon the expansive tent belonging to Findekáno, Tadiel the master healer's female apprentice rested with another young Sindarin woman. Tadiel watched the laughing group assembled around a table in front of a maple tree. The four kinsmen gave every appearance of relaxed, companionable sociability. She could not help but wonder in what ways these women differed from the ones she had known at the court of Thingol and Melian in Menegroth. They seemed easy and relaxed with one another, but perhaps that was because they were among family. Although she had heard rumors that the family of Finwë were a law unto themselves and did not necessarily present a reflection of the Golodhrim as a whole. Listening to the clear peals of laughter from the lively dark-haired woman, Tadiel noticed that the slightly taller blond held her shoulders more stiffly and spoke less frequently in a deeper, huskier voice.

Findekáno tinkered idly with a small hand harp. She had heard him play before and sing--he had a true, strong voice--but he appeared disinclined to do so that day. Maitimo looked well to her. He grew stronger with a rapidity that puzzled even Master Pilimor, who speculated that Maitimo's remarkable recovery was likely to be based upon two factors: the unnatural strength and resiliency of those who had arrived unexpectedly from the West and Maitimo's own unquenchable spirit, which had somehow survived torture and imprisonment in Angband. Tadiel had observed for the last several weeks, from a window of the Healing House, Maitimo training daily in swordplay with Findekáno. She noted that recently Findekáno exerted considerable effort in continuing to best his cousin. The two of them sparring, sometimes shirtless, was a sight to enrich any maiden's fantasy life, she thought with chagrin.

"So, Tadiel, tell me which of those two deliciously attractive lachenn lords has captured your heart. Your face gives away your infatuation," said her friend.

A rigid clench of the jaw replaced Tadiel's wistful half-smile. She decided against commenting that she disliked the pejorative use of the term lachenn. The light in their eyes never failed to enchant her. "I have no idea what you are talking about. And even if I were interested, I highly doubt that either would spare a thought for a tall, thin, Sindarin woman with mousy brown hair who does nothing but work."

"But the Golodhrim women are all tall and slim. Men like a woman who has acquired knowledge and skill."

"Of course, I am interested in and fond of both of them but not in the way that you imply. They are great lords of their people, intelligent and affable. I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to know them," she answered. "In any case, neither of them is free."

"Ai. The lovely ladies below are their sweethearts?"

"Nay, those two are close kin. One is Prince Findekáno's sister, the other is a cousin."

"So where are these women to whom they have bound or promised themselves? Those are the only two Golodhrim women of their station that I have seen about. The lords seem to spend most of their time with one another. Oh, my. You aren't saying that they are . . ."

"I am saying nothing. I may not speak of anything that I have encountered in course of carrying out my duties as a healer. I am bound by an oath of confidentiality." Tadiel's face colored. She cursed herself for her remarks. Her friend was no lackwit and Tadiel's hasty protestations, followed by a blush, would provide more than enough evidence for her to guess what Tadiel refused to tell.

* * * *

The storms of the day before had fled, leaving a cloudless, bright blue sky. The cool breeze off Lake Mithrim tempered the heat of the midday sun. Irissë had perched herself atop the rough-hewn fence that separated the paddock from the remainder of the open area in the middle of the settlement. She alternated between observing Maitimo and Itarillë, who stood next to a pony in the center of the paddock, and listening to Turukáno and Findekáno. Her brothers leaned against the fence, elbows bent, long legs stretched out before them. So alike physically and yet so different in temperament, she mused. Their uneasy attempt at collaboration on behalf of her niece intrigued and amused her.

"He is the arguably the best rider of the entire family. And he taught me to ride," Findekáno said, with the ironic tone he was wont to use with his brother.

"Humph. I can't deny that you turned out to be an extraordinarily accomplished horseman. But Atar has always claimed that Fëanáro taught you," Turukáno said.

"Uncle Fëanáro left me almost entirely in Maitimo's hands."

"Ha. Would that either of them had known then where that would lead," said Turukáno. Irissë and Findekáno erupted into involuntary laughter. Maitimo and Itarillë turned and looked over toward them smiling. Itarillë, dancing in place and looking up with her eyes fixed upon his face, clearly liked her handsome, redheaded kinsman, heretofore a stranger to her. Turukáno smiled stiffly and waved at his daughter. Glancing back at Findekáno, he gave him a warning shake of the head that was not entirely without affection.

"Well, I don't have to like him, even though he may hold the reputation of being good with children and horses," Turukáno continued. Irissë and Findekáno released another laugh.

Turukáno pushed himself away from the fence. "Since you are clearly enjoying this, I leave the whole affair to the two of you."

"Later, then," Findekáno said, folding his arms across his chest, focusing upon the man, the girl and the pony in the paddock.

"Atto, are you leaving?" Itarillë called out, running to her father.

"Yes, sweetheart. I have work I should be doing. I am told you have a most capable instructor."

"Thank you for letting him teach me to ride. He explains everything so well," the little girl said. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she asked, "May I call him Uncle Russandol?"

"You can call him whatever you please. But accurately speaking he is a cousin not an uncle."

"I want call him uncle. I have so many cousins and only one other uncle."

"Run along then. And listen carefully to what he tells to you. Your Uncle Findekáno says he quite the expert at teaching children to ride well."

"Yes, Atto. I promise to listen."
 
She raced back to Maitimo, yellow hair flying behind her, shouting, "I'm ready now!" When she reached Maitimo, he dropped to one knee before her. He grasped a handful of tangled sunlit curls, twisted them into one long thick tail, holding it precariously atop her head with his stump while he worked a small leather helmet over it, securing most of the hair inside.

"Thank you, Káno," Turukáno said.

"Nonsense. It gives me the greatest pleasure," Findekáno said. He leaned forward, grasped Turukáno's arm and slapped him on the back.

After Turukáno had walked away, Findekáno allowed his face to soften into wistfulness. "He used to braid my hair so tightly before a riding lesson that it hurt. But it lasted through the following day."

"Shall I go over and offer to braid her hair?" Irissë asked.

"Please don't. He doesn't like to be helped."

* * * *

Names: Quenya – Sindarin
Findekáno/Káno - Fingon
Maitimo/Nelyafinwë/Nelyo/Russandol - Maedhros
Artanis - Galadriel
Irissë - Aredhel
Pityo/Pityafinwë - Amrod
Telvo/Telufinwë - Amras
Turukáno – Turgon
Itarillë - Idril

Other - Lachenn - Flame-eyed; Sindarin descriptive word for the Noldorin exiles.

 

An Intimate Dinner

Read An Intimate Dinner

 

"Who else is going to be at this dinner with your father?" Maitimo asked, as he stood barefoot, clad only in leggings, hanging a towel on the rack near the wardrobe. Findekáno thought that the heightened color in Maitimo's cheeks, fresh from a hot bath, made him appear as young and vital as he ever had looked in Tirion. Maitimo's wavy hair reached past his shoulders again. A few damp wayward strands clung to his forehead and cheek.

Findekáno had appraised his own reflection, glancing at himself in the long mirror a few moments earlier. He still wore a large towel twisted low on his hips. Findekáno had taken the time to plait a few golden cords into the handful of loose braids that hung on each side, serving a purely ornamental rather than any practical purpose. Over the years, Maitimo repeatedly had made it clear how that particular look never failed to move him. Findekáno did not think of himself as vain in the abstract, but he did admit to expedience--he was concerned that he appear attractive to Maitimo.

"He only invited Findaráto, you and me. Not having second thoughts, are you?" Findekáno said with a grin. He knew that Maitimo was as prepared as he would ever be to announce his intentions to Nolofinwë. They had discussed every detail endlessly for the last several weeks. Findekáno's only remaining concern was that Maitimo should feel relaxed and confident. 

"Please be serious for once," Maitimo said, narrowing his eyes and sticking out his lower lip. 

"If you want me to be serious, you should not do that with your mouth. You know very well how that affects me." Findekáno grabbed him and teased the enticing lip between his teeth. He had wanted to calm Maitimo down. Although his ploy did not succeed, he did manage to take their minds off both the dinner with Nolofinwë and the future of the Noldor for a few minutes at least. They, not surprisingly, ended up in a slow, passionate kiss, which resulted in them flopping onto the bed. Maitimo, initially pinned down against the mattress, deftly rolled Findekáno onto to his back and straddled him. Findekáno found himself flushed and breathless and painfully hard, when Maitimo preemptively pulled himself out of the tangle of their intertwined arms and legs to stand. How did Maitimo shift from seduced to seducer and back again so fast?

"We're not late yet," Findekáno protested, making one final, less than whole-hearted effort to haul Maitimo down onto the bed again.

"You're impossible," Maitimo said, easily evading him, no longer pensive but laughing. "I am ready to talk to him. I only wanted to confirm it would be just the four of us. I am not the least bit uneasy about speaking with your father."

Maitimo met Findekáno's eyes, with self-effacing shrug tempered by a small grin. "No, that is not true. You are right. I am overwrought about speaking with Nolofinwë; but I am not uncomfortable about what I have to say. Yet, he could refuse to accept my offer, say I am nothing but a pretender. It is essential for me to give the kingship to Nolofinwë publicly, and to have him accept it from me, if I am to be able to bring my people along with me. Tomorrow I will talk to my brothers, when they stop here to clean up before we go to Nolofinwë's begetting day feast. They may not all like it, but they will do as I say."

Findekáno watched the cascade of emotions falling across Maitimo's features. I would take all of his hidden dread and guilt upon myself if I could but wash away the darkness once and for all. Findekáno knew that he always gave love unquestioning, even forgiveness for imagined wrongs, because Maitimo asked it of him not because he believed there was anything to forgive. At times, Maitimo needed simple physical warmth and in other instances emotional refuge, but Findekáno thought, at that exact moment, what he could offer that would be most useful would be humor.

"Am I required to be present for that little chat with your brothers?" Findekáno said, his tone showing he was playing for a laugh. Actually, he didn't know whether he wanted to grin or curse at the thought of the potential volume and heat of that discussion. He did study Maitimo's face for any further signs of nervousness. Most of all, Findekáno wished to see him smile.

Lifting an eyebrow, while looking down at his leggings, Maitimo granted him a minimal smile and asked, "Would my green tunic look well with these trousers?"

"Forget the tunic for now. In fact, better yet, get rid of the trousers." Findekáno gripped Maitimo's thigh, moving one hand up closer to his crotch.

Maitimo moved out of Findekáno's reach, with a slightly deeper smile reaching his silver-grey eyes. "We should not be late at all. It would be not only rude but also impolitic to leave your father waiting. Better to be early, in fact." Findekáno shook his head in a gesture of chagrined acquiescence. He knew his likelihood of success had been slim in light of the urgency his lover attached to the upcoming meeting and his obvious nervous tension.

Stooping to open a large chest at the foot of the bed, Maitimo pulled out a wooden box and removed a silk-wrapped bundle. Unwinding the cloth, he put aside a finely crafted, simple mithril diadem, exquisite in its lines beyond any shift of fashion or taste. Findekáno recognized it as Fëanáro's. The next layer revealed the gold diadem of similar design he had seen Maitimo wear many times. Beneath it was a heavier golden crown, antique in style and more ornate, encrusted with gems. Findekáno audibly took in air.

"Grandfather Finwë's crown?" Findekáno said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I had not realized that it had been salvaged."

"When we returned to the house in Formenos and discovered Grandfather, the treasury and all of its safes had been ransacked, smashed and ruined. We found nothing of any value when we rummaged through the wreckage. But Grandfather always kept the crown in his own bedroom--unlocked and unprotected. That was how it survived," Maitimo said, looking up to meet Findekáno's eyes.

"Are you wearing it tonight?" Findekáno asked, certain his doubt at the wisdom of that showed in his voice.

"No. I won't be it needing it tonight, but tomorrow for the begetting day feast. Then I will remove it and publicly present it to Uncle Nolofinwë. Do you think that is too dramatic? Not silly?" Maitimo shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed, in need of reassurance.

"It is dramatic but hardly silly; effective would be more the word. Actually, I might say brilliant."

"It will be the only time that I will have worn it," Maitimo said, without a hint of self-pity but rather a tinge of wistfulness in his voice. "Did I ever tell you that I always suspected Grandfather would relinquish his kingship at some point to devote himself to Indis, his children and grandchildren?  I also fully expected Atar would grow bored quickly with the tedium of the administrative details and either pass the kingship directly to me or at very least the day-to-day responsibilities. My entire life I tried to prepare myself to be worthy of that burden. Being my father's heir, the oldest grandson, meant something to me."

"You didn't have to tell me, love." Findekáno placed a comforting arm around his shoulder. "I saw it in your determination to work in the court in Tirion with Atar and Grandfather, even risking the disapproval of Uncle Fëanáro. I was proud of your decision then and the choice you make now."

Maitimo took Findekáno's chin in his hand and dropped a light kiss on his forehead. "And surely it has occurred to you as well that life here can be short and harsh. And war, however long we are able to postpone it, is inevitable. It comforts me to think of you as Nolofinwë's heir. I know you can temper your rashness, turn your boldness into an asset."

Findekáno sighed, hearing the aching sadness in his own voice when he said, "You would have made a truly great king."

"Don't," Maitimo said, no doubt seeing the wretchedness manifested in Findekáno's face. Findekáno drew Maitimo into his arms, hid his face on Maitimo's shoulder, and said nothing. He did not trust his ability to conceal his emotions evoked by the raw desolation he felt at the pain Maitimo had suffered and would continue to endure and, now, the relinquishment of his youthful dreams.

"What is done cannot be undone," Maitimo finally said, his voice soft and soothing, his breath warm on Findekáno's neck. Maitimo's earnest expression of the uncharacteristic platitude touched Findekáno's sense of humor, never far beneath the surface, even at such moments.

Findekáno responded with mock tragedy. "The past is the past." Maitimo snorted and squeezed Findekáno's rump.

"What would I do without you?" Maitimo asked.

"Be entirely too serious, no doubt."
                                                                                           
"Do not worry so for me, love," Maitimo said. "I am well. Truly I am. We are alive and will be a good while longer, with any luck at all. We are together and tomorrow I do the right thing. We are in the best of all possible situations for us at the moment." One of the tears that Findekáno had fought to control, he had believed successfully, rebelliously slid down his cheek. Maitimo brushed the tear away with his thumb, at last giving Findekáno the smile he had wanted, although considerably less brilliant than he had hoped it would be. "Where are Turukáno and Irissë?"

Findekáno answered, "When I spoke with Atar, I told him that we needed to speak with him in confidence. He assured me that he would instruct my brother and sister to make themselves scarce. They also have details to attend to for the celebration tomorrow."

§0§0§0§0§

When Maitimo and Findekáno arrived at Nolofinwë's house, Findaráto greeted them with rough bear hugs before returning to lounging against the large fireplace, unlit on that evening, which was not cool enough to permit a fire without overheating the spacious but low-ceilinged room. One of the largest of the buildings in the compound, slightly bigger than the Healing House and not nearly as large as the stables or the storage facility located at the dock on the Lake, Nolofinwë had made the lodging uniquely his own. He had surrounded himself with furnishings he had brought with him or had commissioned in the style of the home he had left behind.

"So, this is the moment," Findaráto said to Maitimo under his breath, shifting gentle, sympathetic eyes from one of his cousins to the other.  

Nolofinwë met his eldest son with a warm hug and kiss. Only someone who knew Nolofinwë well would have noted that he appeared subtly more reticent in his greeting of Maitimo. Nolofinwë showed none of the signs of tension he had whenever, in that other world, he met to have dinner with Fëanáro. Yet, despite Nolofinwë's smooth, gracious manner, his father appeared to Findekáno as though he believed he might not like what they had come to discuss with him.

Unlike Findekáno's large, rough table, the one in Nolofinwë's dining room was made of polished, gleaming wood, with finely carved legs. A long runner of blue brocade embellished in silver, elegant table settings, and crystal wine glasses gave it a look reminiscent of Nolofinwë's house in Tirion. The rough-hewn supports in the ceiling and walls and the narrow, shuttered windows detracted from that image--not to mention the lack of Anairë's[1] presence at the end of the table.

"Would you like a drink before we sit down?" Nolofinwë offered.

"I'd gladly accept one," Findekáno said, grinning.

"I knew you would. I was actually asking Nelyafinwë," his father answered with an indulgent smile, handing Findekáno a glass he had already poured.

"Yes, please," said Maitimo. "I think I can safely assume what you offer is far superior to that execrable swill Tyelkormo and Macalaurë persist in drinking."

"It certainly is--native brew though. What we carried with us long ago disappeared. Findaráto, can I freshen your drink?"

"No thank you, Uncle," Findaráto answered, approaching the others standing near the table.

"Shall we sit down?" Nolofinwë asked. "I do not want you to overstrain yourself, Russandol."

"He's not exactly a tottering invalid," Findekáno answered, noticing his own defensiveness too late. Maitimo poked him discreetly in the back. Findekáno turned and squinted testily at Maitimo only to receive a bland smile in return. "Sorry, Atar. He gets cross with me when I try to look out for him."

"I appreciate your concern, Uncle Nolofinwë. I do give Káno a difficult time. I'm unbearably irritable with him when I get overtired and am worse when he tries to make me take things slower," Maitimo said.

"I have watched the two of you sparring. In fact, it's become quite the popular spectator sport around here these days. Everyone observes your progress with great interest. I have heard there are bets being made on how long it will be before you take him," Nolofinwë said, rolling his eyes in warning at Findekáno to indicate that that he would not appreciate him interrupting with any licentious remarks. Findaráto caught the exchange and grinned roguishly, which Nolofinwë completely missed.

"I haven't entered a bet but neither have I shared my opinion that the two of you always were evenly matched. What do you think, Findaráto?" Nolofinwë asked.

Findaráto took his chair with his usual languid grace and answered, pale blue eyes lighting up with mischief, "I would not presume to speculate upon the intimate details of Káno's relationship with Russandol."

Nolofinwë sighed with uncharacteristically self-deprecating good nature. "I fear it will be a long evening for me if the three of you persist in making me the butt of all of your jokes. My understanding was that this intimate family dinner is, in fact, an undeclared formal meeting among the Houses of Fëanáro and Nolofinwë. Also, that you have insisted upon Findaráto's presence as the eldest representative of the House of Arafinwë on this side of the sea."

Findaráto said, "Yes, Uncle, that is a fair assessment of our conception of this meeting. Would you not agree, cousins?" Maitimo and Findekáno nodded.

Nolofinwë showed a small smile, barely more than a slight upturning of the corners of his mouth, before continuing. "And I need not ask why you are here Káno, it goes without saying that Russandol has discussed the politics of the division of the Noldor and every other aspect of our survival in this land ceaselessly with you since you returned to this encampment with him."

"I think one could fairly say that he has been rather single-minded," Findekáno answered. He touched the top of Maitimo's hand, which rested on the table.

"I presume the absence of your siblings indicates that the three of you want to ensure a situation where there can be discussion, perhaps negotiation even, without breaking down into the usual Finwëan family bickering," Nolofinwë said, his tone dry, but his eyes sparkling with wit.

Findekáno felt that his father had gradually undergone a change since he had left Tirion, showing more humor and less evasion or guardedness. This was particularly notable under the circumstances, which on the surface ought not to have been conducive to such an alteration in his behavior. For the first time it occurred to Findekáno that perhaps the Nolofinwë he had always known might have been, at his core, more like him in temperament than he had ever imagined. Perhaps the years of family strife, competition, envy and jealousy had squashed those characteristics in Nolofinwë's youth. He felt a sudden tenderness toward his father unlike any he had experienced since he was a child.

"Russandol, I forgave you long ago the first grudge I held against you, the young man I thought had seduced--perverted I think was the regrettable word I once used--my son and heir," Nolofinwë said, with a hoarse laugh. "But we all learned soon enough who had been the pursuer and who had been pursued. Now once again he has tracked you down and brought you back to us. For that I am most grateful."

Maitimo gave Nolofinwë his most winning smile. "Ai, Uncle, I doubt that I deserved your forgiveness. I loved him in our youth as much or more than he loved me. One might say that we were touched by the same fire. If he had been less aggressive I might have chosen to wait, if it all, only until he was a bit older," Maitimo said.  

Everyone took their seats with Findaráto and Maitimo on either side of Nolofinwë and Findekáno next to Maitimo. Findekáno noticed that Nolofinwë's trusted valet placed the soup bowls in front of each of them and refilled their water glasses, the usual flurry of servants about the table being conspicuously absent.
 
"Conceivably. Do you think you would have had the imagination, the audacity? You were impulsive even then, but ambitious," Nolofinwë said. "Well, we will never know if you would have acted or not. But since I have been wrong in my assessment of you before, I am more than willing to reserve judgment and listen to you now. I have seen elements of Fëanáro's brittle brilliance in you but I also have seen a reflection of my own father's temperance and wisdom. What have you come here to propose?" Nolofinwë asked.

Findaráto cleared his throat. "We have discussed at length among ourselves what our next move should be. It was not that we did not trust you, but Russandol needed our counsel when he first started thinking about his options. The decision he wanted to make weighed heavily upon him and he wanted our opinion before he spoke with you. I suppose I was included because of my love for them both and my reputation of being unbiased."

With Findaráto's nearly shy smile, Findekáno realized that, despite his cousin's generous, honest temperament, he could compete in the exercise of diplomacy with the best.

Findaráto directed himself to Nolofinwë, his deep voice soft with affection and sincerity,  "Aside from the three of us, only Macalaurë knows the content of what Russandol wants to propose to you tonight."

Maitimo spoke up. "The fact is, Uncle, that I felt unsure of my own powers of analysis so soon after my recent experiences. I wanted to see how Findaráto and Káno would react to my plan. Then, when they did seem to be in agreement with what I was proposing, I wanted to discuss with them how they believed that others, both in my camp and yours, might react and how best to deal with any objections."

They all began to eat their soup. Nolofinwë's manservant arranged fresh vegetables, sliced meat and fowl on the table so that they might serve themselves and left them alone.

Nolofinwë extended a basket piled high with fresh bread to Maitimo. "I left the three of you to hold your private deliberations at your leisure. I was certain that you would approach me when you were ready to talk. But, as I explained, I am now more than ready to listen." Maitimo took a roll and passed the bread to Findekáno, before taking a long breath.

Nolofinwë said, "Try some the red berries on your chicken. They are not sweet but tart. There is also a creamy, nutty sauce that Káno requested." He gestured toward a small tureen, grimacing when he spoke of the heavy sauce.

"Uncle, Káno is still trying to get Russandol to gain back all the weight he lost. Káno likes his men tall and well built," Findaráto said.

"I'll try the cream sauce." Findekáno. "And that is not the whole truth. I can see the beauty in a willowy blond."

"Willowly? Willowly?" Findaráto pretended to choke on his wine.

Findekáno smirked. "You're stuttering, Ingo. Take a hold of yourself."

"Káno, Ingo, please. Have a little respect for Uncle. He has served us a lovely dinner, with excellent wine, and has promised to listen to our proposals. You sound like my youngest brothers at their worst," Maitimo said.

Nolofinwë topped off Maitimo's glass with the remains of one of the wine carafes. "I don't mind them really. They remind me of the rare times when my two brothers banded together to try to make me feel uncomfortable. Never thought I would look back on those occasions with fondness." 

Maitimo lifted his chin in a gesture of pride and self-possession, saying in a clear voice, even and devoid of emotion, "I am grateful for their counsel and support, but I do not have the patience for nonsense right now. Uncle, I want to get right to the point and hear your response. I intend to renounce all rights of the House of Fëanáro to the kingship of the Noldor, that is if you will accept that responsibility."

Nolofinwë's eyes widened with honest surprise. "I never realized before how strongly you resemble your father in his youth, how much even the quality of your voice reminds me of him." The line of Nolofinwë's jaw relaxed perceptibly, yet his eyes turned wary. "I will be honored to accept your offer, but I would expect if I do so that you and brothers will agree to support me. I will not be a token King for you, Nelyafinwë."

"Of course. I will see that it is done. I intend to hold onto the leadership of my own House. You will have my allegiance and that of my brothers and our followers." Maitimo's expression softened, suddenly careworn, and Findekáno squeezed his thigh under the table.

"Do you mind explaining to me what led you to this decision?" Nolofinwë asked.

"As for why, it is surely obvious. No matter how much I might desire it, I can no longer promise to always, under all circumstances, put the interests of our people first."

"You stand by your oath then?" Nolofinwë asked, frustration, regard, and regret flickering across his face.

Maitimo's voice dropped so low that the other three leaned forward to hear him. "You heard the words of it, Uncle. I have no choice. It cannot be undone."

The only sound that could be heard in room was a rattling of wind against the shutters and the far-off cry of a waterfowl when Findekáno cracked the near silence with an explosive sneeze.

"Oh, Káno!" Maitimo exclaimed with a brilliant smile.

Findaráto stood. "Excellent. Then I propose two toasts: first, to Maitimo for putting the unity of our people before any personal aims or pride, and, secondly, to Uncle; may his wisdom and experience help us heal our divisions."

§0§0§0§0§

The rest of the evening passed swiftly. Finally Maitimo and Findekáno found themselves alone, walking back toward Findekáno's tent, under a blue-black moonless sky dotted with gem-like stars. The breeze from the Lake wafted warm and slightly damp over them. Maitimo let go of Findekáno's hand under the oak tree near the tent and jumped and grabbed the lowest of the stronger branches and hung there for a moment before dropping to his feet again. A tightness weighing upon his chest that he had not even realized was there had at last released him. A single lantern hung from the front of the tent, illuminating his lover's countenance, finding small points of matching light in the golden threads laced throughout his braids. Maitimo stood looking at Findekáno, marveling at the beauty of his open, smiling face.

"You are happy now that it is done?" Findekáno asked, his voice husky with tenderness and hope.

"Happy is a strong word. Relieved is more accurate, and thankful to you, Ingo and Macalaurë for your support. There is only one thing left to me that makes me truly happy. I think you well know what that is. You try hard enough to offer it to me whenever I look the least bit glum. Findekáno the valiant, the beautiful, the generous, the ardent, what would I do without you?"

"If I have my way, you will never have to find out, will you? Meanwhile, if you would like a way to express some of that gratitude you were talking about, I believe I can think of some suggestions."

Findekáno laughed when Maitimo pulled him hard against him with both arms, sliding his hand up beneath the back of Findekáno's tunic, feeling skin silky-smooth and warm.

"Kiss me while you think about what it is you want most," Maitimo said, wishing he had another hand with which to touch Findekáno's cheek and pull his mouth closer. Findekáno inhaled sharply and looked at him with such longing that Maitimo thought, as he often had before, that his Káno always accepted every kiss as though he had been waiting for it forever, as though there had never been one before it and might never be another. If anything or anyone could ever truly heal his spirit and banish his nightmares, Findekáno could.

Predictably, Findekáno kissed him, fiercely and bruisingly hard. "Want you. Want you so much," Findekáno gasped, before kissing him again with no less fervor. "You made me wait," he accused, his voice heavy with affection, while backing toward the door of the tent, pulling Maitimo along with him. Maitimo yanked him to a stop immediately in front of the door of the tent.

"Yes, I did. And I beg you to forgive me. I was preoccupied and I thought you deserved far better than that. The rest of tonight is all for you. I promise I will properly make amends." As Maitimo spoke, he could feel the heat of Findekáno's body rising to the cheek that rested against his neck. "You tell me what you want and I will do it. Anything and everything."

Findekáno let loose a loud, echoing "yes" in a timbre combining equal parts mischief and desire, which caused Maitimo to catch his breath, laugh and then scold, "Quiet. You will wake everyone nearby."

"But there is no one nearby. I had a reason when I picked this site for our tent. Now get inside. You are happy tonight. Don't try to tell me that you are not. I intend to claim everything you have promised and ensure you will not quickly forget this night either."

Maitimo laughed again, unable to take his eyes from that shockingly sensual mouth except to look for a moment into wide, improbably dark blue and trusting eyes. The memory of both had haunted his waking dreams, driving away for hours at a time his terror, pain and self-revulsion and leaving him with a tiny spark of hope that had lit more than a few of the darkest nights of his soul. He had thought in those fetid cells--filthy, alone, bloody and battered, nearly broken--I can withstand this; if Findekáno could have loved me once, I cannot be wholly lost or unforgivable.

Maitimo's laugh faded and he could only manage a whisper, hardly more than a sigh. "Findekáno."

"Inside, inside now," Findekáno responded, his intonation low and shaky, but determined. "Don't play with me. You know the sound of your voice alone can make me spill."

He did not need to order Maitimo again. Maitimo turned him around and hustled him into the tent and to the bed at the back of it. Pushing Findekáno down upon it, Maitimo realized that he had not felt this desperately eager to make love since they had found one another again. Old dreams, no longer attainable, had to be abandoned, but with Findekáno's love he could face a new day, not with foolish expectations, but at least some measure of hope.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

 

[1] Wife of Nolofinwë (Fingolfin) and mother of Findekáno (Fingon), Turukáno (Turgon) and Irissë (Aredhel), who did not leave Aman with her family.

Nolofinwë’s Begetting Day

Read Nolofinwë’s Begetting Day

 

The bed radiated warmth, although the air in the tent had been unexpectedly chilly just a short while earlier. Maitimo had risen to light the small lamp next to the bed before crawling back upon it to sit and watch Findekáno sleep. The morning must have reached full light, Maitimo deduced from the rising temperature in their sleeping area.

Maitimo couldn't stop grinning. Findekáno looked thoroughly debauched: his hair, black in the dim light, a jumble of partially undone braids with bits of tangled golden cords still visible, some of them broken and fraying, and his smooth white throat marred by a sizeable purplish-red love-bite. He leaned over Findekáno to kiss him on the soft skin at the top of his cheekbone just beneath his eye. He is intoxicating, he thought, amazed that his own euphoria from the night before had not abated at all. This sense of well-being cannot last. Then, Findekáno opened his eyes, flawless sapphire and widened in unmistakable pleasure. Well, perhaps it can.

Findekáno squirmed, trying to free his legs from the weighted tangle of sheets and blankets. "You look wonderful today. You lit the lamp. Are you getting up?"

"I had thought of making some tea. I think I drank too much last night. I'm incredibly thirsty. I feel like I've been eating sand. You look utterly degenerate and despoiled, but perfect, absolutely perfect." Maitimo relaxed back onto to bed, leaning on one arm and stroking Findekáno across his forehead and down his cheek, tugging gently at a ragged braid before kissing him on the throat. "I am sorry. I made a frightful mark on your neck last night."

"You haven't done that since the last night of my final visit to you in Formenos." Findekáno grinned, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Eru, Káno! Must you continually make references to that dreadful night?" Maitimo reflexively complained every time Findekáno mentioned the incident, but he could not stop smiling.

"Since it was all I had to live on for several years, it does tend to stick in my memory. You were drunk, out-of-control, alternately malicious and maudlin, labile and . . ."

"Káno, please." He tried to stop Findekáno by covering his mouth with his hand.

Findekáno wriggled free. " . . . and you made love to me more passionately, with greater vehemence than you ever have--until last night, that is. But, before you ordered me to go back to Tirion and leave you alone, you also told me over and over that you would never cease to love me, and, despite what a hopeless horse's arse I was--and other far more sinister accusations, which I kindly will not bring up now--that you would always remember me, and begged me to never forget you. Ha! As though that has ever been a possibility."

"I admit. It was far from my finest hour, but if it makes you happy to remember me like that . . . "

Findekáno smirked, grabbing Maitimo around the waist and hauling him on top of him. "It was all I had. And, fortunately for you, it was enough." Maitimo released a little grunt of surprised delight at the added sensation and grabbed the back of Findekáno's head, pulling him into a kiss.

When they stopped kissing, trying but unable to repress a teasing grin, even at a subject that usually made him gloomy, Maitimo retorted, "You would have been thrown out come morning by Fëanáro anyway, after all the shouting and cursing at me you did that night and setting the curtains in my bedroom on fire. You even caused Huan to howl like an ordinary dog, something he never did before and has not done since to my knowledge."

"Stop laughing. As though I were the only one around your family's house that ever caused a ruckus. And the fire was an accident. Poor hound. Huan knew we were out of our minds. He is sensitive." Findekáno was smiling again. "We believed we were so old then, but we were really young, weren't we? To think that we thought that the worst that could possibly happen to us had already happened." Káno sees the absurdity and humor in our reactions to the most terrible things. He is right, Maitimo thought. Without him I would be entirely too morose. He would have handled himself in Angband far better than I did, but, more likely than not, would have gotten himself killed.

Maitimo trailed his fingers across Findekáno's lips. "Káno, if you don't mind, maybe you could make some tea, and then can we work on creating some new memories that will cast me in a slightly better light?"

"Oh, yes. Last night was an excellent beginning. Are you sure you have to have the tea first?"

"Maybe just a little water then?"

Findekáno let out a yelp of enthusiasm, sprang out of bed and returned with mug of water. Maitimo took a long drink and then offered it back to Findekáno who took a sip and placed it on the table. Maitimo inhaled deeply, pulling Findekáno back onto the bed, running his hand over the lean, defined muscle, the velvet-soft skin of Findekáno's chest, muttering, "So beautiful, so beautiful. My Findekáno." He felt himself being swept completely under by the familiar, heady and addictive wave of desire triggered by those lust-darkened blue eyes and Findekáno's heavy erection rubbing against his thigh. And yet it was unlike anything he had felt since they had left Aman. Since Thangorodrim, it has been tender, warm, comforting, exciting too, but nothing like last night and nothing like this. It is similar to, but more intense than, what we had those first years we were together. I will never be able to get enough of him. Never.

Findekáno intoned, "Do it. Take me. Now. Please. Please." Lying under Maitimo and holding onto to his upper arms with an iron grip, Findekáno tugged at him and leaned up to take Maitimo's lower lip in his teeth. Findekáno tossed his wild, tousled braids across the pillow. All the while, Maitimo was trying to balance himself on one elbow and reach for the jar on the table next to the bed.

"Shhh. Shhh. I am. I will," Maitimo breathed into Findekáno's ear, trying to slow him down a little, to slow himself down, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. Findekáno writhed and bucked beneath him in the most distracting and counter-productive way. Somehow, despite Findekáno's still-tight hold on his biceps, Maitimo managed awkwardly and with no small amount of effort to scoop out a handful of the cream, wrench himself up away from Findekáno enough to sloppily smear some on his erection. Findekáno's eyes focused on Maitimo's hand, which caused him to make a loud sound of appreciation, something between a moan and shout. He suddenly released Maitimo's arms and grabbed himself behind the knees, pulling his thighs apart and up, bending himself back nearly double.

Maitimo had seen Findekáno in that position innumerable times before, but it nonetheless struck Maitimo as the most wanton sight he had ever seen. Maitimo froze for a moment, just looking. "You are so beautiful like that," he said slowly, his voice sounding even to himself to be low, erotic, simultaneously worshipful and teasing.

The expression on Findekáno's face shifted from pleading to something almost akin to anger. "Just do it."

Maitimo chuckled softly. "I don't want to hurt you," he drawled, exercising every last bit of self-possession he had left.

"Fucking tease. Do it!" Findekáno ordered. At that Maitimo lost his patience entirely. He slapped the remaining large dollop of cream against Findekáno's entrance and pushed against him. Findekáno was tight, but not too tight to prevent Maitimo from pushing inward.

Before he was even completely in, Findekáno shoved back against him. "Fuck, yes. Yes. More," following his demand with loud grunts. Findekáno was at all times noisy in his lovemaking and Maitimo loved it. Having somehow managed to throw one leg onto Maitimo's shoulder, Findekáno used the leverage to pull closer to him. Findekáno also had always been incredibly limber and strong.

Maitimo willed himself to assert some control over the erratic, insistent thrashing beneath him by caressing gently and whispering, "Easy, easy. Just relax," until he was finally able to establish a rhythm which would give them both what they most desired. Findekáno's restless heaving and insistent growls finally subsided into repetitive appreciative moans and rhythmic pushes. Finally, they seemed to float somewhere above and beyond themselves yet ever aware of the inexorable pull of their consonant movements.

"Love you. Love you so," Maitimo said, quietly, as though spellbound. "Don't ever leave me."

"Not bloody likely," Findekáno yelled out, spilling between them. The pulsing of his hot, tight channel brought Maitimo swiftly along with him.

After a while, holding an at-long-last-silent Findekáno against him, having arranged their bodies so they would touch everywhere their skin could possibly make contact, Maitimo was able to speak. Lifting Findekáno's chin to look into his eyes, he said, "Making love to you in that way is like trying to tame an out-of-control, wild horse."

"You find it irresistible though, don't you?" Findekáno smirked, radiating self-satisfaction.

"Oh, yes, I do. You know I do." Maitimo laughed and began kissing him, not hard and demanding, but unhurriedly, yet with purpose. "But you know that I always like the second time even more."

"Hmmm. Again? So soon?" Findekáno asked, his eyes half-closed, still languid and drowsy.

Maitimo laughed and threw back at him Findekáno's plea from the day before: "We're not late yet."

"But your brothers could arrive at any moment."

"True. They either will come ridiculously early or unconscionably late. We may have all afternoon to ourselves or they could come bursting in now as we speak. But, we of all people cannot expect certitude to rule all of our actions, can we? Is it too soon for you?"

Findekáno's lassitude vanished. "You are asking me that?"

"It wasn't a serious question," Maitimo said.

§0§0§0§0§

As luck would have it, Maitimo's brothers did not arrive until late in the afternoon. The usual hugs, affectionate cuffs and protestations of how much they loved and had missed one another, took several minutes. Much to-do ensued around changing clothing in preparation for the feast: trading, borrowing and requests for opinions. By the time Maitimo appeared to be ready for the talk, Findekáno was dying for a drink, but reluctant to add alcohol to the mixture.

The explosion that followed Maitimo's uncharacteristically hasty and undiplomatic announcement was no better or worse than Findekáno had expected. Maitimo had cut right through his brothers' nattering by merely clearing his throat and lifting his chin in a manner reminiscent of his father. "I need to tell you that I intend to abdicate the Kingship in favor of Nolofinwë. I spoke with him last night. He will accept my offer on the condition that we support him." For the length of few heartbeats, the room remained eerily still before the brothers burst into a flurry of activity and sound, all speaking and moving at once.

"What?" Carnistir cried out, pressing his hands onto the tabletop and jumping to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over.

Tyelkormo, whose pale blue eyes popped like someone had tightened a tourniquet around his neck, shouted, "He will accept? Of course, he will bloody well accept it. It's what he has plotted and schemed for all of his conscious life."

"The truth is far more complex . . ." Macalaurë began, drawing his words out as though tired and almost bored.

Macalaurë was chopped off by Curufinwë who turned on him with clenched fists. "You conniving little sneak. You knew all about this, didn't you?"

Despite his desire to be anywhere else but in that tent, Findekáno stayed, ready to assist Maitimo should the need arise. He said little and listened watchfully, largely ignored, except for a few short asides to him from Macalaurë or Maitimo relating to particularly extravagant lapses in logic on the part of one of their brothers. Telufinwë and Pityafinwë said nothing and merely observed, apprehensive at first and later breaking their silence only to grunt or cough in response any unintentionally humorous remarks.

A good two hours later, Findekáno felt comfortable enough to leave the brothers while they were still arguing, however, not before it had become clear that Maitimo had proven himself unbeatable. Curufinwë's lips had frozen into a thin line, yet his eyes continued to soften and his deepening sighs signaled imminent acceptance of defeat. Tyelkormo was silently getting drunk. Meanwhile, Carnistir's face, flushed a florid red, hid nothing of his confusion and dismay, but he no longer issued any objections. Macalaurë argued on, his voice rising and falling in those ever exquisite, melodic tones, no longer merely backing up his older brother, but delivering killing blows with eloquence and precision.

Findekáno had stayed as long as he did out of nervous compulsion. In truth, he had no illusions that he could do anything concrete to help Maitimo. He at last left, much later than he thought he should have, only to assist his own siblings with the final arrangements for the evening's festivities. He had promised them he would consult with them to see if they needed help; in his opinion, Irissë was lazy and Turukáno obsessive. If he did not show up at all, at least to admire their work, they would certainly be annoyed with him.

When Findekáno finally returned to his tent, an unnatural silence greeted him--seven sons of Fëanáro gathered in one room and not a single word. Maitimo had dressed in a dark maroon tunic, which softened the auburn undertones of his hair and heightened the luster of the brighter reddish gold. He had fastened his right arm in a black sling, giving the appearance of a convalescent, less to deceive his brothers, he had earlier told Findekáno, than to avoid explaining to anyone why he intended to remain on that side of the Lake for several weeks longer. Findekáno wondered that he did not fear many would notice how well developed were his right shoulder and bicep as a result of his constant focused exercise.

Maitimo's wide-set, grey eyes glittered with renewed assurance. He had, by force of will and timely aid from Macalaurë, forged the House of Fëanáro into a solid monolith, despite a shaky base. The indomitable seven's charisma and staunchness would sway their followers and Maitimo could hold them all together for the foreseeable future.

The quiet of the room seemed more disturbing than the earlier shouting and curses. Findekáno felt as he often had as a young boy, when he barely knew them: a sense that the sons of Fëanáro played a private game and he knew not the rules, the odds, or the cost of losing. If Findekáno had learned anything of them, it was that outward signs of hostility among the brothers could be deceptive. Without apparent motive they could instantly turn inward and become one solid front against any who confronted them.

Maitimo walked to the bed and picked up the crown of Finwë. "Where did Makalaurë take himself? I need his help with this."

"Probably using the privy." Telufinwë stretched and sat up from his sprawled position on the bed, with his heavy but elegant boots hanging off the edge. "I can help you." The tone of the offer indicated a manifest assertion of loyalty to his eldest brother.

"Permit me," Curufinwë said, competitive, dismissive of Telufinwë. "I can do it better." Curufinwë motioned to Maitimo to take the chair in front of the mirror. He deftly twisted a thick clump of coarse, curly hair on either side into rough plaits and placed the crown upon Maitimo's head, anchoring it to those braids from the inside with only couple of clips.

"Shake your head. Yes, it's solid. Such magnificent hair you have. It would slip and slide all over mine. Ai, Nelyo, you are such an idealistic fool." Curufinwë squeezed Maitimo's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "Time will prove you wrong and we will be the ones who must live with your error."

"Keep it to yourself, Curvo. I will not tolerate your vicious tongue. This is not a game." Maitimo's voice was soft, almost caressing, but dangerous. "If you take your bitterness out of this room do not doubt that I will crush you. You will be lucky to hold onto the comradeship of your own horse." Curufinwë grimaced and moved away. Carnistir avoided making eye contact with his closest younger brother.

Maitimo reached out and grabbed Curufinwë's arm. "You and I can talk later, alone, if you wish. But the discussion here has ended for today."

"Blessed Eru! It suits him, doesn't it?" Tyelkormo asked, his heretofore somber face split into a wide smile. "He looks more kingly than Grandfather ever did."

"Nonsense," Maitimo answered, squinting and pressing his lips together in an attempt to hide that he actually liked Tyelkormo's observation. "Fine. Thank you, Curvo." He looked toward the curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the tent. "Ah, here is Macalaurë now. Shall we get it over with then?"

Findekáno was puzzled for a moment. It would be at least an hour before they were expected to appear for the opening of the feast for Nolofinwë's begetting day.

Macalaurë dropped to one knee in front of Maitimo and took his brother's hand, his handsome face radiant with intent. Then a realization swept over Findekáno. Maitimo was demanding a pledge of allegiance, a sworn acknowledgement of his authority over his brothers. Findekáno was stunned, impressed, slightly chilled and simultaneously amused that he had not expected it. He thought, for all their horseplay and bickering, the Fëanárians are nothing if not serious.

"Dearest Nelyo, it will be an honor and a privilege for me to go first," Macalaurë stated in his finest stage voice. "I do sincerely promise and swear that I, Canafinwë Macalaurë Feanárion, will be faithful and bear true allegiance to you, Nelyafinwë Maitimo Feanárion, and to your acknowledged heirs, and recognize you as the sole Head of the House of Fëanáro. I pledge my sword, my honor and my life to your service and to remain alert to defend you against any insult or harm, actual or suspected."

Maitimo reached to help Macalaurë to his feet, pulling him into an embrace. "I love you, little brother. You are my anchor."

Pityafinwë spoke up. "Not to sound like an ignorant clod, but if I am going to do this I should understand what I'm saying. What is the thing about Nelyo's heirs?" All seven broke into laughter, Pityafinwë included.

Macalaurë grinned. "Unless Nelyo has a son, it goes straight down the line, starting with me." Then glancing over his shoulder he caught Curufinwë's eye. "I'm not as good at mathematics as some of you, but as I count it, that would make Curvo number five."

Curufinwë groaned and shook his head. "Yes. You calculated that right." Again, all of the brothers laughed. One by one they took their places, bent their knees, made their pledges with appropriate solemnity and no small dose of Fëanárian pride, and were helped up in turn by Maitimo, each receiving a hug and a distinctive expression of endearment.

When they had all finished, Pityafinwë spoke first, as he punched Macalaurë on the arm. "I had always heard that musicians, especially composers, had to be minimally competent at arithmetic at least."

"Hmm," Macalaurë said, rubbing his arm in a pretense of pain. "First, I hear it in my head, then I have to go through the bother of writing it down. Fine, Pityo, I lied. I knew Curvo was fifth."

"Ha, ha," Curufinwë said, his face more relaxed than it had been. "Stick to music, Macalaurë. Comedy is not your calling."

"Ah, yes, Curvo," Macalaurë answered. "Nor is politics yours."

Abdication

Read Abdication

 

Maitimo and his brothers arrived at the site of Nolofinwë's begetting day celebration at nightfall. A cool breeze stirred the grayish haze at the edge of the water silvered by the rising moon. Beyond the dark silhouettes of pine trees, a single dim light was visible on the other side of the lake. Maitimo, hanging back with Macalaurë at his side, noted how their brothers strolled, casual and apparently at ease, among the gathering elves in the open center of the encampment.

Maitimo's younger brothers ignored puzzled, hostile, or encouraging looks as though all were equal. Even Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, the least imposing, looked regal, flawlessly fair and untouchable, as though their divergent kinsmen still ranked them among the pride of the Noldor as they had when they were both youths in Tirion. Maitimo overheard one follower of Nolofinwë say, "Fëanáro's youngest do not appear to know where they are or how they are regarded." He thought he heard the word "betrayed" from another.

Looking across the open glade, Maitimo noticed that Turukáno, who stood in front of the dais with his sister and his father, was the first of Findekáno's immediate family to note the arrival of the seven brothers. Yet, even Turukáno gave his head a slight shake and twitched the corner of his mouth in a gesture that Maitimo recognized from long familiarity was not entirely negative, but rather bitterly appreciative. Turukáno lifted his chin truculently when he sighted Maitimo, a rather lethargic signal of his habitual antagonism.

The crowd that had assembled in the center of the settlement included nearly all of the Noldor from both sides of the lake and the largest number of native Sindar that Maitimo had seen in one location since he had arrived. The gentle din of overlapping conversations abruptly stopped as all eyes fixed upon the sons of Fëanáro before resuming at a higher, more intense pitch. Maitimo disregarded renewed antagonistic looks from those of Nolofinwë's supporters who had only recently begun to view him with guarded indifference. Each Noldo there surely recognized the legendary crown of his grandfather. Maitimo caught the words "Finwë's crown," once in a tone of shocked disapproval and again later, wistfully, from a staunch supporter.

Maitimo registered the reactions of his own loyal followers, whose faces showed a range of emotions from pride that he had chosen to present himself as the High King of the Noldor, to doubt that he had the support to back it up, to sadness that they were a minority in this setting. It was all Maitimo could do to stay his hand from reaching up and touching Finwë's crown. Since everyone knows I cannot hold onto it, he thought, I must look a perfect fool. Perhaps I should have waited to make an appearance until the speeches and presentation of gifts had already begun, but that could have been construed as disrespectful.

Macalaurë slid a reassuring hand through the crook of his elbow and whispered, "I think they are nearly ready to begin." Maitimo's brother nodded in the direction of the elevated dais, which had been constructed directly in front Nolofinwë's house.

At that moment, like the sun breaching a cloud-shrouded sky, Findaráto broke through the mass of people, and embraced Maitimo and Macalaurë. Maitimo mused that Findaráto looked exactly as Findekáno relished in describing him: exceedingly blond and handsome and seemingly unaware of the impression he created. Maitimo, however, believed that Findaráto, clad that evening in a sky-blue tunic heavily ornamented with gold trim and shining gems to a point just short of flagrant ostentation, was not only acutely aware of his appearance, but also deliberate in the impression his effusively friendly greeting of Maitimo and Macalaurë would have on the assembled company.

Findekáno left his place in front of the dais and approached his three cousins. Shoulders back and head high, Findekáno projected unselfconscious nobility. His full, sensual lips curved in a restrained smile as he spoke and clasped hands with guests as he wended his way toward his cousins. When he reached them, he leaned forward slightly, his mouth drawing close to Maitimo's ear, his breath teasingly caressing his neck, and said, "You look calm now. Unassailable. When you entered the enclosure here, you reminded me of how your father always looked when he walked into court in Tirion."

"I can assure you in complete honesty that I am anything but calm. Wonder if he ever felt as anxious as I do. I doubt that he did." Maitimo gave a low mirthless chuckle.

Findekáno surreptitiously squeezed Maitimo's upper arm, keen, quick blue eyes immediately focusing back upon the dais. Maitimo studied Findekáno's mercurial face, which suddenly had turned grave. He appeared so like Finwë at that moment that it took Maitimo by surprise. Maitimo had nearly forgotten, since they had spent so much time on their own over the past two months and so little in a formal public setting, how far removed was this stately Findekáno, from his persona as best friend and lover: tall, proud, impeccably groomed in formal darkest blue robes, his ebony braids tightly bound with golden twine, the perfect Noldorin prince.

"Well, you will be fine. The effects of all of those years of working with Grandfather are evident. You could fool even me." Findekáno placed his hand on Maitimo's shoulder, as though to assure himself that he had his undivided attention. "I would like to go over the sequence of speakers and presentations tonight with you before we start. I've told everyone that I will first say a few words, and after that it would seem appropriate if Turukáno and Irissë were to congratulate Atar. And then, well, I was wondering if you had an opinion about when you would like to make your announcement . . . " Findekáno paused expectantly. Maitimo signaled by a shift of his shoulders that he wished to hear the rest of Findekáno's assessment before commenting.

Findekáno took his wordless cue. "Either you can come forward after Turukáno and Irissë, as his eldest nephew, or perhaps it would play out better if Macalaurë and your brothers greet Atar, followed by the rest of the cousins, and then you come up and say your piece. I have a feeling that after you make your unanticipated offer there will be no possibility of orchestrating any of the rest of the evening. Maitimo?"

"I am of the same mind. I should wait. Don't you agree, Ingo?" asked Maitimo.

Findaráto laughed, which caused the tense onlookers surrounding them to startle or wince. "I dare not disagree. Not when Káno is in a dictatorial mood."

"I thank Eru then that I picked the right answer," Maitimo said, finally relaxed enough to reach up and touch the crown resting so heavily on his head. "I would not want Káno to throttle me right now."

Macalaurë reached out and grabbed Maitimo's hand, gently lowering it to his side. "Don't fidget before a performance where people can observe you, Nelyo. Remember how many times you have told me that?  Take a full slow breath and then release it. Just the way you taught me."

Findaráto chuckled. "I am amused at Macalaurë turning the tables on his older brother." He threw an arm around Maitimo's shoulder. "The brilliant performer Macalaurë suffers from stage fright, but Maitimo never."

"Ha! Don't be so sure of that, I have only worked harder at hiding it." Maitimo cocked an eyebrow. "A performance is it now? I must admit that it is hard to stay anxious under the tender care of the three of you. Would that someone were looking after my younger brothers."

Macalaurë responded quickly, "Excellent observation. Ingo, could you ask Aikanáro and Angaráto to keep them company for now and perhaps you could keep Artanis away from them yourself?"

Findaráto grinned and nodded to Macalaurë. "At your service, maestro. I'll speak with all of you after the solemnities."

"Go on, Káno," Maitimo said. "You are needed. I see both Turukáno and Irissë headed over here now. You are the purported host of this austere gathering, are you not?"

"And a piss-poor one at that, if one were to listen to either my brother or my sister. They don't understand delegation. One doesn't have to do everything oneself, simply see that it has been done." He clapped Maitimo on the back, before shooting him one of his cockiest grins, eyes glinting with amusement. "But don't worry about me. I can keep them under my dictatorial thumb."

§0§0§0§0§

Findekáno took his place alongside his father, brother and sister, looking out over the crowded square. In the moonlight, the encampment looked similar to any one of several small villages in the north of Valinor that he recalled visiting with his grandfather and cousins, so far from the light of the Trees yet still gleaming silver in the hours of Telperion. Oh, but it is not. It could not be farther away, Findekáno thought, if it were positioned among the farthest stars in the firmament.

Maitimo stood out among the crowd: taller by nearly half-a-head among the tallest of those who parted to permit him to pass, his hair as bright as the flames that lit it, his pride of carriage mitigated only by his charm of face and form so familiar to any present who had known him before. His arm in the black sling did not lend him any vulnerability but rather greater authority. Those who survived the Enemy were either mad or hopelessly crippled; he was clearly neither. Maitimo nodded with innate grace to the right and left of himself as though he walked through his grandfather's halls and not a largely, at best, semi-hostile multitude. Macalaurë accompanied Maitimo to the front of the gathering. Once the most loved among their brothers by their people, the two now held the dubious honor of being the least mistrusted. However, the pure audacity of wearing Finwë's crown appeared to have gained Maitimo respect even among those who most begrudged him it. He is magnificent, Findekáno thought as he met Maitimo's eyes and smiled warmly for all to see.

Findekáno completed his welcome speech and gave his father his affectionate best wishes. His brother and sister, followed by the sons of Fëanáro and the offspring of Arafinwë, offered their congratulations to their uncle. Findekáno assumed that the amiability with which those greetings were offered and received sent an unmistakable message to the Noldor that the divided branches of the House of Finwë had put their differences aside, that this begetting day feast was at the very least a semi-official rapprochement of the previously alienated factions.

After Artanis finished congratulating her uncle, the last of Arafinwë's children to do so, Findekáno nodded quickly to Maitimo. He wanted Maitimo to take advantage of the moment before a whole series of additional well-wishers and supporters began to file forward to offer Nolofinwë their compliments. Maitimo walked up to the dais and embraced Nolofinwë, kissing him on both cheeks, fondly, yet still formal. He turned momentarily from Nolofinwë to hug Findekáno, then Turukáno, and finally Irissë, stopping briefly to kiss her on the forehead, before asking quietly of his uncle, "May I speak? To everyone I mean?"

"Yes, certainly, Russandol." Nolofinwë's voice bordered on self-conscious, and surprisingly to Findekáno, his father bit his lower lip as he nodded to Maitimo, his only outward manifestation of an excess of emotion.

Maitimo whispered to his uncle, "Thank you. I won't take long. No dramatics, I promise you." Maitimo let a brief uncertain smile slip, squared his shoulders, drew a profound breath, and turned to face the crowd.

"I am here tonight to extend to my Uncle Nolofinwë the heartiest of best wishes at this celebration of his begetting day. He is well aware of my regard, my love, and respect for him that extends back into my youth, despite the misunderstandings and strife that have marred our relationship throughout recent years."

As Maitimo slowly began to speak, he projected his resonant voice to reach the farthest corners, while managing not to sound in the least strained. He alternated phrase-by-phrase, first in Quenya and then in perfectly accented Sindarin, proving that he was every bit the language genius he had been celebrated as in Tirion, second only to his father. His simple ploy ingratiated him to the Sindar while reminding the prideful Noldor that he was not only a warrior and a leader but also the most erudite among them in both letters and science.

"I also wish to address myself tonight to all of my kinsman, both those who have stayed stalwart and loyal to me beneath the banner of the House of Fëanáro and, more importantly, those from whom we have been separated, those we have wronged, and to whom I extend my sincerest and most heartfelt apologies, and of whom I beg forgiveness, on behalf of myself and my immediate family and our followers. I also extend condolences to our estranged brethren for their grievous losses. We grieve with you and for you. I am able to express regret for what has been done and cannot be undone, and I accept the blame that is due me. However, I am unable to argue that I, or we, deserve your tolerance. Despite that, I am emboldened by circumstance to insist that such tolerance is necessary.

"What I wish to address here tonight may, at first consideration, seem of consequence primarily to the ranks of the Noldor. In fact, I would argue that this could not be further from the truth. We must all, Noldor and Sindar alike, join together as friends and allies. Separately, we will inevitably fall one-by-one to the Enemy. Together, we may contemplate the possibility of victory."

Findekáno was unable to absorb every word of the next few minutes, so overcome was he by his preoccupation on Maitimo's behalf and anxiety about the reaction of the majority. From the phrases he captured here and there, he did recognize that Maitimo spoke briefly but eloquently of the shared history, ideals, and motivations of the Noldor.

A pause and then a lift in Maitimo's voice captured Findekáno's full attention again. "In response to that need for unity, I came here tonight to offer to Nolofinwë Arakáno, as the eldest surviving son of King Finwë, this crown passed to me by my father as his acknowledged heir. I greatly cherish this heritage, but I cannot hold it to the House of Fëanáro. As most of you are acutely aware, we are bound by a previously sworn oath, which prevents us from dedicating ourselves first and foremost to the governance and day-to-day well being of our people. I believe that Nolofinwë will bear this symbol of the unity of the Noldor in honor and with wisdom and use the authority it grants him to help reforge all of us into one strong and powerful people who will struggle together to rid this world of the fell forces of darkness."

Maitimo turned back to face Nolofinwë. Pulling his arm from its sling, he removed the crown and extended it to Nolofinwë, who accepted it without a single word and placed it upon his own head. Maitimo dropped to his knees and repeated a vow of fealty in words identical to those they had used, with the coming of each New Year in Tirion, to swear allegiance to King Finwë.

After Maitimo once again rose to his feet, the complete hush of the crowd was finally broken and then only by murmuring and shuffling movement. All of Finwë's grandchildren came forward to pronounce the same pledge. When they had finished, Findekáno proposed an acknowledgement by acclamation of his father's acceptance of the Kingship of all of the Noldor in the Outer Lands.

The roar of acceptance rang loud. In the aftermath, Findekáno heard not a single dissenting voice. However, studying faces throughout the throng, Findekáno noted that, although most looked relieved and some even joyful, there were enough in both camps who looked stunned or displayed ill-concealed animosity to tell him that the reconciliation of the royal houses of the Noldor might be officially resolved, the reality was far thornier. Despite the palpable tension, he observed enough greetings and embraces among the long-divided kinsmen to give him a measure of hope. Clamoring clusters of people immediately surrounded both Maitimo and Nolofinwë. People laughed, talked and argued all around him.  

At a signal from Findekáno, a clarion blare of trumpets momentarily silenced the crowd. He announced there would be neither formal service nor ceremonial, that all should eat and drink their fill, and musical entertainment would follow. Even at the table on the dais, Nolofinwë sat with his oldest friends and colleagues with no consideration for rank or stature, still receiving commendations and tributes. Servers had already begun loading the tables edging the periphery of the open square. The three siblings, having deemed it would be impossible to provide tables with seating for such a crowd, had arranged for long benches to be provided all around the grassy clearing and its closest environs. People immediately approached the tables laden with platters of gilded fowl, spit-roasted haunches, and enormous trays of crusty pies, fresh fruit, and vegetables.

Artanis approached Findekáno. "Impressive bit of political theatre that the four of you organized for us." Findekáno failed in maintaining his initial charade of wide-eyed innocence and laughed.

"The four of us?" he asked.

"Don't toy with me, Káno. Ingo has already admitted that you and Maitimo, along with him and Macalaure, began planning this almost as soon as Maitimo could sit up without assistance. A valiant effort and I agree that it will serve us well, unless, or perhaps more accurately, until the dreadful Oath comes into play again. The entire thing reeks of Maitimo's penchant for diplomacy and yours for idealism. Not that those qualities are necessarily always bad."

 Findekáno laughed again. "Your optimism is reassuring as always, Artanis."

"And your romanticism and capacity for trust is endearing," she answered.

Findaráto approached the two of them and slipped his arm around his sister's waist. "I hope you aren't needling him."

 Findekáno answered, "Not at all. She was merely expressing her limitless enthusiasm for our attempts to ensure a future for our people."

At that moment, Maitimo caught Findekáno's attention from halfway across the clearing and sent him a fond glance. Findekáno thought Maitimo looked as he had at about fifty, when he had first fallen in love with his eldest half-cousin.

"If the two of you will excuse me, I want to see how Maitimo is holding up."

"He looks well enough from here, all radiant and glorious and more than a little self-aware. Scribes will no doubt write him into history as the most handsome king the Noldor ever had, aside from noting the shortness of his reign and its lack of support," said Artanis.

"Ingo, can you see about finding her something to eat. I think she is growing peckish with hunger?"

Findekáno left his cousins and quickly reached Maitimo's side.

"We have taken the first step, Káno," Maitimo said.

"No, you did."

"I could hardly have followed through without the support of you and Macalaurë, and Findaráto as well."

"Of course, you would have. It just might have taken you longer and been less easily done."

"If you say so," Maitimo said, laughing softly. "Look at Findaráto. He's finished with scolding Artanis and now is talking with your brother."

Both men shifted to get a better of view of Findaráto and Turukáno. The tall blond appeared to be earnestly explaining something to Turukáno, leaning in closely and gesturing emphatically as he spoke. Turukáno stood with his arms folded firmly across his chest and a sour, unrelenting expression on his face. At last, Turukáno relaxed a little and met Findaráto's eyes. Findaráto grasped his arm and clasped his hand. Turukáno permitted himself a reluctant smile and nodded his head as though in compliance.

Findekáno laughed. "Findaráto is always up to something. A lot more goes on inside of that golden head than he would lead one to believe. He is assuring Turukáno's support for our plans now I expect."

"Grudging and conditional support I suspect," Maitimo responded.

"That may be the best we can ever achieve with Turukáno. My younger brother truly does love me. He simply has odd ways of expressing it." Findekáno chuckled. "But he certainly doesn't love you, does he? Never did. Not even when he had no conceivable reason not too."

"He always felt he had a reason not to. You were just oblivious. He always was jealous of your attention to me from childhood."

Findekáno shrugged and laughed. "I am weary of hearing from Atar how I have not been an attentive enough brother. I want even less to be rebuked for it by you. You have always been the paragon of older brothers. I could never have hoped to compete with that."

"I certainly didn't intend to admonish you but only to say that he was envious in his youth that you spent so much time with me and so obviously sought to do so at every opportunity. But don't you have to attend to some musical something-or-another that you have been organizing? Macalaurë is looking restive for his turn."

Findekáno all but leapt forward from his position of reclining against the paddock fence.
"Blast it! Thank you. I almost forgot the Sindarin dancing, to be followed by Macalaurë." Findekáno stormed off.

Earlier in the week, when the news of the upcoming celebration of Nolofinwë's begetting day had spread, several musicians among the Sindar had suggested that they be allowed to perform traditional dances of their people. Findekáno was pleased with the idea, as had been Irissë. Turukáno had been less than smitten with the offer but had assented, not wanting to be accused again of stuffiness by his more adventurous brother and sister.

When the dancing began, most of the Noldor moved back to cluster around the periphery of the clearing, lit only by lanterns and the occasional sputtering torch, seemingly mesmerized by the Sindarin dancers. The warm and close, humid air added to an ambience of near-feral sensuality.

The supple moves of the dancers, whose lunges, stomps, and swivels, executed to the primitive thump and strum of struck and plucked instruments, could not affect one as anything but dangerously erotic. It appeared to Maitimo that the Sindarin revelers clearly entranced their Noldorin audience by movements that would have been considered too blatantly sexual in Tirion, yet seemed natural, nearly innocent, in the circle of torchlight with a backdrop of ancient pine trees and a dark star-studded sky.

Maitimo looked about the crowd, noting that the Finwëans, as he might have expected, were among those most enthusiastic for the novel explicitness of the form. Even Artanis leaned against Irissë, whispering something obviously approving into her ear. Macalaurë fumbled in the pocket of his robe for a folded piece of parchment, scribbling notes quickly with a pencil, his eyes flickering rapidly from dancers to musicians. Findekáno returned to Maitimo and took hold of his arm, without looking up, but fixed upon the dancers enthralled.

"I could do that," Fingon said, with a sinful smile, his voice revealing both confidence and admiration.

Maitimo chuckled at Findekáno's utter lack of timidity and willingness to explore the untried. "I am absolutely certain that you could, and do it well. Why don't you?"

"I intend to. I am only waiting for this one to end. When they begin again, I'm going to ask your Sindarin girl to show me how. Did you see her? She is surprisingly proficient at this."

"If you mean the healer's apprentice, she has a name. It is Tadiel. Despite her fondness for both of us, I doubt she would appreciate being referred to as 'my Sindarin girl.' I'm not sure either why you would be surprised that she dances well. We heard that she grew up in the court of Thingol in Menegroth. I am sure they have music and dancing there."

"She hardly seems the type for this. She is usually so serious and reserved, I mean. Look at that." Findekáno's eyes widened at the sight of a man grabbing a woman around the waist, pulling her against his body, and then bending her back nearly to the ground. "I wouldn't have imagined they have this sort of dancing in Thingol's court. We certainly had nothing like it at court in Tirion or even Alqualondë."

Maitimo restrained a laugh. "Well, it does not appear to have intimidated you."

"Exactly the contrary. Just watch me." The music ended and the musicians appeared to be preparing to begin a new piece. Findekáno sloughed off his formal outer robe, handed it to Maitimo, and hurried off to persuade Tadiel.

Maitimo watched Tadiel and Findekáno talking. Her unusual, to Maitimo at least, brown hair hung loose down her back, reaching beyond her hips. The torchlight picked up its reddish and gold highlights. Tadiel's cheeks were rosy from exertion. Findekáno said something to her that immediately had her laughing. They both turned to look at Maitimo. Tadiel's smile with a widening of her eyes at Maitimo seemed almost a request for permission. Maitimo nodded approvingly to them.

It took only moments for Findekáno to relax into the dance. Findekáno's innate musicality and lack of restraint or self-consciousness enabled him to acquit himself impressively. When the dance had finished the two joined Maitimo.

"How did I do?" Findekáno asked.

"You know you did well." Maitimo laughed. "Both of you did. You dance well together."

"Would you like me to show you?" Tadiel asked. "I would like to dance with you too."

"I think not. I don't believe I could perform nearly as well."

"Finno told me that you love to dance and are most accomplished. This is not complicated court dancing. There really are no rules or set steps."

"But with one hand . . ."

"Nonsense. I've seen your sword-work with one hand. I can hold onto you here." Tadiel grasped Maitimo's forearm firmly. She giggled and turned to Findekáno. "Aren't you going to help me persuade him?"

Findekáno wrinkled his brow before smiling again. "Not sure I want to. That music and that type of dancing are stimulating enough for me, and Maitimo has always been attracted to women."

"Stop, Finno!" Tadiel all but shrieked. "Oh, sorry." She covered her mouth with her hand. "I've had entirely too much to drink. He is a terrible flirt and tease, isn't he?" she asked, turning to Maitimo.

"Yes. Yes, he certainly is," Maitimo responded, grinning.

Findekáno began, "Ah, but you know nothing of his history relating to this kind of thing. Let me tell you about a stunt he pulled not that many years ago, when we were not getting along well, at gathering much like this one..."

"That's quite enough, Káno. I think you are the one who has had too much to drink," Maitimo said.

Tadiel, by then helplessly laughing, said, "Well, there is only one solution for this, Maitimo. We have to find you another drink. Then I must hear Finno's story, and we can discuss whether it is safe for me to dance with you or not."

§0§0§0§0§

Nolofinwë's eyes were drawn to Maitimo and Findekáno, leaning against the fence that separated the open area from the horse paddock. Under the gleaming torchlight, he saw one head crowned with an unruly shock of blazing red hair tilted toward another covered with sleek, night-dark plaits. Simultaneously languorous and imposing, the two looked relaxed and relieved. A closer examination revealed to Nolofinwë a detail that anyone not specifically searching would never have found. With their elbows resting on the planks behind them, their hands appeared to be close but not touching. Nolofinwë watched as, nearly completely hidden in the shadows, the smallest finger of Findekáno's hand linked with Maitimo's matching finger. They did not so much as glance at one another to acknowledge the connection, but continued to appear outwardly absorbed by the milling, noisy crowd before them. The faintest blush of heightened emotion, barely visible in the dancing torchlight, suffused Maitimo's face, while Findekáno's responsive visage flared briefly with pride of possession tempered by the joy of one who seemed to scarcely dare trust his own good fortune.

Nolofinwë had long wished that they had not chosen to be together. When he had watched his young son grow into an intellectually gifted, warm-heartened, spirited, and stunningly handsome young man, Nolofinwë had begun to dream of what beautiful children his eldest would father. That fantasy had been long ago crushed and cast aside. Nolofinwë allowed himself a sigh of infrequently entertained disappointment.

The voice of Pilimor the healer interrupted his reverie. "Nolofinwë, High King of the Golodhrim, they call you now, do I offer congratulations or condolences on your new position?"

Nolofinwë liked the healer. His penchant for directness was refreshing if at times a bit disconcerting. "I would accept either or both, although overall, I think it is a positive step for our people and will mitigate the worst of old rivalries and disagreements and help us move forward toward building a new life." He turned to face the insightful eyes of the healer before looking back in the direction of Maitimo and Findekáno.

"Then I offer you both, King Nolofinwë."

Nolofinwë lowered his voice. "My nephew would have made a brilliant king under different circumstances. He and my eldest son always shone, even among the exceptional grandchildren of my father."

"My people are fascinated with those two." Pilimor said. "It started with the eagle, of course. That was a spectacular show. I unfortunately missed it being away from here that day."

"I saw it and it appeared equally startling and unpredictable to those of us who have dwelt among the silver and golden light of the Valar's trees and were tutored by those Shining Ones."

"They are regarded by natives here as the most remarkable among the bright Princes of the Golodhrim. If their height, their contrasting, surpassingly fine looks and that fire in their eyes, astonishing even among your people, didn't provided distraction enough, then the mystery of the nature of their companionship has fueled a whole new source of gossip and speculation."

Nolofinwë laughed at Pilimor's blunt words. "My son told me that you understood and accepted their peculiar circumstances. Ai, I suppose I should not be surprised that preoccupation with the intricacies of their personal life has followed them from Valinor to here." They both observed Maitimo reach out to touch Findekáno's arm reassuringly and Findekáno respond to the gesture with a dazzling smile.

Pilimor's sharp features softened into kindness at the undertone of regret in Nolofinwë's remark. "If they had not attracted such interest on this side of the lake, it is likely their relationship would have been largely ignored here, except as a matter of disappointment to many maidens. As the confidant of many, I know that it is not as rare as one might be led to believe."

"Indeed," Nolofinwë remarked. "I had never heard of another relationship such as theirs."
 
"Then you led a sheltered life on that distant shore, King Nolofinwë." Pilimor chuckled lightly. "Of course, a healer eventually hears at one time or another of most variations of intimate personal interactions. Does the responsibility of this crown make it harder for you to accept their relationship? Even in the far reaches of the east, among the peoples who live the life our ancestors lived among the trees and under the stars, where crowns, kingdoms and political factions have no meaning, their chieftains think of heirs. It is a natural impulse in this Arda Marred where we are only guaranteed surety in the present."

"Perhaps, but I learned to accept what I cannot change long ago. Although, now more than ever, I would be far more at peace with the tasks that face us if I knew that Findekáno had an heir."

A feeling of sympathy for these two princes overwhelmed Nolofinwë, along with a renewed appreciation at Maitimo's decency and courage in handing over the Kingship to him. He thought as well, with despondence, that if all the Noldor struggled against the doom foretold by Námo, the weight of it lay doubly upon the eldest son of Fëanáro and, linked so closely as Findekáno was to Maitimo, by association upon his own firstborn son. He shook his head, desperate to banish such thoughts from his mind.

Why must I think such morbid thoughts? What can I know of what brought these two together? Nelyafinwë faced the Dark One in his stronghold and survived, and my own Findekáno, as bold and courageous a son as any father could have, went alone into the shadows of Thangorodrim alone and brought him back. How can I underestimate what fate may still hold in store for them? 

§0§0§0§0§

The evening's festivities had lasted until the dawn's light had begun to reveal the mists rising up over the shimmering lake. Irissë insisted in dragging off the twins and Curufinwë to find them accommodations within her father's house. Nolofinwë had entirely maintained his composure at Irissë's preemptive offer of his hospitality, while Turukáno had been less than ebullient in welcoming his cousins. No one was certain as to where Tyelkormo had vanished; he had last been seen in the company of a silver-haired Sindarin woman whose energy at dancing, sauciness, and high-spirited flirtation had rivaled his own. The pleasantly tipsy trio of Findekáno, Macalaurë and Maitimo had escorted Tadiel back to her lodging in the House of Healing.

A thoroughly soused Macalaurë slept on a comfortable divan at the far side of their tent, safely tucked in by Maitimo and Findekáno, only after they had teased him into an hilariously inebriated furor at his purported blushing when Tadiel had favorably compared him to the renowned Daeron of Doriath, who, before hearing Macalaurë, their Sindarin acquaintances always had claimed was the greatest bard of all the Eldar.

They waited until they believed that Macalaurë surely must have fallen asleep.

"Thank Eru for Irissë and that Tyelkormo has trouble keeping his trousers on and that Macalaurë nearly always drinks too much after he has performed for an unfamiliar audience," Findekáno said. "I had almost resigned myself that I would not be able to make love to you tonight. I want to take you tonight. You have totally indulged me since you have felt strong enough. I want to . . ."
 
Maitimo interrupted him with a kiss. "You underestimate your appeal. I have pleased myself. I delight in the way you offer yourself to me. The mere sight of you . . ." Findekáno laughed.
 
"Even though I demand so much?" Findekáno's voice was thick and hot against Maitimo's ear.

"Especially, your demands. But, yes, tonight I want what you want, to feel you inside of me." Maitimo's eyelids, that had fallen closed at Findekáno's gentle touches, fluttered open again, as he felt Findekáno's hand encircle his hardened length. Maitimo supported himself upon his lower arms and raised his back up from the bed. He wanted to watch what Findekáno was doing to him. A smile, fey and tempting, swept over Findekáno's face when he realized what Maitimo sought. A twist of Findekáno's hand, then a stroking motion, was followed by a dip forward of his head and the pink tip of his tongue reaching out to barely touch the glistening head of Maitimo's erection.

With movements, calculated and slow, Findekáno shifted his body backwards to bring his own member up against Maitimo's. He stroked them together slowly, languorously, Findekáno's darker in color and slightly thicker in contrast to Maitimo's paler, somewhat longer erection. Maitimo continued to watch, his breathing growing heavier and louder at the sight.

"Ah, Káno, harder now," Maitimo gasped.

"Have you changed your mind then about what you want?" Findekáno's roguish smile gave lie to his soft, tender intonation.

"No."

"Well, then. Turnabout is fair play." Findekáno caressingly turned his hand and bent over Maitimo to give another lick, too quick, too light to have any effect but to torment. "I'm going to make you beg, the way that you always make me. And, anyway, you'll be like an untried virgin again tonight. It's been a while for you, love. So I don't want to rush."

"Not so long ago. I don't care."

"Now you want to argue, do you?"

"No. No. Please. Do you have something, some oil? Anything you can use?"

"Of course I do. Right here." Findekáno pressed a bottle of oil into his hand, grinning. "It's open. Can you reach to put some of that on me? Now can you understand what you do to me?" His smile had turned from teasing to tender. "You are so beautiful, Nelyafinwë Maitimo. I love you so." He leaned forward to give Maitimo a wide, open-mouthed kiss. At the same time, Maitimo, his hand trembling and spilling a good deal, managed to coat Findekáno with a liberal amount of oil and pass the bottle back to him.

"There, now. Please?" Maitimo asked, trying to sound patient but hearing a squeak and a break in his voice.

"Awww. You sound so sweet when you say please like that."

"Please, Findekáno." Maitimo's voice once more betrayed his desperation. Findekáno began to rub against the entrance to Maitimo's body with oil-coated fingers.

"Again. Say it again, nicely. I love to hear you say that."

"Please. Please. Please."

"Perfect," Findekáno said, finally inserting a finger into him, shallowly and gently as though he intended to take his time. At that point Maitimo, jerked against him with an urgency that would have made Findekáno's habitual impatience seem lethargic by comparison.

"Enough," Maitimo growled, his voice no longer petulant or whining. Findekáno moaned, sighed, kissing Maitimo again neither teasing nor tender, but incendiary.

Breaking his mouth away for the briefest of moment, Findekáno said, "Fine. This is killing me anyway." He pushed forward into Maitimo in one long, determined movement.

"Káno, Káno, Káno, Káno," Maitimo chanted against his lips, unable to stop himself.

§0§0§0§0§

Maitimo had not fallen asleep easily. Findekáno had drifted to sleep first, while Maitimo's mind remained active long past their lovemaking.

It must have been near dawn when Findekáno tossed in his sleep and groaned, startling into an upright position. Maitimo immediately awakened and sat up as well, pulling him into his arms, thinking of how many nights Findekáno had comforted him in just that way.

"You had the bad dream this time. Are you well? Are you awake now?"

"I am well. But it was truly horrifying. I was waiting and watching for you. You said you would come. I knew you were coming. The lines of warriors, of the Noldor and many others, stretched on all sides of me, nearly as far as I could see, and then . . . oh, never mind. It was only a nightmare, if an extraordinarily hideous one. I don't know how you are able to endure them so often."

"I tolerate them as well as I do because you are here to wake me."

Findekáno's head drooped against Maitimo's chest, his thick, dark lashes resting against flushed cheeks. Maitimo felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight of him. Looking at Findekáno never grew ordinary or expected; he never failed to stir Maitimo, and that night even more so than usual.

Maitimo whispered, leaning forward to lightly tongue the still reddish mark on Findekáno's neck, "I love you so much that it frightens me."

"Me too. I feel that way as well."

"You too? Findekáno the Valiant?" Maitimo asked. Findekáno rolled his eyes in a comical way.

"Obviously." Findekáno scowled and arched his eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. "I thought at this point that was rather transparent. In fact, I think the only remaining thing that in any way frightens me now is the possibility that I might lose you again."

"I love you, Findekáno." Maitimo touched his face.

Findekáno's expression relaxed then, wide blue eyes gazing directly at him. "And I love you, well beyond anyone or anything that I have ever cared about. There are days on end when I cannot even glance at you, across a room or the practice field, without imagining what you feel like hot and hard and pushed all the way up inside of me. I would burst my heart for you."

That Findekáno mixed reverent tenderness and wantonness in the same breath was just another of the things about him that Maitimo adored. In Findekáno there was no dichotomy between the sacred and the profane but one indivisible and unquenchable passion for life and a splendid capacity to love.

Maitimo laughed quietly, unable to stop smiling. "You would. I know you would. And without you I would have no heart; my heart would shatter."

"Don't say such awful things, sweet Maitimo. We would never be separated long. Wherever I might go beyond these shores, you would soon enough follow. I share your sins and your fate."

"Ai, Findekáno, and you dare chide me for saying dreadful things."

Findekáno only grinned and looked up at him, before biting his own lower lip seductively. "Kiss me," he said.

After a sweet but molten kiss, Findekáno spoke. The quality of his voice, soft in its reluctance, revealed a begrudgingly offered warning. "So, after all the arguments with your brothers, the pressure, are you still planning to stay with me on this side of the lake until winter? Or might you feel the need to leave a little sooner?"

Maitimo chuckled, although he felt a sharp pang of desolation at the thought of what it would be like to sleep alone again and wondered if his nightmares held at bay by Findekáno's presence would overtake him again. "I understand how much it costs you to raise that subject. You'd like to lock me up and keep me here, but now you are trying to tell me that you think I should not leave them alone. I have a better idea. Until winter comes, you and I can ride or row over there once a week or so, without giving them advance warning, and stay for a day or two."

Findekáno choked back a laugh. "That will make it much more difficult for anyone across the lake to think of fomenting a rebellion."

"I was not contemplating the possibility of anything nearly that dire. I think the pledge they made to me will take care of that for now. But, my brothers are relatively leaderless at the moment. Macalaurë has no taste for that role now that I'm about. Yes, I think that would be an excellent plan."

Maitimo pulled Findekáno more tightly against him, content that they could remain together for a while longer at least.

---

Chapter End Notes

Since I am nearing the end, I want to again thank all of you for reading and commenting, and, especially, Dawn Felagund for her inspired Beta of all these chapters, along with the loyal IgnobleBard, who has read all of my rough drafts and grown to love these guys almost as much as I do. (Newly introduced and/or stubbornly retained errors are all my own.)

One Step Back

Read One Step Back

 

"There Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart . . ." The Silmarillion, "Of the Return of the Noldor"

It was finally true winter on the lake. Findekáno had dismantled his tent after a run-off from the thaw of the first snow had swamped the ground and reluctantly moved back into the building that housed his father, brother, and sister. Two days had passed since he had hoped to leave for the north shore to visit with his cousins. Because Findekáno intended to stay for a week or more this time, organizational minutiae that had been troubling his father had delayed his trip. Better to finish everything before he left than to have to return earlier than he intended.

That morning Findekáno awakened to discover that his vague uneasiness of the past few days had blossomed in the night into poisonous black weeds of panic. He jumped up from the bed to bring in the tray of tea and bread that had been left outside his door. After quickly washing and dressing, he drank a cup of tea -- not sitting, too agitated to relax, but leaning against the table. He startled when someone knocked on the door, slopping hot tea onto his hand and across his wrist.

"Are you in there, Káno?" Findaráto called out.

"The door's open. Come in."

Findaráto looked rushed. He drew several deep breaths as though he had been running. "Ill tidings?" Findaráto asked, as soon as his eyes met those of Findekáno.

"Yes and no. I have heard nothing untoward. Nothing at all, in fact. But I feel certain something is terribly wrong. It's Maitimo. I'm leaving for the north shore as soon as I drink this tea."

Findekáno lowered his cup and met Findaráto's light blue eyes grown wide in attention and without an ounce of skepticism at his less-than-orthodox explanation for his anxiety. "Will you come with me?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? If he isn't feeling well . . ." Findaráto crossed his arms over his chest, releasing a sigh. "Perhaps he would be more comfortable if I were not to arrive with you."

"Who else would I ask to come along? My brother, do you think?" Findekáno didn't hold back a short acidic laugh. "Well, perhaps you might want to stay in the background for a bit until I find out what is happening."

"Of course, if you think you need me, I'll come. And we need waste no time in leaving. But first let me make myself a cup of tea while you sit down and tell me what you know and what you think we should expect."

Findekáno released his stiffly held shoulders. "I know something is wrong, but I cannot communicate with him. I've tried. I get no images, no emotions. Although I do feel I've reached him." He heaved a huge sigh. "I sense that he is in trouble. I wish I had learned to speak with him better at a distance. He hasn't opened his mind easily to me since . . . I get nothing, while my presentiment of menace grows. You know I am not a brooder don't you?"

Findaráto laughed quietly. "You? A brooder? The last characteristic I would attribute to you. But I thought Russandol appeared to be progressing well before he left. And you have seen him often since then, have you not?"

Findekáno stared into the dregs in his teacup and gave a slightly self-conscious shrug. He did not usually discuss Maitimo's healing process with anyone, not even Findaráto.

"Even better recently. He has struggled to move beyond it all. I felt a renewed sense of purpose in him. At first, our intimate encounters were wonderful, yet still there were times when I thought perhaps he needed them more for the comfort than . . . but then later that changed also. He become much more engaged, enthusiastic beyond . . ." Findekáno glanced up to note that Findaráto's face had flushed bright red. "I am being crude and tactless again, aren't I? I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. Sorry, I mean. Go on." Findaráto raised his own teacup to his lips, holding it before his face as though to use it as a shield. Then he lowered it again and shook his head. "I'm not delicate."

Still a little embarrassed at how far he had gone in revealing his most personal observations about Maitimo, Findekáno admitted to himself, that even if he had imposed upon Findaráto and crossed boundaries of privacy, he felt calmer. He knew that anything he confided would be not only be protected but, further, taken as a sign of trust and affection.

"Thank you. No, you are not fragile. So, that was the good part I began to tell you about." They both laughed and were at ease again. "There were other things that worried me. The nightmares, of course, although they seemed to diminish in intensity and frequency. His darkness of spirit also appeared to lift somewhat only to settle in again, but I had hoped even that had begun to show signs of waning overall."

Findekáno saw a flicker of emotion he could not read in his Findaráto's face, sympathy and something more. Almost as though Findaráto already knew what he would say. "He is very strong, Ingo. He has that Fëanárian determination."

"Ai, you always make too much of that. They are just elves like you and me." Findaráto shifted in his chair, poured himself another half-cup of tea and gestured toward Findekáno with the pot. Findekáno shook his head.

"What is it that you fear now as opposed to any other time?" Findaráto asked.

"That he is in pain. That he is in danger. That he needs me."

Findaráto put down his teacup purposefully. "Let's go then. I think a boat would be better than going by horseback, much quicker. We can talk more while we row. Can you loan me a cloak or coat? I ran over here without one."

"I'm sorry. I didn't even think to ask. Why did you run over here?"

Findaráto grinned. "Because I had a strange sense of foreboding and was concerned for you." Findekáno rustled in his wardrobe and came up with dark-blue cloak. Findaráto stretched out his hand and took the garment, looking at it uncertainly. "Family trait, you know, intuition."

"It's not one of your usual bright colors, but I think it will do. Make you look less like a spoiled princeling and more like a warrior."

"Go ahead. Tease me about my choice of attire if it relieves your anxiety. I won't even say a word about your manly, martial pretensions or argue who is more spoiled."

"I'm impervious to your teasing but you are blushing like a maid. Put it on." Findekáno eased the cloak around Findaráto's shoulder, fastening the top clasp. "There, see. You look wonderful." Findaráto obligingly turned in front of the mirror on the wall, yet his brow knitted in skepticism.

Findekáno met his eyes in the mirror. "Now you remind me of Laurefindil."

"Oh, I'm sure I do. It's so big and heavy that it makes my shoulders look broader."

"Thank you for agreeing to come with me, Ingo," Findekáno said, pulled him into a quick rough hug.

At the edge of the lake a small complement of vessels remained overturned on the narrow beach. The majority had been stored for the winter. That morning, however, there was no ice on the lake and the day promised to be bright.

"I have used this one before," Findaráto said. "It handles well with two people rowing; we can make better time than if we use one of the smaller ones."

"You're the one with Telerin blood," Findekáno said. "I have to trust your judgment."

"You do know how to row, I presume?" Findaráto arched an elegant eyebrow in a gesture of fond amusement.

Findekáno laughed. "I'm sure I'll not measure up to your lofty standards but I've handled a boat like that one." He looked down at the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. "I think you can trust me not to drown us both."

* * * *

Halfway across the lake, Findekáno began to perspire, despite the rising wind of the sunny winter day picking up the chill of the nearly freezing water. Findaráto, although slenderer and lighter, moved as though he were completely unaffected by the effort.

"I've changed my mind. You are right. He is tougher than the two of us put together," Findaráto offered.

Findekáno sniffed, offended at the thought of sweating while his face felt frozen, and his nose threatened to run. "Do you really think he is?"

"I know he is," Findaráto said. Findekáno could discern, even watching Findaráto's back, that his cousin had lifted his chin in the habitual gesture of confirmation of absolute assurance that he used when he believed he was right.

Findekáno was willing to concede that sometimes people observing from a safer distance were better able to assess such things than those who are too painfully close. "But he doesn't think so."

"That's because he was led to believe that he almost but never quite measured up since the day that he was born."

"Fëanáro loved his sons and they received far more individual attention and affection than I ever did." Findekáno laughed at himself, aware that Findaráto had heard this complaint from him a thousand times already. Findaráto always told him that he was strangely blind to how transparently his own father adored him. But Findaráto, of course, based his opinion largely on Turukáno's version, which was colored by his envy of his older brother as the purportedly favored firstborn.

"You would know more about the Fëanárian side of it than I do. And I must admit I saw the worship in Fëanáro's eyes when he looked at each of his sons, and, above all, Russandol," Findaráto said. "Yet it always seemed to me that he held them to impossible standards. Unlike Atar, who probably erred in the other direction. He worried more about some vague concept of happiness for all of us than our accomplishments. Certainly Artanis and I would have profited from a bit of prodding and the imposition of some discipline."

Findekáno could not help but envy the ease with which Findaráto maintained his consistent rhythm with his oars. At that exact moment, as though he had jinxed himself, Findekáno dipped a bit too deeply, causing an awkward splash, and swore under his breath. "Oh, you more or less turned out all right. But Artanis could have used a swat on the arse now and then."

"Well, I will not deny that she can be annoying but she does row better than you do. We can go more slowly if you like."

"Thank you. But, no. I'm still worried. I want to get there as soon as I can."

"Of course. He is waiting for you." Findaráto shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you mean? Waiting for me?"

"You say that you are uncertain but it seemed obvious to me when you described your feelings to me that he has reached you. The message was clear. I think when the current crisis is over the two of you need to have a little talk about being more honest and direct."

Findekáno bridled at the implied criticism. "We simply have never perfected communicating at a distance."

"But you can touch one another -- mind-to-mind, I mean."

"Of course. We only used it . . . " He hated how Findaráto had the effect on him of making him feel somehow feckless and irresponsible. "Well, we rarely used it, except in certain situations."

Findaráto snorted. "Sexual enhancement, heh? That figures, knowing the two of you."

"Fuck you, Ingo!"

"Don't be so defensive. You would think you invented using your gift for less than noble purposes. How do you think I guessed?"

They both laughed.

A little more than an hour later, they finally arrived on the north side of the lake. As soon as they left the water and dragged the boat up onto the narrow ribbon of rocky beach, Findekáno's nose felt warmer. Still, the nagging fear in his gut felt like a little animal chewing on the inside of his stomach.

He and Findaráto approached the largest house in the Fëanárian settlement. The north shore had a similar look to the older enclave on the other side, although there were far fewer buildings and more of them unfinished. Despite the light covering of snow on the ground, the air was filled with the distinctive smell of newly hewn wood. Findekáno saw that Macalaurë had spotted them and was walking quickly to meet them. Macalaurë embraced first one and then the other of his cousins.

"Thank Eru that you two are here now," said Macalaurë. "Nelyo is not at all well."

The confirmation of his foreboding gave Findekáno no satisfaction. Looking at Macalaurë's sad eyes and the grim set of his jaw unreasonably annoyed Findekáno beyond any capacity to hide it. "You might have sent for me sooner."

"I sent Tyelkormo and Carnistir over early this morning. I guess they missed you."

"You shouldn't have waited so long."

Findaráto took hold of Findekáno's arm. "Káno," he said, his voice soft yet warning in tone.

"I'm sorry, Macalaurë. I cannot blame you. I should blame myself. I ought have come two days ago, but Atar was keeping me occupied and I didn't strongly enough trust my own intuition that something had gone wrong. Where is he now?"

"He's in his room. I sat with him for a while yesterday afternoon. We talked. He would only eat a bite or two; he was drinking even then and he wouldn't bathe. But he did appear better than he had the day before. Then, by yesterday evening, he had bolted the door again and refused to let me in."

"Fine. I'll talk to him now." Findekáno walked to the fireplace and looked at the implements leaning against the stonework, picking up a long iron poker and studying it for a moment. Macalaurë's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "I'll knock first," Findekáno said.

The three men went to the door of Maitimo's room and Findekáno knocked firmly, taking care not pound. Maitimo immediately called out: "Macalaurë, go away."

"It's me. Let me in, Maitimo," Findekáno shouted. They waited in silence for a moment.

Findekáno took the poker and attempted to wedge it into the side of the door, next to the latch. He was unable to get a firm hold with it, and the poker slipped to the side, causing him to stagger backwards, falling into Findaráto. "Manwe's shriveled bollocks! Stand out of the way, Ingo!" Findekáno shouted.

Findaráto incrementally moved back. "I am only trying to help you."

"Shh," Macalaurë hissed. "I think I heard Nelyo moving around in there. Maybe he is coming to open the door." The three men stood quietly for a moment, listening and hearing nothing. Findekáno attacked the door again, with even less thought and greater force. A large chunk of wood splintered, revealing a metal bolt still securely in place.

"Give me some room here," Findekáno said. He drew back, ready to have another go at the door, when he saw someone approach out of the corner of his eye.

"Káno, wait." Curufinwë stood directly in his way, determined to keep Findekáno from his task. Findekáno thought with exasperation of how Curufinwë always seemed to think he knew exactly what to do and how it ought to be done.

"What is it now, Curvo?" Findekáno snapped.

"The door to the bathroom is open and it has another door that connects to Nelyo's room. Did you try it?"

* * * *

Findaráto was the first to move and check the door from the bathroom into Maitimo's room. He was relieved to find it unlocked. After standing for a moment with a perplexed look on his face, his mouth open slightly, Findekáno had managed to graciously thank Curufinwë, who muttered that he was glad to have been of assistance even as he was turning to leave. The other three men trooped into the bedroom.

The stale air was smoky despite the fact that the residue of a fire in the grate barely smoldered. The fire apparently had been dying for some time since the remains of it had done nothing to mitigate the chill of the room.

Findaráto made an effort to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting. The shutters at the window were closed, permitting only a few thin strips of light to enter around the edges and between the slats. The only other light came from a candle that had burned down to a nub.

Maitimo sat in a straight-backed armless chair with his head down, shoulders slumped forward, and arms dangling. His hair stood up all around his head in a great unruly mass of curls and snarls. His face, hidden partly in shadow, revealed itself to be haggard and pale as he raised his head when Findekáno bounded across the room to fall to his knees in front of him, stroking the tangle of livid red hair back from his forehead. "It's me, love. I'm here now."

Findekáno leaned forward, pressing his weight upon Maitimo's knees. Maitimo bent to kiss him lightly, almost reverently, on the mouth, reaching his hand out to caress Findekáno's cheek. "I knew you would come. But I grew so tired of waiting."

Findaráto immediately recognized the familiar reek of the infamous, insufficiently aged grain alcohol that Tyelkormo brewed. For a moment he was stunned by the thought that the normally fastidious Maitimo had actually been drinking that swill, an indicator of how bad things really were with him.

Maitimo's face, ashen pale with purplish circles under dull eyes, looked haunted, as though masking a poorly suppressed horror. He appeared more fragile than he had those first days after Findekáno had carried him back from Thangorodrim. Although Maitimo was clad only in a nightshirt, his lower right arm was sheathed in a vambrace-like contrivance of tooled leather that Findaráto had not seen before. It extended to include a glove with a padded unnatural look. Maitimo used both arms to hold back Findekáno who attempted to pull him into an embrace. "I must stink. I haven't bathed in days."

"Hmm," Findekáno said, sniffing, with a crooked grin, "You smell like you to me, love. A little riper than usual perhaps." He kissed Maitimo and then chuckled. "But you taste like a dog that has drowned in your brother's distillery."

"I'm probably quite drunk." Maitimo's bereft look faded as his eyes lit up and he managed a shy grin. Findekáno straddled his legs and sat right on his lap, which made Findaráto wonder if he wasn't too heavy for Maitimo in his undermined condition. But Macalaurë merely snorted at the sight, while Maitimo appeared entranced.

"What is this?" Findekáno asked, fumbling at the fasteners on the false hand. "When did you last take this off? You know it irritates your arm if you leave it on too long. I bet you will have some blisters." He succeeded in undoing and dropping the apparatus to the floor, lifting Maitimo's arm, and kissing the underside of it. He whispered something into Maitimo's ear.

Findekáno's words were unintelligible, but Findaráto did hear the response. "Yes, Káno. Please," Maitimo rasped, in a breathless gasp.

Findaráto found it impossible to look away from Maitimo's face, with its expression finally yielding and suffused with passion, tilted up to Findekáno. Despite the exposed reddened stump, his rumpled, soiled shirt and his wild, disheveled hair, Findaráto had never found his beautiful cousin more alluring. The sense of being an uninvited voyeur made him feel guilty and uneasy, not to mention warm in a particularly unsettling way.

"Macalaurë," Findaráto said, grabbing his cousin's arm hard enough to bruise, desperate for him to intervene, to sever the mood that gripped him which he could not break on his own.

"Sorry, Ingo. Those two . . . " Macalaurë shook his head and sighed, trying to sound annoyed. But a tenderness around his mouth betrayed his sympathy for his brother and half-cousin, before he raised his voice to call out, "Findekáno."

Findekáno swiftly glanced toward the door, looking dazed, momentarily surprised, as though he had forgotten he had left them standing there. He turned back to Maitimo and lifted his face by the chin. "Dear heart, Ingo and Macalaurë are here as well. We were all so worried . . ."

Maitimo's eyes immediately came into focus as he turned toward his brother. "I'll be all right now, Macalaurë. Could you find someone to bring me water for a bath, please?"

Macalaurë laughed quietly with transparent relief. "I'm so happy to see you are willing to clean yourself up that I'd bathe you myself. But I suppose you'd prefer Findekáno. Shall I ask for some tea and something to eat as well?"

"Yes, please. I'm sorry if I've caused you grief these past few days and . . . "

"Shhh! No need to speak of it now." Macalaurë turned to leave and apparently noticing that Findaráto did not follow him turned and took his arm. "Ingo, come with me and I'll show you a room you can use. I hope you intend to stay at least two or three days?"

Findaráto heard the words, but he did not really attend to them. He yanked his arm free of Macalaurë and stalked over to the fireplace to check the damper. Not surprisingly it appeared to have been jerked open into a cockeyed position, as though by an exceedingly careless person, or a drunk. He struggled to right it, covering his hands in soot. Pleased with his success he threw three logs onto the grate and kicked at them, scattering some ashes. The wood was quite dry and ragged. The immediate crackling of small flames along its splintery edges caused him to smile. The room would be far less depressing when it warmed up a bit.

"Ingo," Macalaurë insisted.

Findaráto had already reached the window and flung open the shutters. Bright sunlight reflecting off snow filled the chamber with light. "I just want to set things right here a bit first." He wished that Macalaurë would just leave them.

"Come along. There is no need." Macalaurë's voice had sharpened into impatience. "I'll send someone up to do that while they are in the bath." Findaráto realized that Macalaurë was onto him, that he would be forced to leave and return alone later.

"Well, then," Findaráto answered with a nervous shrug. He saw that everyone's eyes were fixed upon him: Macalaurë's chin jutting up in irritation, Findekáno looking puzzled, and Maitimo offering him a strange enticing smile.

Sounding nearly like himself, Maitimo said, "Come back when Macalaurë has found you a room and settled you in, then we can talk if you'd like."

Findaráto felt himself being hurriedly shuffled out of the room, Macalaurë's hand firmly planted in the middle of his back.

"Manwe's swollen ego," Macalaurë swore under his breath, before whirling to face Findaráto. "What was that all about? Have you been up to something with the two of them?"

I wish. And perhaps it is not as impossible as I once thought. "Of course not." Findaráto continued to agonize over thoughts of Maitimo, compelling in his flawed but still exquisite beauty, while his memories of Findekáno, first generous with wild passion and then surprisingly sweet when coming undone, crowded in upon those.

Macalaurë's voice, unusually clipped and brusque, interrupted his reverie. "I'd advise you to stay away from them tonight. Come and have a drink with me. After you settle in a bit and freshen up. Nelyo has put me off of getting anything useful done. When he is well there is none better. When he is not he is appalling."

Macalaurë strode down the hallway with an uncharacteristic air of brisk efficiency, looking back over his shoulder as though to ensure that Findaráto followed him.

"Don't concern yourself. I'll just drop by to speak with them again briefly. Maitimo asked me to come back." Findaráto strained to keep his stubborn determination and his motives to himself but he felt a heat in his cheeks that must be visible.

Macalaurë words crackled with impatience, indicating that he was clearly aware of Findaráto's intent. "Surely you noted Nelyo is not himself today. I warn you, Ingo, you would do no service to them or yourself to return to them. They are like a perfect circle, complete unto themselves. One who tries to step within that is certain to be hurt."

* * * *

After the door had closed, Findekáno could hear the voices of Macalaurë and Findaráto fading as they made their way down the corridor. Exasperated, he looked from the door back to Maitimo, who, if perhaps still drunk, nonetheless exuded a teasing awareness.

"You're crushing me. My legs are going numb. Can we move?" Maitimo's eyes were wide with feigned innocence.  "Oh. You want to ask what that was all about?"

"And you are going to tell me." Findekáno struggled to his feet and, taking Maitimo's hand, pulled him over to the settee between the window and the bed. He pushed Maitimo down and crawled up on top of him. Spreading Maitimo's legs and resting in between them, he burrowed his nose into his hair, kissing his neck behind the ear. "Your hair smells smoky and you're gritty with dried sweat."

Maitimo wrinkled his nose in self-revulsion and shifted a little under him. "Perhaps the bed would be more comfortable?"

"Not until after you have bathed and eaten something. Don't change the subject. I did notice how Ingo was looking at you and how he didn't want to leave with Macalaurë."

"Ingo wants to help, but he is picking up strong signals that disturb him." Maitimo drawled, the languorous quality of his voice showing that he was enjoying Findekáno's ingenuous impatience. "I think he had just a taste of how I felt when I discovered that the two of you had been together. I know that's unkind. But the sight of his discomfort cheered me up a bit. Maybe I teased him a little just now."

Findekáno frowned, while Maitimo smiled. "Humpf. I completely missed all of that. I couldn't see most of what was happening and I was only thinking about you."

"Then his reaction to me made Macalaurë uncomfortable," Maitimo said.

"Ai. I missed that too, but I can imagine that it did. Ingo told me that he thinks we use sex to mask our problems."

"We?" Maitimo's face glowed with affection. "I wouldn't change anything about you. But I suppose I should listen to his opinions, since I seem to have mucked up trying to get a grip on myself without taking any advice."

"I suppose I should tell you something. Perhaps I did provoke Ingo. Maybe flirting with him just a little before we left the other side of the lake. I was so upset and then relieved that he agreed to come with me. You know how I am. I didn't mean anything by it."

Maitimo tugged on a loose braid and pushed the heavy cloak that Findekáno still wore off his shoulders. "Or maybe it might have been mildly titillating when you plopped down on my lap and started rubbing yourself against me until I couldn't breathe?"

"I didn't do that. Did I?"

"Oh, you most certainly did." Maitimo gave him another peck of a kiss before his expression clouded. "Káno, forgive me. I am not being perfectly honest. I tried to reach you and I couldn't . . ."

Findekáno interrupted him. "But you did. I sensed something terribly off and knew it had to be you."

"I did more. I thought I had failed at contacting you, so I tired to reach Ingo. I remembered he had the gift of his family for such communication. So, I used every method that I had ever heard of to touch his mind. I tried to imagine him as he appears to me. The images were rather lurid in my saturated state: the contours of his face, that appealing grace of movement, the sensuality of his mouth, his generous, open spirit, maybe even his unmitigated nerve at making love to you. I needed to see him, and especially you, of course." Maitimo blushed deeply enough to obscure the faint sprinkling of freckles on his cheekbones.

"I see," Findekáno said, trying to hide the irrational resentment he felt burning in his chest. "So what you offered him to get his attention was the mental equivalent of a big wet kiss and sticking your tongue down his throat."

Maitimo grabbed him hard around the head, holding his face against his chest, while chortling at his discomfort. "If you insist on putting it so vulgarly."

Findekáno's nose was pressed against Maitimo's nightshirt. "Gah. Reeking, filthy creature, let go. You're asphyxiating me." Findekáno wrestled the tail of the garment from under Maitimo's hips, pulled it up over his head, and threw it onto the floor before settling down upon him again. "Feeling a lot better now, aren't you?"

"You are like magic."

"I'm serious," Findekáno whispered. "Bath first. But I just want to hold you for a moment."

* * * *

While Maitimo bathed, someone had come in and straightened and aired out the room. A tray of bread, cheese, meat, and fruit had been left for them, along with a pitcher of water, a bottle of good wine, and a steaming pot of tea. Because the room had grown chilly again while the windows had been open, they settled themselves on a rug with pillows and bolsters in front of the fireplace. They had both changed into warm flannel morning robes and Findekáno was in the process of plying Maitimo with food, especially non-alcoholic liquids.

At last, Findaráto rapped softly on the door, asking if he could come in. As Findekáno walked to open the door, he thought guiltily of how anticipating his cousin's arrival had been like waiting for a punishment as a naughty child, knowing it was inevitable, not wanting it to happen, but unable to completely relax until it had.

Findekáno had half expected Findaráto to appear shy or uncomfortable, but he was wrong. Findaráto greeted them both with the affability of a cherished guest assured of his welcome. It made Findekáno want to slap the smile off his nobly handsome face, but regretted the feeling as unworthy in light of his opinion that he himself had contributed largely to the entire annoying muddle.

They all three settled back down onto the rug. Findekáno continued placing meat or cheese on small chunks of bread and offering them to Maitimo. Findaráto followed his example, taking it one step further and holding them up to Maitimo's lips, which drove Findekáno into a silent seething rage. Trying to make meaningful eye contact with Maitimo in hopes of getting a clue as to how they should handle the whole situation proved impossible. It had been hours since Maitimo had anything alcoholic to drink: he had eaten, and, although he had not yet slept, Findekáno observed that he ought to appear far less intoxicated than he did.

Finally, Findekáno decided that he would try to ignore Findaráto and do whatever he would be doing if he were not there. He went to Maitimo's chest of drawers and fumbled around until he found a brush. He squatted behind Maitimo and began to carefully undo the tangles from the thick mane of still-damp hair.

Findaráto asked, "Would you like me to do that? The texture of his hair is more like mine than your silky straight hair. I could probably finish it more quickly and less painfully."

"I know exactly what I am doing. I think you must know that I have done this hundreds of times in the last few months," Findekáno snapped, appalled at the sound of his blatant peevishness. He pulled too strongly on Maitimo's hair eliciting an "ouch" in response.

"What is wrong, Káno?" Findaráto asked, looking for all the world as though he were completely innocent.

Findekáno immediately lost his battle to respond less waspishly. "Did it ever occur to you that I might like doing this?"

"Oh, yes. Of course, it occurred to me since you manage to make it look like foreplay," Findaráto said tossing his infuriatingly radiant golden hair and lifting his chin in his typical manner that was at once irritating and beguiling to Findekáno. Then more softly, "Ai, Káno, you could make this easy if you wanted. I know you would like to do this and I think Maitimo would as well."

Findekáno let his mouth drop open in a theatrical gesture of shocked outrage. "Easy for you maybe. You sit there and pretend to be so noble. You just lectured me about how I use the physical side of my relationship with Maitimo . . . "

"Oh, shut up. You pretend to be so generous and spontaneous when you are really just a selfish teasing little prick."

Maitimo, with an insouciantly tipsy manner, shrugged off Findekáno's hands, which were by then tightly clamped upon his shoulders. "Are you forgetting that I am drunk and more than a little crazy? Should I just go lie down on the bed and let the two of you argue? Then am I supposed to be happy to fuck the daylights out of whoever can convince me he wants it the most? Or welcome both of you if that's what you decide?"

For one shocked moment, Findekáno could not believe what Maitimo had just said. "That is not fair." He heard his voice change from a plaintive bleat to a croak. "I love you, need you, and want you all of the time. But he is bloody desperate. Eru only knows when was the last time . . . anyway, don't be so cocky, you'd probably just pass out."

"Oh, shit," Findaráto said. His entitled prince's air had completely bled out of him, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. "I am so sorry. I don't know what is wrong with me."

"Then, if I am permitted to venture an opinion, I do have a response to your tempting offer, Ingo." Maitimo picked up a goblet of wine and sloppily raised it to his lips, only to have it quickly snatched away by Findekáno and replaced by his own heavily watered drink.

"Here is the situation, Ingo. I'm impaired. Káno is jealous and angry. You are desperate and sorry. Even if the entire idea didn't border on the preposterous, the timing and circumstances couldn't be worse. You deserve much more and better than we can ever offer. Maybe you can find yourself a nice Sindarin girl?" With a disarming, drink-sodden smile, Maitimo captured Findaráto's gaping look. "I do regret I couldn't have got at least one kiss from you out of this. Findekáno repeatedly has told me that your kisses are exceptionally skillful."

Findekáno stood up, shaking his head, truly relieved. "Sorry, Ingo, but can you help me get him to the bed before he passes out on the floor? And, please, if you would be so kind, do not try to kiss him or I will punch you."

Stumbling and staggering, they managed to pull Maitimo to the bed and drop him gratefully onto it. Findekáno put his arm around Findaráto's shoulders and guided him gently but purposefully toward the door.

"Thank you, Ingo. I do appreciate you coming with me. I am deeply sorry for all this. I'm sure he will be fine now and if I don't speak to you later tonight, we can talk tomorrow."

"Don't be try to be self-effacing. I am the one who should be sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you . . ."

"Not another word. Maitimo has always told me that I have no sense of privacy or decorum. I probably brought this on all of us by not minding my comportment. You simply had the bad luck to be drawn into it." Findekáno gave him a deliberately loose hug and then pressed his forehead against Findaráto's, opening his mind to him, in the hope he could convey his compassion and affection. He was grateful to find that Findaráto's sensitivity allowed him to understand him.

Somber and serious, Findaráto said, "I did not mean what I said before. You are generous."

Findekáno good-naturedly cuffed him on the shoulder and pushed him out the door. Closing the door, Findekáno turned to look in the direction of the bed. He saw Maitimo sitting upright on the bed, his eyes alert and bright with humor. "Well, I'll be a bleeding, filthy orc. You are not half as inebriated as you tried to appear."

"Oh, Káno, you know me so well." A transcendental grin lit that so beloved face.

"Ever the diplomat, aren't you?" He sat on the bed and pulled Maitimo into a hard embrace.

"I try. Ingo is nothing if not vain, good-hearted as he may be, and I have to admit that I was flattered. Hard to say no, wasn't it? What a romp that could have been."

Findekáno enjoyed a silent, bittersweet laugh. A romp was never what Maitimo wanted, although with care he often could be convinced to realize that making love could be something other than a totally earnest and serious enterprise. "I'll try to make it up to you later, if you don't push your luck."

"You always do. Make up for everything, I mean."

"You bloody fool. Seriously, was that whole scene with Ingo my fault again?"

"Ah, my love, not your fault at all. Least of all Ingo's. If it was anyone's fault it was mine. But I am going to let it go. I have more than enough remorse in my life already. These things happen and Ingo is too sure of himself to question his motives. I think he learned something, which could be a good thing."

"Should I talk to Ingo tomorrow?" Findekáno asked begrudgingly. "You shouldn't have to, you were supposedly drunk."

"I think I should drink some more water now and then we should take a nap. If he wants to discuss it, then we can claim a large part of the blame."

"Still resentful about what he and I did, aren't you?" Findekáno's tone coupled a wordless expression of regret with a plea for forgiveness.

"I forgave you almost as soon as you admitted it. It is far easier to harbor a residual grudge against him though. I love you, Káno. Will you please come lie down now?"

Findekáno crawled up beside him. "Lift up your arse and get under the blankets. It will get cold again when the fire dies down." Maitimo grunted, scooted up a bit and let him pull the sheets, covers and furs piled on the bed out from under him. He hooked Findekáno around the neck and the waist, pulling him against him.

"Sleepy now," Maitimo said.

"Just rest. We've plenty of time. I'm not going back for a while. Maybe even a month or as long as I need to stay." Maitimo moved as though he intended to say something. Findekáno placed two fingers against his lips and then pushed his head back down against his neck. "Sleep now. When you wake up, we'll go down and eat dinner, make love, and figure everything out."

He could feel Maitimo's lips curve into a smile against his throat. "In exactly that order?"

"I don't know, Maitimo. Just go to sleep."

Epilogue

Read Epilogue

 

Epilogue to A New Day

When Findekáno awakened several hours later, Maitimo lay curled up in sleep almost like a cat. Findekáno felt better, despite the fact that they still needed to smooth things over with Findaráto. And he had not an inkling of what problems they might need to face once he discovered what Maitimo's brothers might have stirred up since his last visit. He had experienced lesser spells of despondency with Maitimo, similar to the one they had interrupted that day. While such relapses tended to occur when he and Maitimo had been too long apart, they also often followed a clash among the brothers.

After wrestling free from the tangle of bedclothes, Findekáno heaved himself to his feet. He threw another log onto the fire and lit a lamp. In the late afternoon and early evening, the wind picked up near the lake. It rattled the precious glass windowpanes, incongruous in that rustic house. The smell of new wood, pinesap, and the cold sharp air seemed strange when he recalled the constant warmth of Tirion and the pleasant feeling of cool marble against bare feet in his childhood home. So far north, it had already grown nearly dark, although it was only late afternoon.

The dark haze issuing from Angamando, hanging high above the mountain peaks surrounding Dor-Lómin, caused particularly spectacular sunrises and sunsets, filled with vibrant hues of orange, crimson, and lurid pinks. Curufinwë had developed an elaborate theory that the height of the particles determined the intensity of the displays: foul substances in the lower airs muted the colors whereas those that spread farther and lingered higher brightened them. But Findekáno hated listening to him pompously expound upon his opinions about it. Though Maitimo was unlikely to enjoy being reminded of Angamando unnecessarily, Curvo probably repeated his speculations as often as he did because he knew Maitimo understood the principles behind them better than he himself and he wanted an affirmation of his hypothesis. Maitimo, however, continued to resist being drawn into that particular discussion. Yet, instead of dropping it, as any person with even a modicum of sensitivity might have done, Curvo raised it again and again.

This was merely one example of several of the strains upon Maitimo. Each of his brothers, save Macalaurë, sought constant reassurance from him. It was as though they had transferred their hero worship and need for attention from Fëanáro onto their oldest brother.

Findekáno snorted aloud to himself at the thought that this jockeying for notice and approval would be far more tolerable if it were accompanied by a scrap of deference to Maitimo's authority. Instead, Maitimo's brothers continually insisted upon arguing and debating every miniscule point of policy or practicality with him and among themselves. But the origin of that attitude also went back to Fëanáro. Those habits had been inculcated into them as soon as they learned to speak. Maitimo, unlike his father, did not quash them when they had reached the point of becoming clearly counterproductive.

Findekáno's presence often deflected or defused some of the worst. He had as strong a theoretical background for most of such discussions as any of them, thanks to Maitimo's tutelage in his youth. Findekáno, however, refrained instinctively from idle yammering about something he had not fully considered and, when he did have an opinion, preferred to state it clearly once and let it stand on its own merits. If he was proven wrong, he quickly acceded. He also knew how to draw Maitimo aside and leave his brothers to bicker among themselves.

Maitimo began to stir; when he sat up his cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled again, but it looked bright and clean. "Are you laughing to yourself? It got really cold in here again. Come back to bed."

"No. Just thinking about your brothers." They both sighed and grinned at the thought of Findekáno chewing on that dry old bone to no satisfaction yet again. "I'll come back to bed if you promise we'll go down to the main hall for dinner in a while."

Maitimo's lower lip stuck out in a pout at Findekáno's suggestion. "You sound like Macalaurë. I already decided that I would. I need to put in an appearance. Won't do to have rumors going around that I am debilitated or mad. And now I am hungry for real food. Get over here, Káno. I called you across the lake for something more than a just a bath and a lecture."

Crawling up under the blankets, Findekáno scooted up against Maitimo and wrapped his arms around him. Maitimo felt marvelous, warm and familiar under his touch. "Remember the first time we made love?" Findekáno asked, feeling sentimental and wanting assurance himself.

Maitimo reached out to him with his mind, conveying a hazy, rather endearingly romanticized vision of the two of them wound naked in one another's arms under the willow tree in the yard of Fëanáro's house.

"Not that," Findekáno said. "I meant the day before, when you kissed me in that wooded park near the Great Hall." He forced a stronger memory of his own heated reaction to those first tender kisses, quickly turning insistent, and of his delighted surprise at Maitimo ripping his trousers open.

"Hmm. Perhaps I was more aggressive with you than I ought to have been." Maitimo chuckled. "In my defense, you were a bit overwhelming. I don't know how anyone could have resisted you."

Findekáno snorted. "Are you serious? I was gagging for you. You gave me exactly what I wanted." He stiffened in response to the memory of Maitimo's hand closing around him for the first time. "And what a wonderfully lewd mouth you had. I did have a moment of jealousy wondering how you had learned to do all that."

"Ah, my misspent youth. Turns out that all my philandering was only practice until I could use it on you. Maids had been intriguing but disappointing; you were another dimension altogether. Hard body. No shame. You tasted and smelled far better to me than any of those young ladies."

"Certainly was different for me. You were the only one I ever wanted." Findekáno kissed him, holding on tightly when Maitimo tried to pull away.

"That's such a load of horse manure, Káno. Have you forgotten Findaráto already?"

"Hardly. But we were talking about numbers of your early conquests weren't we?"

"Were you? You do tend to come back to that don't you?" As Maitimo spoke, Findekáno jerked his head back to get a better view of him. He had expected to hear a smile in Maitimo's voice but there had been none. He saw only a serious face with eyes dangerously narrowed. "Possibly someday you'll believe me when I say that no one before you meant anything. But I am tired of belaboring that now." Maitimo sighed deeply and settled back against the pillows to pull Findekáno closer to him again. "There is something we should talk about. It has to do with how much I still depend upon you and how badly I have done at trying to manage without you."

"I have had some thoughts about what we might be doing wrong," Findekáno responded. "I think we tried to do too much too soon. I knew you didn't want to be coddled, so I took you at your word when you said you were fine. I should have been more insistent that we needed more time to sort things out. I know you are right, instead of nattering about me lying with Findaráto, or how many lady friends you had in Tirion and Formenos, we should be talking about what happened to you. You have not talked about it to me. Or to anyone else as far as I know."

Maitimo gave a self-disparaging shake of the head. "I talked a little to the healer, Pilimor, although he did most of the talking. Told me about others and how it had affected them. He said . . . he said a lot of things, including that some people never get better, but that he believed I would. That I was lucky to have you. He said you are strong. That you don't love me out of neediness. So I could lean on you: let you help me. That you could endure it. I told him about the trouble we had between us before we left Aman, how we had been estranged. He commented that you didn't seem the type to be easily dissuaded once you knew what you wanted. He made me laugh several times speaking of you. I told him that you were like a mother bear defending a cub. That made him laugh. He also laughed when I told him that you were too good for me, saying if that was the case then I was even more fortunate that he had thought I was. I told him how you cursed at me when I was ashamed of how I looked. He said I probably had needed that."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" Findekáno felt chagrined to realize that he had undeniably not admitted, even to himself, that there were a whole series of things they should have been discussing.

"I'm telling you now. Pilimor said that there were people who have been hounded to despair by their own families and former friends, being afraid of them, shunning them. Apparently, there have been rumors of people being corrupted or recruited as agents of Morgoth."

"Have there been so many who have escaped captivity?"

"No. But there have been a few and more who have been waylaid, held, and tortured by his minions who were able to slip away. He said the only cases he ever encountered of people taking their own lives were those who might have recovered if they had been dealt with differently or had anything like the support you have given me. And I also talked to Tadiel a bit. They each offered to speak to you or Macalaurë or both of you if I wanted. But I already felt I had been so much of a nuisance for you already, not to mention Findaráto or Uncle Nolofinwë."

Findekáno frowned. "Even Tadiel? You even spoke with her about these things and not me?"

"Pilimor suggested she had learned things from the Maia Melian about helping others uncover buried emotions and memories in order to heal. Tadiel is not as inexperienced as she might seem to you."

"So, I was onto something when I called her your Sindarin girl?"

"Well, yes and no, she has been a friend to me and quite fond of you as well. I've missed her and Pilimor here."

"I'll send for them in the morning," Findekáno said, a shade more vociferously than he had intended.

Maitimo smiled and ran his fingers across Findekáno's lips. "Calm down. You're here now and I need to talk to you. They gave me what they could and I haven't even taken their advice yet."

"What advice?"

"To talk to you about it."

"I'm sorry. I guess I haven't been much help. I just didn't want to push you to tell me things you wanted to forget or before you were ready to talk about them. I really didn't mean for you feel like you couldn't or you shouldn't."

"Tell me you are joking." Maitimo cocked his eyebrows in mock surprise. "First you saved my life, then you made me want to live, and so far you have helped me hang onto my sanity. Káno, can you truly be so dim about what you have done for me?"

"You'd have done the same for me."

"I hope, but my behavior in Formenos wasn't exactly what one could call patient and understanding."

"You are exaggerating your role in that whole mess. I mistrusted you as much as you were dismissive of my concerns. You made it clear enough then that you still loved me and I didn't fight to stay with you."

"Fine. I'll accept that. Neither of us was perfect." Maitimo shrugged and his eyes widened in earnestness. "What do I do now?"

"You talk to me. Tell me what happened: what it was really like, tell me how you were hurt."

"I wish I could have a drink for this." Shaking his head, Maitimo gave a characteristic self-deprecatory snort. "Never mind." His mouth curved into a roguish grin. "Best to try without it, I guess. I'll start with a small story. I already know I don't want to dredge this stuff up every day-it won't be like one of those serial bedtime stories that Uncle Arafinwë used to tell us when we slept over at his house."

"Tell me anything." Findekáno settled down in front of Maitimo tailor-style on the bed, and reached out and put his hand on his knee to encourage him. "Stop if it becomes too much and we'll try again another day. I am not going anywhere."

Maitimo cleared his throat and began speaking softly, his voice fluid and beautiful, as though he were recounting a children's tale.

"After one of the last times he confronted me directly, they dragged me away and tossed me into a dark wet place. I remember landing on my arse, trying to stand, and slipping in something wet and slimy-vomit or excrement? I didn't want to know.

"The cave-like place where they left me stank so badly that it made my eyes sting. For a moment, the stench distracted me from my own rank body odor and from the lash marks on my back. I remember being in near total darkness and that my eyes had to adjust. I spotted a faint torch, farther down a long passage. I realized then that I was not locked in an actual cell, but simply had been thrown like bag of refuse to the side of rough-hewn tunnel. Locks and bolts were unnecessary in Angamando. At first I just slumped down onto the floor where I stood, not even able to seek a cleaner spot. I took care not to rest my shredded back against anything. The odor truly did overwhelm the pain. Then a movement caught my eye. I thought it might be a rat or something worse.

"Someone asked, ‘Who are you? Where do you come from?' I didn't completely understand his language, but his meaning was clear both by the context and its similarities to our own. The voice was unmistakably elven. I can still recall the quality, sweet and melodic, a lot like that of Macalaurë but higher, lighter. I squinted in the direction of the sound and I could see two figures. They huddled close together, two heads with light hair hanging past their shoulders.

"‘I came here from Valinor in Aman. Across the sea.' I tried to pronounce every syllable. I thought my voice sounded harsh, as though it were too deep, too loud, compared to his. What I know now were two battered, frail Sindar were looking up at me, wide-eyed with a combination of fear and awe.

"Finally, I could see clearly enough to discern the forms and features of the two elves. I felt curious and also oddly relieved, despite the terror, the pain throbbing in my wrists where they had been shackled and rubbed raw, and my shoulder, which I worried had been dislocated. The same shoulder. I remembered almost laughing at my overwhelming need to communicate with these two ill-fated Moriquendi.

"I pointed to my chest and deliberately lowered my voice. I said, ‘Nelyafinwë.' There were these two sets of big, light eyes wide-open, looking at me with a complete lack of comprehension. I tried again by saying, ‘Nelyo.' I thought that might be simpler. Still nothing seemed to register. I thumped on my chest and repeated, ‘Nelyo.'

"Finally, the stronger one smiled and turned to his companion. He said, ‘Nelyo,' and pointed at me.

"It wasn't more than a few days before we could understand one another relatively well. Years of studying languages gave me an advantage. The tongue of the Sindar seemed similar to ours, especially if I compared it to Valarin. Remember how grating and dissonant it sounds?"

Findekáno nodded. "I remember how much you griped about it and how your father called you ungrateful that he would take the time to work with you. Then he expected you to convince me that I would want to learn it." They both chuckled softly and then Maitimo, began to speak again, as though someone were timing him and he had to press forward.

"From the very beginning, I thought it would be foolish to befriend anyone in that dark place. I had already seen children tortured to death before their parents, a woman dismembered limb-by-limb and disemboweled in the presence of her young lover. That was one of the tortures he favored: forcing one watch what was being done to others, that and the waiting. I was certain that friends would be just another weakness to exploit. And yet I couldn't resist speaking with them. I wanted to learn who they were, whence and how they came to be there.

"They left us alone in our filthy den for a few weeks. The youngest elf regained some strength in spite of the lack of fresh air or sufficient nourishment. They gave us food irregularly: a few times even twice in one day, and occasionally skipping a day, if one could even use the word ‘food' to describe the swill they gave us.

"The older Sinda had made what we believed was a hazardous trek down to the torch, at the turn in the hallway, to capture a flame. Eventually we discovered they had little to no interest in what we did with ourselves. We used bits of rubbish and other debris that we gathered nearby to keep a small fire burning. As the days passed, we had to wander farther and farther along the passageway to find something for fuel. Thank Eru, Orcs are untidy. Although it grew scarcer, there was usually some sort of refuse or another that could be burned.

"The smoke stung our eyes, but it was far preferable to the dampness. We did manage to keep drier than before. Disposal of waste was a problem we never completely solved, but we kept our own soil some distance from the tiny circle of domesticity that we had carved out in our little corner of that putrid dungeon.

"After a while the weaker Sinda could walk again. They told me they were cousins. They had come with Elu Thingol's troops when they met Morgoth's forces at Amon Ereb. Must have been quite some time before we arrived here. The younger lad had been injured and his cousin had fallen back to help him. Both had been captured, when the Orcs overcame the stragglers, and brought to Angamando. Ai, Káno, they were gentle, refined, intelligent creatures. The older of them was a bard, had studied with Thingol's chief minstrel. I don't know how I could have survived without them. It was terrible after I lost them."

Maitimo stopped abruptly and shook his head, as though trying to remove the scene from his mind. Findekáno could tell that he was finished for the day. Maitimo's eyes glittered in the lamplight and he sniffed once. It was obvious, however, to Findekáno, from both experience and intuition, that no tears would follow. Findekáno recalled that he had only seen Maitimo shed a tear once in sorrow as a youth at a grossly unfair accusation of disloyalty from Fëanáro. He had witnessed him fall into huge wracking sobs another time, not in sadness but in complete rage and frustration, during one of their last terrible rows in Formenos. He knew nothing like that would happen now. He could feel Maitimo's resolution. Findekáno leaned forward and enfolded him in his arms, stroking his hair, while planting soft kisses on his cheeks and forehead. "How did you lose them?"

"They were killed, of course. He had the tongue of the singer cut out before beheading him. Made me watch, of course. The other he simply turned over to his orcs and let them do with him whatever they wanted. I hope he didn't live long."

"I wish there was something I could do to make it better. To help you forget," Findekáno said. He pulled Maitimo into his arms.

"But, actually, I ought not forget. I owe it to them to remember."

"Of course, you are right. I seem to find myself in the position of wishing I could just wave my hand and take all the pain away."

Maitimo opened his mouth impulsively, his expression desolate, but closed it quickly without saying anything. Then the pale despair faded from his face, replaced by an amused grin. "I'm so sorry, Káno, that you can't make everything better, rewrite the past, or take my sins onto yourself, much as you might want that. And I intend to learn to appreciate you the way you are and stop trying to protect or change you."

Maitimo buried his face in Findekáno's hair. Maitimo's feathery breath caressed Findekáno's neck, while his body aligning against him felt warm, nearly hot. Strangely enough, holding onto to Maitimo like that made Findekáno feel safer than he had in years.

Maitimo was quiet for a long time. "I love you," he said at last. Then he reached between their bodies to touch Findekáno, encircling his sex with a hand, at first tender and then relentless, hard squeezes alternated with gentle stroking. "There is one thing."

Findekáno drew back to see a shy smile overtake Maitimo's face. Something warned him that Maitimo intended to ask something he had not dared request before. "Tell me. Anything at all," Findekáno answered, whispering, barely able to breathe the words.

"I want to make love to you, want you to take me apart, and put me back together again, all bright and shiny new." Maitimo's eyes held Findekáno's with an adoring look, enhanced by absolute trust, which sent a pang of desire shooting up Findekáno's spine.

"You don't ask for much do you?" For one brief moment, Findekáno feared he would not be able to give Maitimo what he believed he needed to be whole again.

"Nothing you are unwilling to give, love. If for any reason it doesn't work, I promise not to hold it against you. We will muddle along the best we can."

"You tell me how it you want it. I will do whatever you want. You do know, however, that my greatest strength lies in opening myself up to you."

"Yes," Maitimo said, with a lightness in his voice that in no way seemed feigned. "I have thought about this and dreamed of it earlier while we rested. I agree I must talk more about these horrors, speaking of things aloud is different than sharing thoughts. It still will be difficult for me at times. But for now, I need to make love to you. But differently than we have been doing. No filtering of emotions. No more caution or second-guessing. I am willing to try if you are. We both know you are the valiant one. I'm depending upon you to help us get this right."

"Ai, Maitimo, you are wrong. I have never been braver than you. I have simply have had fewer constraints, lesser responsibility to hold me back. Go ahead. Take me. I won't withhold anything."

Maitimo's eyes crinkled with affection. "You have to promise to be patient too."

"Now you are frightening me." Findekáno chuckled. "You know patience doesn't come easily to me."

"Trust me. I will make it worth your effort." Maitimo bent down, and pushing the gaping robe aside, encompassed the head of Findekáno's hardened length with his lips. He swirled his tongue around it, sucked it into his mouth again, and then released it abruptly. He laughed softly and blew on it. Falling back onto the bed and spreading his legs wide, Findekáno groaned.

"That's perfect," Maitimo said. "Just lie back like that and enjoy what I am doing, open your mind to me so we can each feel everything the other is feeling. Oh, yes. Like that. Perfect." Maitimo kissed him repeatedly, smiling against his mouth, letting image after image wash over him. Findekáno was aware of how much Maitimo desired him and how astonishing every touch, every kiss felt.

When Maitimo finally entered him, Findekáno was astounded. Their minds were both wide open. Findekáno was aware of pockets of obscurity and shadows within Maitimo. Yet there was nothing sinister about them. It was like watching a mixture of light and dark clouds drift across the summer sky in Formenos, as though the contrast made the blue bluer and the light more precious than they ever could have been in the unvarying perfection of Tirion. For the first time since they had come back together, Findekáno felt he wasn't reaching for or pulling at Maitimo for something he could almost but not quite attain.

Maitimo was unexpectedly the noisier and more vocal one and Findekáno became lost in exaltation at the sounds. He felt like a rudderless vessel inexorably tossed on a sea churned up by a perfect storm of passion with Maitimo as his only anchor. The experience was intensely erotic and yet seemed to Findekáno to have a larger involvement of the fëa. He remembered speaking just a short while earlier of their first time, which now seemed oddly prescient of him. It reminded him of that first time except that there was no longer any innocence here but acceptance, and somehow that felt right and better to him.

After relentlessly thrusting into him for what seemed an interminable period of time, but not nearly long enough, Maitimo at last gasped, "Let go now, Káno. I can't hold on any longer." Findekáno exploded at his words. Maitimo followed, collapsing hard upon him.

"Thank you," Maitimo whispered, his contented voice reaching a well of tenderness deep within Findekáno. "That was amazing."

"Thank you? After what you just did to me, you say ‘thank you'? You were incredible."

"Káno." The word was a caress. "You are impressionable."

He grabbed Maitimo's face between both hands and pushed his head up so he could look into his cloudy grey eyes. Findekáno was trying not to laugh, but he couldn't hold it back. "I don't want to argue. But I would like to repeat that experience sometime. If you won't admit you did it, then how can you do it again?"

"Fine. I promise you that we can do it again." Maitimo's smirk oozed with self-satisfaction. "But I couldn't have done it without you."

"Bloody tosser," Findekáno said, throwing his arms around him and squeezing him until he yelped. They rested for a while, Findekáno smiling until his face hurt. He wiggled his jaw to try to relax it and Maitimo shifted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"I think we ought to get cleaned up, dress, and go downstairs. It must be almost time for dinner." Maitimo got up and strode over to the wardrobe. Findekáno followed him. Passing the mirror hanging next to it, he caught a glimpse of himself, stopped, and looked.

"Can I go downstairs now? Looking like this? I look . . . I look . . ." His cheeks were still red and his lips kiss-swollen. He literally glowed with satiation.

Maitimo's gave him a fey glance. "You look wonderful, like what Tyelkormo calls ‘all bleary-eyed and well-fucked.' I don't mind that. After all this time, I'm still not beyond feeling smug when people can look at you and know that you chose me."

"And you call me the exhibitionist," Findekáno grumbled.

Notes

Read Notes

 

"A New Day" is a sequel to my earlier story, also posted here, called "Maitimo and Findekáno." It has appeared to me that in fanfiction Fingon is often written as a character who is secondary to Maedhros in a manner that is similar to the way in which Hephaestion is compared to Alexander or Patroclus to Achilles. Plutarch wrote that Alexander called Hephaestion "a fool and a madman for not knowing that without Alexander's favour he was nothing." The implication was that Alexander might have had more brilliant military commanders, but Hephaestion was first because he was closest to his heart. I tend to view Fingon as being even more of an equal--the closest thing that Maedhros had to an advisor and collaborator (even more so than Maglor), with the huge proviso that Fingon was not bound by the Oath.
 
In my variation on their world, neither Maedhros nor Fingon represents Achilles or Patroclus, but each is in their own right a bigger-than-life tragic hero. The relationship that I chose to write between Maedhros and Fingon is complex. Both are flawed and yet the personal bravery of these two men and their devotion to one another is mythic in proportion. I hope to show both are greater because of their relationship with one another. I have chosen to write the lifelong aspect of their connection to be a primary and memorable part of this tale. The poignancy of their story is that, while Maedhros is failed by his first hero (his father), Fingon, without Fëanor's arrogance and completely lacking any claim to perfection, never fails him. Of course, the doom of the Noldor both illuminates and darkens everything about their tale.

Canon comments: The times elapsed within this story have been greatly telescoped. I could not imagine how Maedhros might have hung from the cliffs of Thangorodrim for more than a couple of weeks. Neither could I conceive of Fingon dithering around until year 5 of the First Age before deciding to rescue him. The events of this story, beginning immediately after Fingon rescues Maedhros and ending with Maedhros abdicating the kingship of Noldor, take place in the course of less than a year.

Names:

Quenya - Sindarin

Findekáno/Káno - Fingon
Maitimo/Nelyafinwë/Nelyo/Russandol - Maedhros
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Turukáno - Turgon
Findaráto/Ingo - Finrod Felagund
Macalaurë - Maglor
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Pityo/Pityafinwë - Amrod
Telvo/Telufinwë - Amras
Artanis - Galadriel
Irissë - Aredhel
Angaráto - Angrod
Aikanáro - Aegnor
Arafinwë - Finarfin

---

Chapter End Notes

Special thanks to Dawn Felagund for her Beta of every single chapter and to IgnobleBard for reading and commenting on each draft chapter (and endlessly discussing plot, characterization, and encouraging me). I think IgnobleBard knows these characters as well as I do now.

I also want to thank Claudio for hounding me about first lines of chapters and torturing me about geography. Thanks for extra help and unfailing generosity to Pandemonium and Moreth and all the folks at the Lizard Council.

Illustration by Robinka

Read Illustration by Robinka

Illustration by Robinka, Best Medicine

--presented to me for my birthday 2009,
as illustration for this short novel.
I believe it fits perfectly within
Chapter 1, "Bright Morning."

Thank you again, Robinka.