Maitimo and Findekáno by oshun

That night when I entered the Great Hall of Feasts in my Grandfather Finwë's palace, apprehension and anticipation overwhelmed me. I thought he would be easy to spot--the tallest elf in Tirion, with the vivid flame-colored hair. I longed for the sight of his indulgent eyes and handsome face. But I did not see him. In that room he was known as Prince Nelyafinwë, first son of Prince Fëanáro, eldest grandson to King Finwë, but to me he was simply Maitimo. I had delayed my arrival, wanting to be sure he would be here, not wanting to arrive before him and be forced to wait impatiently as I had waited for the last three months.

My Uncle Arafinwë came up behind me, slapping me hard on the back. "Findekáno, welcome home. I see you survived another season in the house of Fëanaro. Good to see you, nephew." I mumbled something I hoped sounded correct and affectionate in response while scanning the crowded room with increasing desperation for the one face I longed to see. 

The soaring domed ceilings and tall marble pillars gave me a disconnected feeling, almost of floating, so accustomed had I grown to the elegant, low-slung simplicity of the rooms in the house of my Uncle Fëanaro in Formenos. The expanse of the immense open chamber had quickly filled to overflowing with Noldorin lords and ladies, respected craftsmen and the countless bureaucrats who undoubtedly spring up like mushrooms in any courtly setting. Yet it felt so good to be back finally in Tirion, to know I would find him here. I saw that my Atar and Amil had taken their places on one side of Grandfather Finwë and Grandmother Indis.

Grandfather looked over the crowd longingly, subtly anxious, before a smile of such radiance suffused his face that I knew immediately he had spotted Uncle Fëanaro. No one else warrants such a response from Grandfather.

Uncle Fëanaro wore a simple black tunic, trimmed in silver, his only jewelry a simple mithril diadem and the Star of the House of Fëanaro glittering at his throat. No excessive finery there, yet he looked every bit the "greatest of the Noldor" that he is reputed to be and the acknowledged heir to Grandfather Finwë. Aunt Nerdanel's hair gleamed golden red that night in contrast to her dark wine-colored gown. He held her close to him by her upper arm, as though to reassure her. But I sensed she also soothed him amidst the throng that contained so many he would rather avoid. As they moved toward the front of the room, his face repeatedly lit in unmistakable warmth as he would nod to a lord or lady only to change instantaneously to stiff, nearly hostile, arrogance when faced with another. Pretense had no place in Fëanaro's world. I looked carefully in front and behind of my aunt and uncle, as they made their way to their places on the other side of Grandfather, to see if Maitimo might be near them. He was not.  

Three months earlier, after Uncle Fëanaro casually mentioned to Atar that if I wished to stay in Tirion for the summer he could hardly object, I had plotted and schemed to travel again with my uncle's family to Formenos as I had for most of my boyhood. "He will never be a craftsman," Fëanaro had said to Atar, laughing lightly. The disappointed edge such laughter once held had long-ago softened into amusement.

My uncle's ill-concealed pride in his role in encouraging what he considered my greatest asset--an inquiring mind--made him able to accept with uncharacteristic benevolence my complete lack of interest in his first and greatest love. He told Atar that, while I was always welcome in his home, he could no longer pretend that either of us might profit from me spending more time in his workshop. Grandfather Finwë for once voiced no objection. It had been Grandfather who originally suggested, and then annually encouraged, my trips out-of-the-city with Uncle Fëanaro and his family. Atar previously had tolerated those summers, although with little grace or gratitude. Relieved, he immediately began planning my summer.

I desperately argued with Atar that I had left projects behind in Formenos I ought to finish. (Of course, I did not mention they were clumsy, stymied efforts that I had abandoned gladly the previous year.) I explained that my cousins stimulated and challenged me, and I embellished how much I learned in their company in addition to the few hours I spent with uncle in his workshop. I whined that no one or anything in Tirion could hold my interest and, finally, that one last summer before leaving my carefree youth behind was not too much to ask.

As a last resort, I approached Uncle Fëanaro himself. I begged, wholly prepared to grovel if necessary. "Please tell Atar that you have reconsidered and you do wish to teach me. Or ask Aunt Nerdanel if I can work more with her in stone. She tells me I have talent."

Uncle Fëanaro captured my shifting, less-than-honest gaze with his blazing grey eyes. Consciously remaining still, I squirmed inwardly at my deception. I had always prided myself on being able to unflinchingly meet those intense eyes--something many a grown elf in Tirion could not do. That ability, along with other less conscious acts, had earned me the embarrassing nickname of Findekáno the valiant from my cousins.

I never withheld information from Fëanaro. In fact, prevarication was not one of my talents. Among Fëanaro's sons, Tyelkormo could be a first-rate liar as long the subject was trivial. Maitimo and Macalaurë preferred simple honesty, but as a skilled politician and a performer respectively, each could hedge the truth when they deemed it expedient. Carnistir could not be bothered to speak with anything but candor.

"What is it that you want from me, Findekáno?" he asked. "You hate the forge. We both know that. Nerdanel says you are gifted in the arts but uninspired by her craft of late."

"You could tutor me in philosophy and lore," I offered, momentarily satisfied at my inventiveness.

"Káno," he said, his voice and face softening as he used my nickname. Although his sons and his wife addressed me by nothing else, I had rarely heard it from him. "You know that everything I want to say on those subjects can be found in the library or expanded upon in a fresher light by Nelyo."

"I could do unskilled work around the forge for you." I would not give up easily.

"If I wished more help with that, two of my sons have rather more free time than is good for them. Actually, that manner of work relaxes me. Allows me to think," he said.

"I just want to come to Formenos," I said lamely, appalled at my own stunning lack of articulateness before my uncle's persuasive genius.

"That I can understand," he said, his countenance lighting up with one of his sudden bursts of affection that never failed to surprise and encourage me no matter how many times I experienced them. "Tirion is intellectually stifling, unbearable really. And I suppose you enjoy spending time with your cousins. I will speak with your father."

Relief flooded me. Uncle Fëanaro usually got his way. A few hours later Atar sent for me. "We have decided that..." he began. We? I could already see the outcome in the set of his jaw. Nolofinwë, proud and irritable before his half-brother, whom he envied and often found insufferable, predictably had collapsed once again when served an unanticipated dose of Fëanorian charm along with Uncle's legendary persistence. I could barely restrain my jubilation. Atar continued, "...another summer in Formenos would be valuable."

The following morning Maitimo arrived for our thrice-weekly lessons. We settled into our usual chairs, facing one another. Maitimo slouched, one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee, the features of his incomparable face as relaxed as his body. My heart contracted at the sight of his casual grace and his beauty: red hair with its strands of lighter gold and darker auburn shimmering under the light of Laurelin flooding in through the open window, lightly-tanned skin, faintly ruddier at the apex of his perfect, high cheekbones, wide-set clear grey eyes, recalling the silver glow of Telperion, framed by thick, surprisingly dark lashes, his full, generous mouth.

Once, when I was still a small boy, I heard him being teased by Macalaurë, who claimed he had been asked again if it was true that "your older brother is as stunning as a Vala." Maitimo had reacted, annoyed and embarrassed. In those days, I had already seen several Valar and none of them affected me as my oldest cousin did. Many others claimed that Fëanaro was the handsomest elf in Aman, the most beautiful of the Noldor, but to me my uncle's undisputable magnificence of face and form approached not even a close second to that of my cousin Maitimo.

But that day, I was not overcome by the usual few moments of self-consciously stammering at the mere sight of Maitimo. I burned to tell him that our studies could continue through the summer, that I would be going to Formenos after all. Pleased with myself and feeling witty, my words tumbled out, one heedlessly after another, like pebbles rolling down the face of a cliff.

Maitimo's face shadowed for a moment before he smiled and replied, "Good work, Káno. You do need to get away from Tirion more often. I only wish I were going with all of you again, but grandfather has asked me to help him this summer and I could not refuse."

My world fragmented around me. What a dim-wit I had been. Why did I not speak with Maitimo first? At that moment, I worried he would see the despairing yearning in my face and be repelled by it. Fortunately, it seemed he did not.

He gave me the familiar lopsided, self-conscious smile that always seemed so incongruous to me and said, "But we are talking about your plans and not my tedious summer. What do you want to do in Formenos? I thought you hated Atar's lessons and that sculpture bored you."

If I had not been so weighed down by my own disappointment, I would have laughed and commented at how closely his observations mirrored those of his father. I could not say that I had only wanted to go to Formenos because I could not endure being away from him. So I answered with a half-truth, much as I had responded to Uncle Fëanaro, "I just wanted to get out of Tirion."

Later when he took his leave, reckless in my misery, I followed him out the door. "Maitimo, wait," I said.

"Yes?" he said as he slowly turned around, his voice sounding insincerely cheerful, his smile taut. It was almost as though he had not wanted to look back.

"I love you, Maitimo." My voice broke as I spoke and my cheeks flamed.

"I love you too," he answered, his voice suddenly tender but serious. He pulled me into a quick embrace, arms rigid, intent on maintaining a distance, his hands so warm they felt nearly hot holding tightly onto my upper arms. Then he abruptly let go of me, turned and ran down the steps. He paused, looking indecisively back for a second, before he quietly said, "We will talk when you get back, Káno."

The entire summer, I ruminated over that farewell hundreds--no thousands--of times. Was he cool because I embarrassed him? Or already distracted thinking of other things? "I love you, too," he said. Did he mean he loved me no more or less than any of his cousins? Did he know I meant I worshipped, shamelessly desired him, thought of him morning 'til night? "We will talk..." he said. Could he have known and did not care? Understood and hated me for it? Could he care for me in a similar way? Not likely. Ridiculous to even contemplate. Yet, perhaps not impossible?

The summer had been far from a complete loss. Aunt Nerdanel permitted me to paint and draw and talked with me about art and the creative process, with no further attempts to make a sculptor out of me. Uncle Fëanaro drafted me as an assistant doing laborer's work in the forge and surprised me with what good company he could be outside of our previously ill-fitting roles of frustrated master and reluctant apprentice. Yet I could not walk by the open door of Maitimo's empty room without feeling a heart-wrenching stab of pain at his absence.

Tyelkormo and Carnistir annoyed me far less than they had in the past. I actually grew closer to Macalaurë. I suspected he missed Maitimo almost as much as I did, especially since his wife was visiting her parents in Alqualondë. Even baby Curvo was pleasant and entertaining, not at all the little beast that Carnistir had been at his age--or perhaps my own advancing years made a difference. All in all, summer passed much as it always had--as one of Uncle's apprentices once described time spent in the house of Fëanaro in Formenos: "with honest and challenging work, warm and stimulating company, good food and plenty to drink." So nearly of age was I by then that no one counted how many glasses of wine I drank. If it had not been for the gaping hole in my heart I would have actually enjoyed myself.

Finally I found myself back in the same city,  the same building, probably the same room, as Maitimo. At first, I looked randomly from side to side and then began to comb the crowd in an orderly manner one small segment at a time. How could I miss him even among this crowd? My cousin Macalaurë, who always knew where to find his older brother, approached my grandfather at the front of the hall, smiled, nodding in agreement at an apparent request, and then took a seat with the musicians. I sighed with frustration that I had missed my chance to ask Macalaurë if he had seen Maitimo.

Macalaurë picked up his harp obviously preparing to sing. The crowd pushed me with it closer to the front; everyone wanted a better position. Suddenly I felt a body attempt to squeeze by me, brushing my upper arm. I immediately recognized the heat of that vital touch. Then I made out the voice. "Sorry. Excuse me, please," he repeated as he moved forward.

"Maitimo," I said, turning him by the arm to look into my face. I was amazed to find that my eyes were nearly level with his.

"Káno?" he said, with surprise and something akin to relief. "I was looking for you just now but I did not recognize you from behind. You are much taller, broader too." The easy, crooked smile that lit his beautiful face pierced the core of me like a blade. The murmur and hum of the press of those around us receded for me until I could hear nothing but the hammering of my own heart and see nothing but his silver-grey eyes.

"I came here early to find you." Maitimo said, his voice soft, no longer cool but fond, full of promise. "I need to speak with you, Káno."

"I came late," I said uselessly, a little too loudly, grinning from ear to ear. "Shhh..." hissed a nearby voice.

"Macalaurë's singing," whispered Maitimo, placing his arm around my shoulders, his breath upon my ear. "Come. Outside."

He guided me toward the door. We walked onto the terrace and into Telperion's light, down a small set of steps and through the garden, until we entered a small copse of trees, a near-authentic imitation of a natural woodland setting. Maitimo still had his arm across my back, guiding and propelling me. He stopped and turned to me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders.

"You should know that you tortured me throughout the summer," he said. "The last time we saw one another, you said 'I love you'. What did you mean by that?"

"You answered, 'I love you, too.' What did you mean?"

"Not fair, Káno. I asked first," he said, grinning.

"I meant that I'm in love with you," I answered. We had come this far--too late for me to dissemble now. For good or ill, I would speak and hear the truth.

For a long moment Maitimo said nothing, I looked into his eyes and saw something new, or at very least an emotion I had not recognized before. It both excited me and contented me. He loved and desired me as well. I felt my heart lurch and my face flush with a sense of victory at achieving what I had sought for so long, tempered by a fear of unworthiness. Then Maitimo took my face in his hands and kissed me on the lips, a kiss as soft as the murmur of a breeze upon new leaves, yet absolutely unlike any of the thousands of kisses he had given me before. It was unmistakably the kiss of a lover, no longer that of a cousin, or a friend.

The tentative lightness of it might have belied passion, but its length and tenderness expressed a sensuality that no brotherly kiss contained. The recognition of shared desire dispelled all my timidity and insecurity. When he attempted to pull back, I threw my arms around his neck, claiming his lips in a hard, passionate kiss. He moaned under my assault, the welcome sweetness of that sound impelled me to do more. I ran my tongue along the seam separating his lips--so perfectly shaped and almost red--causing him to open his mouth to me. Through all the Ages of Arda, into the Halls of Mandos and back again, wherever I may go, whatever may befall me, I will never forget that moment of elation.  Finally, I drew away to gaze on that his face, the sight of which astounded me.

"Findekáno the valiant," he said, his voice hoarse with yearning, eyes half-closed, focused not on mine, but seemingly on my lips, "whence do you get your courage. I'm like a blushing maid before you."

"Not like a maid at all," I said, punctuating my remark by pushing my hips against the evident proof of his masculinity, surprising myself and him with my wanton boldness.

I cannot recall when I became conscious how much I looked forward to the days when I would meet with Findekáno. There were times when I would actually attempt to list and categorize his unique characteristics in a vain attempt to try to analyze my own seemingly inexplicable emotions and my increasing desire to remain in his presence. Káno certainly possessed great compassion and a generous nature.

He was a good student, quick and thoughtful, and, unlike my youngest brothers, had always been able to concentrate. None of my brothers shared my love of books like Káno, much less enjoyed speculating on historical or scientific facts as he did. Those qualities alone made the time I spent on his lessons a pleasure even if I had not been an eager tutor. He had a talent for art; he was no Macalaurë but a passable musician; but his greatest gift, and the one I love the most, was his curiosity. He was passionate about learning and loved his lessons with me in science and lore.

What more could a teacher want of a pupil? Over the last few years, I discovered that I wanted more, much more. I wished to lose myself in his eyes. His eyes of brightest blue could soften the hardest heart and I have never been hard-hearted by anybody's terms. I will never forget his self-possession and control when he was delivered into our hands for his first trip to Formenos with our family. His small white face incipient with his future beauty, eyes too large and lips tight, apprehensive, tense, but determined. Therein lies Káno's valor--it is not a lack of fear, but the courage to face it, not to let it govern his actions. He looked to me from that day for comfort and with shy admiration, gifts I first appreciated insufficiently, but later would come to value above all else.

Always small as a boy, he had grown tall suddenly, and comelier of face than even I had dared imagine. The entire family had once speculated that Káno might never be even as tall as Macalaurë, the slightest of my brothers. Then seemingly overnight, he had surpassed not only Macalaurë but Tyelkormo and Carnistir as well. It began to appear that year that he might eventually be taller than any of Finwë's grandsons save me, yet he still had not the body of an adult. Káno's hands and feet appeared disproportionately large, like an over-grown puppy whose paws are suddenly too big for his body; his long legs seemed too thin and his shoulders too broad for his still narrow chest. Furniture and objects had a way of placing themselves in his path with predictable regularity. Those imperfections only added to his charm for me. I acknowledged to myself that I was perplexingly, unreasonably besotted by my cousin. Half-cousin, I would remind myself, as though that might make it easier, less forbidden, that I loved this youth over any maid I had ever desired.

"Love will be hard won for you, Nelyo,"[1] Atar once said to me. I wondered at the time whether foresight or intuition had put such a concept into the mind of Fëanaro and what whim or compulsion caused him to express it. I winced internally at those words as though they were a curse when he spoke them. I courted and was courted by many maidens. I had been left by a few I fancied that I loved while I found my own initial interest fast-waning with countless others. At the time it never occurred to me that there could be an alternate meaning behind his remark: that my true love might come to me easily enough, undeservedly even, but the courage to seize him and the right to hold onto him might be exceedingly hard to win.

I had never questioned that I would be expected to marry and raise children. The thought gave me no trouble as a youth. I always had a great need to express my emotions physically, to touch and be touched, which led me to precociously pursue intimate encounters with maidens. However, years had passed since I had engaged in such assignations. I had not sought out a maid since I realized that only Káno provoked in me a unique heat of body and tenderness of heart. But I did not wish to condemn Káno to a love that can not be celebrated. Even were he not so young, I would hold my secret in my heart. He deserved a love that could be shouted from the rooftops, envied and applauded.

The day before my family was to leave for Formenos, I arrived early for my lessons with Káno as I had done for quite some time. If I could remember when I stopped rushing off at the last minute to turn up at Uncle Nolofinwë's house just on time, or a little tardy, then I would know exactly when it was that I realized I loved him. I think I first recognized my altered feelings when I noticed how Káno would blush and look uncomfortable when I entered the room. It became a challenge for me to see how quickly I could coax him, using all my imagination and charm, back into the comfortable camaraderie that we had shared for so long. There were days when I felt a brazen seducer and other days when I could almost convince myself that I wanted only to make to him feel happy and safe again, but I always delighted in my success.

That momentous day, however, Káno appeared animated from the moment I entered the room. He inclined forward in his chair, close enough to touch. His dark hair fell loose and sleek over his shoulder blades, nearly to his waist. His parents had always pulled it back into tight braids when he was young, but he had taken to wearing it completely unencumbered to fall where it may, a small gesture of rebellion against my Uncle Nolofinwë's often rigid conceptions of what is appropriate, correct or in good taste. I loved that shining fall of darkest brown and yearned to run my fingers through it, but I also wished to push it back away from his face so I could better see the beauty of line in his arched brows and sculpted cheekbones. Leaning back against my chair, I tried to establish a distance between us while looking completely nonchalant. I wanted to pull him into my arms, to kiss his lips, to touch the bright flush on his face.

He flashed a proud, victorious smile and said, "I am going to Formenos with you after all." The flourish with which he made his announcement revealed that this change in plans had been accomplished at the cost of considerable effort on his part. I felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest to be forced to tell him that I must remain in Tirion. At that moment I realized what I had long hoped and feared--that he also ached for me. I could not hurt him, would not let him know how I felt. I remembered the hot, painful cravings that had masqueraded as love for me at his age.

When we parted that day before he left Tirion for the summer, I embraced him less because I desired it, although I wished to do so as much as I have ever wished for anything, but because I sensed danger in the look he gave me. If I did not embrace him, I feared that he would reach for me. I told myself that I must prevent his accessible young body from touching mine or I might never be able to let him go. I was afraid that the thoughts I fought harder and harder to suppress were utterly unworthy. Only that year would he reach his maturity, and he trusted me as an older brother or nearly a substitute father figure.

But I would not, could not lie to him. When he said "I love you," I answered, "I love you too." I turned and left him standing there on the steps of Uncle Nolofinwë's house. I dared not linger or look back or I surely would have done something I would regret. But, for the rest of that long summer, I could not keep him from my thoughts. My heart remained firmly anchored in Formenos although the tasks that Grandfather presented me did engage and challenge me. I fell asleep most nights thinking of Findekáno.

At last the summer ended and my family returned from Formenos the same day a reception was to be held in Grandfather's palace. Having spent the last few months with Grandfather Finwë, I rushed to our home to greet them. I hoped to arrive early enough to find Káno still there, but he had already left. Of course, his parents were anxious to see him as well. The house was filled with bluster and noise. Happy to be back and anxious to see Grandfather, even Atar was good-humored about the preparations for the evening. In the midst of all the clamor, I asked after Findekáno, with a deliberate casualness.

Atar responded, "Ai, the mentor has greatly missed his favorite disciple." The sideways glance he gave me seemed to contain a strange, unreadable nuance.

Tyelkormo burst in with a self-satisfied smirk, "You will find him much changed, Nelyo."

"Not for the worse," Macalaurë added, his pure, always pleasing voice, dropping subtly in gentle reassurance.

My imagination crowded with versions of this possible change. I pictured Káno and Tyelkormo dancing in the clearing near the forest with maidens enchanted by the handsome grandsons of the High King, much as Macalaurë and I had done before them. The nearly unbearable image forced itself upon me of Káno kissing one of those eager girls, lying with her on grass near the edge of the forest, fumbling to touch her breasts, to pull her body against his own. But he said he loved me, I reminded myself. At that moment I decided that I would not, could not give him up without at least knowing if he loved me as I loved him.

While the rest of family prepared to leave for the palace with interminable delays, arguments, searches for misplaced items of clothing not seen in three months, I had dressed quickly and waited impatiently. At last I could bear it no longer. I had to leave and find him. When I left the house the Mingling of the Lights had only just begun.

Arriving at the palace, I found the Great Hall sparsely occupied. I positioned myself where I could see the door and watched as each new group entered. Slowly the hall grew crowded and arrivals became more frequent, until I needed to change my strategy. I tried to comb the hall and look for his tall, thin figure. Courtiers and friends began to approach me and engage me in conversations, which I could barely follow in my preoccupied state. My brothers Macalaurë, Carnistir and Tyelkormo came into the hall together, spotted me and made their way to me through the thickening crowd.

Having lost all patience by that time, I blurted out, "Have any of you seen Káno yet?"

Tyelkormo shrugged and said, "Haven't seen him."

"He is here somewhere," Carnistir said, fixing his dramatic, dark eyes on me, with what I had come of think of as his insightful look, and a dip of his head which conveyed empathy to me. I had learned long before not to question Carnistir's gift. If he said someone was nearby, they were. Tyelkormo and Carnistir moved off together heading in the direction of a long table laden with food and drinks. I watched their heads, one honey-blond and the other dark chocolate in color, lean close together as Tyelkormo whispered something to Carnistir, who turned and looked uneasily in the direction of a trio of gaping maidens just a bit too young for them. I remembered the time when that would have been Macalaurë and me, but now my brother is wed while I am hopeless enamored of one whom--though not much too young for me--would still be considered impossible.

"I am concerned about the two of you," Macalaurë said in a soft voice close to my ear.

"In what way?" I asked, wary of his intent but only belatedly realizing I had not thought to ask to whom he referred. By the "two of you" he, of course, meant Káno and me.

"Do not play coy with me, Nelyo. You are utterly transparent. You and Findekáno contemplate a difficult path. I wish you joy, for I love you both. Although I worry for you, I want you know that I will always support you. But this is not the place for this discussion." He squeezed my shoulder and smiled sadly, turning his attention to the front of the hall. I pondered the revelation that if even placid, abstracted Macalaurë guessed my closely-held secret it might be even more obvious to others. Then I hoped that the fact that Macalaurë assumed Káno shared my feelings meant I truly had not misread him.

"Macalaurë," I called after my brother as he walked away--perhaps Káno had spoken to him of me--but he only waved back to me and continued toward the dais where Uncle Nolofinwë and Aunt Anairë sat with Grandfather. A stir behind me caused me to turn and see that Amil and Atar made their way to toward the front as well. My Amil holds her place at Atar's side with dignity--more striking of features than conventionally pretty. Both project a unique intensity; yet Atar's is brilliant and volatile, while Amil's is solidly strong and wise. I could not imagine Atar with a willowy, fine-boned woman of the cool perfection of my Aunt Anairë or the blond elegance and pale skin of my Grandmother Indis. But I could not fault the appearances of either my aunt or grandmother, which so inextricably mixed with the Finwëan look to make up the fairness of my Káno's face.

My search for Findekáno took on a feverish urgency as I saw Macalaurë walking away from Grandfather toward the small group of musicians. If I did not find Káno before Macalaurë began to sing, it would become difficult to impossible to do so before he had finished, which could be an hour or even longer. The elves of Tirion do not lightly tolerate chatter or milling about when my brilliant brother sings. I started pushing through the crowd. As I brushed by one I assumed a stranger, I felt a surge of identifiable energy and found myself looking into Káno's dark blue eyes. I immediately saw the change spoken of by my brothers. Káno had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome. He no longer presented a gangly, coltish look, but a naturally noble one, distinctly of the House of Finwë. A smile less shy than I remembered greeted me, but still with a shade of diffidence about the eyes.

The force that flowed between us should have made words unnecessary, but in my befuddled state--a mixture of hope and apprehension--I needed explicit confirmation that he wanted me before I declared my love to him. I might have kissed him then and there in front of all of Tirion if I had not exerted all my powers of self-restraint. I suggested that we leave, for I could not wait another hour. We walked quickly from the palace to a nearby wooded area that sheltered us from observers.

It took but a short moment for me to wrest an affirmation of his love from him. The sound of his words instantly dispelled all of my doubts and guilt. When I kissed his lips, silken smooth and yielding, a startling jolt of agonizing desire shot through me. I channeled it with great difficulty into a soft, adoring exploration of those so longed for lips until I lost myself in the sweetest passion. Still determined not to push him too hard or too fast, I reluctantly broke off the kiss. My once-shy Káno assaulted me with a far more demanding kiss--one that turned my knees to water and hardened me like a rock.

My heart so full of him that I could barely speak, I muttered senseless, adoring nonsense. I called him Findekáno the valiant, referring to his complete lack of fear in admitting that he loved me, of his willingness to accept whatever hardship this love might bring us, and of unselfconsciously revealing his own wanton need. Káno had often surprised me, but that night most of all. He pressed his stiff sex against mine, winning moan after helpless moan from me. This new Káno instinctively knew how to play me as Macalaurë plays a harp, yet his touches held no hint of manipulation, only reverence tempered by humor and a firm intent to please.

During that first hour of exploring one another, joy and wonder overcame us. My face felt hot, surely red, while Káno's eyes clouded with desire. As luck would have it, we both wore our stiffest, most formal clothing, replete with layers, ties and complicated fasteners. I remember thinking that we were elves, not rutting animals, and had time enough and more. In truth, I rejoiced in simply kissing his mouth, his eyelids, feeling the velvet softness of his lower lip with my thumb, tasting an indentation behind his ear. I knew that this was one love that I would never lose.

"Findekáno," I said, "I promise I will always love you, until the ending of Arda and beyond."

He whispered in my ear, "And I you, Maitimo. If I had not believed this was possible I never could have found the courage to confess how I love you."

"Ai, Káno, that is not true. Beyond anyone I have ever known, you find courage when it is needed."

"And you, sweet Maitimo, have always known how to love."

Suddenly I was flooded with a sense of rightness, that he was no longer little Findekáno, but an equal, my peer. Those realizations were accompanied by an overwhelming urge to return a measure of the agreeable torment he had caused me. His dusky crimson cheeks and dilated pupils gave an exaggerated quality to his beauty that aroused me beyond anything I had experienced before. My new sense that we were nearly evenly matched now--he was not so young and was I no longer much, if any, wiser--enticed me to want to tease him.

"Káno, we cannot make love in this tiny grove of ornamental trees. But I want to bring you to completion," I said. He did not say a word, but his breathing grew shallower and his eyes opened wider. A vision came into my mind that caused me to shiver slightly at its eroticism, but also made me smile. "But I can at least undo your laces. I could take you in my mouth," I said, deliberately moving the tip of my tongue along my lips. "Would you like that, love?" I asked.

He interrupted a sudden, sharp groan to whisper, "Oh, yes." I was breathing heavily as well, but I could not stop grinning. I never had the luxury to taunt, always before my energy had been directed toward seduction. This time my partner was already desperately, frantically willing.

"Are you sure?" I asked, intending to increase his desire even more.

"Maitimo, please," he begged hoarsely.

Since it was far easier to undo his laces than it had been to unfasten my own in similar circumstances with maids, I was quickly able to open his trousers. When I grasped him in my hand, he felt hard, rigid and completely unlike taking a hold of myself.

"Eru in Ea, Maitimo!" Káno said, "It's too late." My reflexes were quick enough that I fell to my knees and took his erection into my mouth before he had spilled completely into my hand and covered our festival finery. In my vanity I had hoped to be clever--using my imagination, since I had no comparable experience to rely upon--to do things to Káno which would astound him. I did just manage to collect myself enough to enclose him almost entirely within my mouth and move a few times before he had finished. The taste of his emission was unremarkable, but the sensation of his remaining spurts filling my mouth nearly undid me.

 "I am sorry," he said, a huge smile broke out over his face as he pulled me to my feet and kissed me.

"Káno, you sound insincere." I attempted not to laugh, but I could not control myself.

"I suppose I should be embarrassed but it really was your fault," Káno said, looking as though he was trying not to smile quite so broadly. "If you wish, I would do that to you." He reached up, bit my lower lip, and tugged gently. My face flushed and my voice turned husky.

"I do wish it," I said. Drawing a deep breath, I added, "But I think we should seek a location more private. Your house is closer, yet we would call less attention to ourselves at my family's house. And my room has a lock on the door."

"Then the house of Fëanaro it is," he answered jubilantly.

[1] A direct quote: Feanor says this to Maitimo in Dawn Felagund's novel Another Man's Cage.

The unfiltered light of Laurelin, halfway to its apex, burned through my eyelids startling me and bringing me to full consciousness. The sound of a light door carelessly released against its frame echoed throughout the room. A soft curse from Carnistir and a manic laugh from Tyelkormo were followed by an unintelligible grumble from Macalaurë. It felt as though my cousins were in the same chamber with me.

Then I remembered that, although there was no door onto the inner courtyard from Maitimo's bedroom, the windows were open and every sound magnified, ricocheting against the walls. The voices no doubt came from the kitchen on the far side of the courtyard. The clatter of flatware and plates indicated that we were not the only ones who had slept late. Maitimo, his body spooned against mine, nestled closer without waking, tightening his arm about my waist. Another wave of sated happiness, beyond my most extravagant imaginings, encompassed me; I was truly here in Maitimo's bed, in his arms, with the scent of him in my nostrils and his silent, featherlike breath upon my back.

"Fëanaro, stop." The soft voice of my aunt, in a half-hearted imitation of scolding, reverberated from outside the house. Her words had not echoed from the kitchen but clearly originated much closer to our window.

"Why?" asked my uncle, sounding younger to me at that moment than my own Maitimo and determined in his seductiveness. "Curvo is happy with Macalaure and Tyelkormo now. I will get nothing done today but unpacking anyway, cannot we take advantage of a few moments of peace? Even Nelyo is still sleeping."

"With Findekáno!" Nerdanel said, her voice dropping to an urgent, anxious whisper.

"Perhaps," my uncle answered, neutral and noncommittal, lowering his voice as well.

"Perhaps?" she asked. There was undeniably an element of near-panic in her tone. "They left the reception last night together before it had begun, barely having spoken to anyone. Your father asked about them. Findekáno did not even greet him or his grandmother. We arrive home and Maitimo's door is shut and…"

My uncle interrupted her. "Youth have their own intrigues and dramas to deal with, even ones so tightly constrained by the concerns of the court as those two. Have you grown so old that you cannot remember slipping out of such events?"

"Only when you dragged me away," Nerdanel said, sounding almost mollified.

"Humpf. If such functions bore me into insensibility, how much worse they must be for Findekáno and Nelyo?" My uncle released a rattling sigh.

"I heard them last night, Fëanaro."

I tensed and shifted a little. "Shhh…" Maitimo said. He nipped at my earlobe, planted a wet kiss beneath it and slowly ran his tongue down the curve of my neck onto my shoulder, whispering, "Salty but so very sweet."

Fëanaro spoke again. "Your self-righteousness is unbecoming. They were considerately and intentionally quiet, something you and I do not always manage."

Maitimo gripped me closer to him yet again, deliberately brushing his erection against my buttocks, causing me to gasp. "Shhh…" he said again. He lowered his hand from my waist to take hold of my stiffening member. A crackle of leaves on the ground indicated Fëanaro and Nerdanel had moved a few steps farther away from our window.

"Do not be wicked," Nerdanel whispered. "You know I love Findekáno, but I would have wished an easier life for my son--for both of them. Do not be smug and self-satisfied either that this involvement will greatly disturb Nolofinwë when he finds out."

"If he finds out. Your son? Can you not realize I love our eldest beyond all reason? Or do you presume we could separate them even if we wished to? Surely you are not surprised? You yourself have noted their attachment and attraction to one another repeatedly in the past," Fëanaro answered, his voice still a resolute whisper, but completely audible in our room nonetheless. They began to walk again, the sound of their footsteps indicating that they moved in the direction of the outside door into their own room. Then we heard the door to their room open and close.

I drew a measure of comfort from my Uncle's expression "If he finds out." My family's reaction to a relationship between Maitimo and me was unlikely to be sanguine. Conceivably it could be possible to delay, if not to avoid entirely, confronting their almost certain opposition. Yet, my consideration of this problem was not a new one. I had long ago decided that if I ever won his love, I would endure whatever difficulties pursuing it might bring.

"Relax. They are gone now. The discussion we overheard cannot, by their standards, even be classified as an argument. And, I have never said this to anyone other than you, Káno, but I am heartily weary of, worn out by Amil and Atar's endless circular discussions," Maitimo said, blowing softly against my ear while languorously moving his hardened member against the cleft of my backside. "What of this? Do you like this? I have been thinking about something that we have not tried. Can you guess of what I am thinking?"

"Ai, Maitimo, you surprise me," I said, rolling over to look into his beautiful face, not knowing what I might find there. His expressive grey eyes glittered with an impenetrable emotion for a fleeting moment before it passed away, leaving naught but passion and a renewed absorption in me, the most fortunate elf in Aman. I wanted desperately to comfort and reassure him, but inadequately said, "The entire household is awake now."

"You surprise me. You--so bold, wild, and tireless last night--are now shy and inhibited in the morning." His mention of the previous night, the memory of his lingering kisses, that took me apart and remade me with their sincerity and flair, incited me even beyond his touches. Neither he nor I knew anything of the love between two men, but Maitimo knew how to kiss. His range was extraordinary--from sweet and tenderly worshiping to burning, demanding. He was absolutely decadent in the level of skill he manifested. Once again, I had entrusted myself to him as an earnest pupil to his teacher. Nonetheless, he had responded lavishly to my enthusiastic, if novice, efforts to please him, which gave me the confidence to be inventive in my own right.

And, what could be easier than worshiping his hroa, inhabited by his clear, bright fëa: his silken skin over a marvelously sculpted chest and shoulders, his arched cheekbones, the elegant line of his neck, his long legs so beautifully muscled. Every part of him, every tiny scar, every indentation and fold of skin was finally mine to touch, lick, bite, and kiss. And far from the least of all these things were his unique scent, his sweet, low, unconstrained moans and the sight of him biting his lower lip when I brought him to a climax.

"I am neither shy nor inhibited," I said. We were both fully aroused and pressed against one another. "The proximity of your parents to our window distracted me. I am interested in anything you have not experienced that you would like to try. There is nothing I would not do with you, my love, but it is rather active around your house right now," I added, doubtful.

"I want to enter your body, or for you to take me, or both," he said. "However you would prefer it. There can never be a formal bonding ceremony for us, no vows voiced in public, so what is to prevent us from sealing the promises we have made to one another now?"

The exquisite longing clear in his incomparable face, the vulnerability of his perfect lips, and the sadness of his eyes nearly broke my heart. My desire and love for him could arguably be equaled by his, though I was certain never to be surpassed. Yet his raw need devastated me. What could bring my perfectly loveable Maitimo to such a state of craving for reassurance, that he should make this sudden demand amid the chaos of this crowded, tumultuous house on an ordinary morning?

Someone rattled nosily on the doorknob and then thumped on the door, apparently using their foot instead of their hand. "Open up," Macalaurë said. "Let me in. It's important." Despite an attempt to sound stern, officious even, Macalaurë's voice, intentionally brusque, contained affection and warmth.

"Go away, Macalaurë," Maitimo called out, bending over me to claim another kiss, the brevity of which indicated to me that he did intend to open the door to his brother.

"No. Nelyo, let me in." That time the pure tones of Macalaurë's celebrated voice were clearly shaded with humor.

"Ai, one moment," Maitimo said, looking into to my eyes. I owed him an answer to his earlier fate-altering request. But, in truth, I needed no time to think; denial was impossible. I grabbed his hand as he rose from the bed to go to the door.

"Tonight, Maitimo," I said. His silver-grey eyes blazed with an incandescent joy beyond any I had seen there.

"Yes, Findekáno," he said. His lips met mine harder than I expected. "I will try to be worthy of you."

"Maitimo," I said. "You are everything to me. I promise to make you happy now and forever."

"Nelyo! I am holding something heavy," Macalaurë shouted. Maitimo bounded from the bed, stopping short to grab a rumpled tunic tangled in the sheets, which he wrapped haphazardly around his waist. He unlatched, opened the door, and Macalaurë struggled past with a heavy tray laden with mugs and a tea pot.

"Tea!" He grinned. "I wanted to be the first."

"The first for what, little brother?" Maitimo asked, kissing him lightly on the mouth and ruffling Macalaurë's fine, dark, flyaway hair that had almost entirely slipped out of its haphazard braids. Maitimo gestured in the direction of the empty desk in front of the window. I thought he would have taken the tray from Macalaurë, but did not wish to expose, if my condition was any indicator of his, a still partial tumescence.

"To see your face, to wish you well. Tyelkormo and Carnistir have been pacing in the kitchen, waiting for you. They suggested I come up and have a look. Tyelkormo started worrying that Káno wasn't here at all and that we were impatient over nothing." Macalaurë turned to me and smiled. "Although Carnistir insisted, of course, that you were. Good morning, Findekáno. You both look rested. So, what do you have to say for yourselves? Tea?"

"Thank you, Macalaurë. I would like tea," I said. "Everyone knows we are here? Together?"

Macalaurë smiled his warmest smile, poured and handed me a cup of tea. Maitimo slid back into the bed next to me, pulling the sheet up to his waist. His brother gave him a cup as well.

"Everyone, except little Curvo," Macalaurë answered. "Scoot over, Nelyo. Let me sit down to drink as well."

"You cannot use the chair at my desk?" Maitimo asked, grinning.

"I could, but I don't want to. Remember what I told you when I was little? That I would still share your bed with you, even when it held you and your true love? That you could sleep in the middle with one of us on each side?" Macalaurë asked, planting a noisy kiss on his brother's cheek.

"Oh, I remember your words well enough, but I also recall that you were not so little. Nearly forty and not much smaller than you are now. I was fool enough at the time to presume that you were joking. But Vingarië will be back from Alqualondë later today and I suspect she will have other ideas for you."

"I surely hope she will. Why did Atar make you such a wonderful headboard for your bed, Nelyo?" Macalaurë leaned back, flopping his bare feet up onto the bed, pushing Maitimo closer toward the middle.

"Same reason he built a fountain outside the window of your room when he noted that the sound of water inspired you to compose. He noticed that I liked to read in bed at night. He has always wanted us to be the best that we could be," Maitimo said, sighing torturously.

"I am sorry, Nelyo. I did not mean to upset you. He did not say a single unkind word about you all summer. It was, in fact, an unusually peaceful summer," Macalaurë said. "Why even Vingarië was reluctant to leave Formenos for Alqualondë this year. And you know how she usually complains that after a few days she needs a break from the constant bickering and uproar."

"Perhaps it was calm because I was not there."

I said, "He told me that he missed you sorely and that all he wants is for you to be happy."

"Káno, you know him well enough. He wants me to be happy as long as I am doing exactly whatever it is that he wants me to do," Maitimo answered.

"Well, I suppose I was relieved to discover that he knew I was here and chose not to make an issue of that."

"I am sure he has his reasons," Macalaurë added. "Just be happy that they coincide with your desires. I am happy for you and Vingarië will be too. You know, we have spoken of the two of you many times. Of how we hoped you could be happy. But we thought that you probably already… Well, until I spoke of it last night to Nelyo and he looked so surprised, I assumed that you had… I am sorry. It is crude for me to ask?"

"Last night was the first time we were lovers. I feared Káno was too young or that he did not love me in the same way," Maitimo said. His face turned red all the way down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

"But I have loved Maitimo since that first summer I went to Formenos, long before I had any idea what loving someone like this meant. In the last few years, I have wanted him until I thought I could no longer bear the yearning and frustration," I said. Maitimo leaned over, pulled me to him, kissed me fully, opening my lips with his own and moving his tongue against mine and the roof of my mouth, until he finally elicited a moan from me. Only then did he release me. I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment with Macalaurë grinning at us from the other side of the bed.

"You are both crazy," I said.

"Ai, Káno, you have no secrets now. I could tell Macalaurë things about your craziness that would curl his stick-straight hair," Maitimo said looking at me with the most appealing smile and stroking my overheated cheek. Looking at his brother, he continued, "Those who speak of the madness and the strangeness of the Fëanorians clearly know nothing of our dearest, seemingly innocent, Findekáno."

Macalaurë responded, "You look complete together--somehow right and natural. I am writing a piece of music for the two of you. Hurry and drink the rest of your tea. We have to go downstairs. Poor Tyelkormo is still waiting for us. Káno, may I use the melody you and I worked on over the summer as the basis of your refrain? I have another idea in my head for Nelyo."

Maitimo and I broke out in laughter at Macalaurë's mania. It moved me genuinely to think that it stemmed from his happiness that his adored older brother had found a love that Macalaurë hoped would match the one he shared with his wife.

§0§0§0§

When we came into the kitchen we found Tyelkormo lounging at the table, apparently doing nothing at all. Little Curvo toddled toward Maitimo and then looked over to me. He raised his chubby arms to be lifted, while glancing back and forth, as though uncertain which he preferred. "Káno, will you pick me up?" he asked. Then, "No. Nelyo?" Maitimo was his favorite, but he had grown particularly fond of me over the summer. Finally, he threw himself against Maitimo's legs with an exultant "Yes. Nelyo!"

Maitimo hoisted him into his arms. Curvo snuggled his head, its black hair sleek, shiny and so like that of his father, against his brother's chest. Suddenly Curvo sniffed, reared back, poked his finger at Maitimo's chest, and said, "Káno." He then leaned over toward me, wrinkling up his nose, and said "Nelyo," in a voice filled with purposeful satisfaction.

Tyelkormo, raising his eyebrows and flashing a cheeky grin, said, "Nelyo, Káno, you should eat now so we can clean up the kitchen. Everyone woke up late today and has been eating in shifts. This food has been sitting here for nearly two hours already." The table still held fruit, bread, and cheese.

Macalaurë offered, "I will take the varmint and allow you to eat." Curvo clung tightly to Maitimo. "Very well then, Curvo. Suit yourself, stubborn one. You liked me enough when Nelyo was not around though, didn't you?"

"He is fine really. I have missed him too," Maitimo answered, kissing the toddler on the top of his head, before offering him an orange slice and then tossing it into his own mouth when Curvo shut his lips tightly and shook his head. "Where is Carnistir?"

"Here," Carnistir said, walking in through the doorway. He solemnly hugged us both. "I wish you joy," he said, his dark eyes inscrutable.

Tyelkormo let owt a yelp of laughter. "That is a Carnistir expression of effusive approval." Suddenly serious he said, "I wish you joy, as well."

§0§0§0§

That evening, after the Mingling of the Lights and a simple dinner, the entire family sat outside under the soft waxing light of Telperion and the barely visible stars.

"I shall miss the stars of Formenos. But am so happy to back here with you," I said, taking Maitimo's hand, while picturing the dark sky so distant from the light of the trees. Maitimo, whose habit of expressing affection physically was as natural to him as breathing, kissed me on the corner of my mouth. No one accustomed to this family would have noted this as unusual, but for me everything had shifted. Every touch, every kiss now reminded me of those that were wholly and distinctively mine.

While everyone else lay on the bare grass or light blankets, Macalaurë hauled a couple of large pillows from the house for Vingarië and himself to make it easier for them to play. Vingarië had promised to play a piece that she had recently presented at the music academy in Alqualondë that none of us had heard. For his part, Macalaurë was ever generous; he never questioned if his genius might be ill-spent in expending so much energy providing simple ease and relaxation for his family. I doubt that he even realized that he was particularly benevolent or how honored we considered ourselves to be and how greatly we appreciated his attention.

Among the sons of Fëanaro, even sitting next to Macalaurë, the slightest and least broadly built, Vingarië looked petite and fragilely Telerin. She brushed her hair—dark and streaked with silver—back from her face and mumbled something about us being a tougher audience than the Academy. Everyone smiled at that, probably thinking as I did, that despite her outward show of modesty, Vingarië was sterner and more confident than her delicate appearance might indicate.

Vingarië's piece was difficult to play yet, although more innovative than some prefer, lovely and gentle on the ears. The Fëanorians, of course, had no qualms about acting as music critics and dissecting the opinions she had received in Alqualondë. The one they found the most amusing and baseless was a widely respected bard's view that it sounded Noldorin. The amateurs on the lawn that night ventured that this judgment stemmed more from the fact that she was known to be the wife of the famous Canafinwë Macalaurë Feanárion than anything intrinsic to her piece. Giving Macalaurë a teasing kiss, Vingarië noted that since her presentation had taken first place in the competition and that she was now recognized as one of the premier flautists in Aman, she minded less being compared to the greatest bard of an Age.

Meanwhile, in the course of this discussion, Curvo had gone from merely restive to outright truculent. He would not settle even onto his father's lap. He found a small twig and began breaking it into pieces and tossing them at anyone who spoke. Finally, it was Vingarië who grabbed his plump fists and held him helpless while he looked up opened-mouth and stunned into her gentle face.

"Enough of this nonsense, Curufinwë. If you will behave yourself, Macalaurë will play an air that he has written especially for you," Vingarië said.

Nudging his head beneath her chin, he turned contrite. "I will be good." Wide eyes lifted in hope. "Is it one that I can dance to?"

"Yes, little one, you may dance. But no more sticks. Do you promise?"

"I promise," Curvo said. Even Fëanaro, shaking his head and chuckling, appeared impressed with Vingarië's negotiating skills.

Macalaurë laughed. "I had intended to save it for his begetting day, but my wife is wiser, I think."

Macalaurë took up his harp and began a rollicking, tongue-in-cheek, haughty tune, which caused Curvo to prance about tossing his head and scowling in a parody of his father's impatient self-assurance that had us all laughing. The resemblance was not lost on Fëanaro who, although he was the last--save Maitimo--to respond, could not resist joining us. Macalaurë flawlessly wove in as a secondary theme a haunting, ancient lullaby brought from across the Sea. The intervals of the soothing melody lengthened and the raucous one diminished into a softer and subtler version of the original until Curvo voluntarily settled onto Fëanaro's lap. By the time Macalaurë ended quietly on a variation of the lullaby Curvo had fallen asleep.

"Well done," Fëanaro said, with a small, slightly dangerous smile.

Macalaurë said, "I was unsure whether you would like it or be furious."

"I think your Grandfather will appreciate it greatly," Fëanaro said. "How gently and with what humor you remind me that no man is a hero within his own home. Now how will you follow that?"

"I have another piece I have been thinking on that is not finished, but also is inspired by my family. This one is for Nelyo and Findekáno. The first movement, the Findekáno part, is based upon a melody that Káno and I composed together in Formenos. The Nelyo section is my own."

Maitimo pulled me closer to him and wrapped both arms around me. While Macalaurë re-tuned his harp, Vingarië added, "You should be flattered, Káno, he has never used anything of mine in one of his compositions."

"Do not be silly, love, yours are too characteristic of your personal style. Whereas Káno, who has no pretensions to being a composer, so diplomatically mimics me that he makes me want to adopt his as my own."

It is hard for me to describe how Macalaurë's piece sounded to me that night. At first, I distinguished the melody line which I had originally conceived. Then Macalaurë's wizardry took over. The manner in which he had arranged and enhanced the notes revealed all of the longing and hopes I had nurtured throughout those months. He captured, using my own simple tune, my desire and my love for Maitimo. I could hardly believe that I had seemed as young and wistful, yet determined, as he made me sound. When he began the segment he had written for Maitimo, a sense of recognition seized me. I knew that Macalaurë and Maitimo were closer than I had ever felt toward my brother. However, Macalaurë's genius painted a picture more clearly than any words could do of the Maitimo I knew. The music was rich and full, a mixture of bravado and insecurity, the particular contradictory blend of reserve, subtlety, and open-hearted artlessness that was so unforgettable to me. A brief interlude alternated the two themes nearly as a dialogue. When the two themes began to blend together, Macalaurë stopped abruptly.

"Well, that is as far as I have gotten. Do you like it up to this point?" Macalaurë asked.

"It is wonderful, little brother," Maitimo said, half-crawling across the grass to embrace Macalaurë.

Fëanáro passed the sleeping Curvo to Nerdanel and stood. He walked over to his two eldest sons and knelt, putting a hand each on the back of their heads, he first kissed Maitimo and then Macalaurë. "My magnificent sons" was all he said. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. When I took it, he pulled me into their embrace.

Carnistir said, "It looks to be a long piece, Macalaurë. I hope that you will finish it."

§0§0§0§

After Macalaurë played and sang a few more tunes that carried less emotional weight, everyone else finally left to go inside. Maitimo stretched out on the grass pulling me partially on top of him.

"That was exhausting," he said, playing with my hair, brushing it back away from my face. "Nothing can ever be simple with my family."

"But, Macalaurë's piece was extraordinary," I answered.

"I loved the part that you helped write."

"I barely recognized it after what Macalaurë did with it."

"I recognized you. My astonishing, infinitely loveable Káno."

"Do you remember what we spoke of earlier today?"

"Are you serious?" He laughed. "Do you truly think that I can have had thoughts of little else since then?"

"Do you want to go inside? Or do you wish to find some place where we can be alone a bit further from the house?" I asked.

"It sounds to me from the way you formulate that question that you have a precise idea of what you want," Maitimo answered. He flipped me onto to my back and kissed me with the sweetest of kisses, leisurely and thorough, ending by biting and sucking on my lower lip until I squirmed under him, groaning. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, touching my lip with his long, graceful fingers.

"Of course, you did not hurt me," I answered, taking his hand from my mouth and placing it where my growing erection strained against the front of my trousers. "This is what you did to me."

"Oh, Káno, I have discovered that it takes very little effort on my part to have that effect on you," he answered, with a devastating smile.

"Are you making light of my passion for you, Maitimo?"

"No. I would never think of doing that. That is something I would never take lightly. So, tell me where it is that you want to go, if you do not choose our bed or wish to be so near the house." Our bed, he had said.

"We can go to bed later. I want to make love under the tree."

"The tree?"

"The willow tree, Maitimo. Have you forgotten the willow tree just across the lawn?"

"That tree over there?" he said pointing. "The one where we sat talking throughout the night until nearly the Mingling of the Lights, just about this time last year? Where I listened to your voice, looked at your exquisite face, and those blue, blue eyes under the light of Telperion, while entertaining seemingly unspeakable thoughts until I believed I might go mad? Is that the tree you speak of?"

"Ai, I had no idea. I wanted you so much that night. Why did you not tell me how you felt?"

"Because I wanted to wait for a night like tonight, I suppose. I wanted to see you as you are now, even more beautiful and just a little older. So that I could accept that you truly knew what you wanted. During all that time when I earnestly wished for you, I had no idea of what it would mean to have you, which is a good thing. Had I known, I could never have survived the waiting."

At that moment, standing up and walking to the willow tree seemed a waste of energy to me. I clutched at the laces on his trousers and untied them, pulling his aroused member free of them and bent over him immediately, kissing and laving, tugging strongly with my mouth, and swallowing him deeply until he grabbed me by both sides of my head.

"Stop, Káno, stop. Ai, wait. Let's go to your tree. Can you reach the other blanket?" he asked, grabbing one of two that had been left on the grass. He stood up and extended his hand to me. His erection glistened, wet from my mouth, in the silver light. I threw my arms around him, kissing him, unable to tolerate the lack of his touch.

"I still cannot believe you dare to call me crazy," he whispered.

Somehow Maitimo managed to move us from the front lawn to the willow tree. We spread a blanket upon the grass and, each watching the other, shed all of our clothing. Maitimo showed himself to be a master of seduction by simply standing there for a moment, aware that I could see him bathed in the light of Telperion, before he said, "I am all yours. How do you want me?"

"I want you to be inside me," I choked out, barely able to speak, as I reached, circling my hand firmly around him. I felt his moan as a warm pulse against my palm, while his eyes flickered shut. "Please, if you will," I whispered as an afterthought, gently stroking him and reaching up to kiss him.

Maitimo took me by the shoulders and returned my kiss. "I have never this done this before. I do know how it is done and that there are things one must do to prepare… But I have thought about this since the morning… Perhaps the first time... Just until we are sure how it is done properly…" he said. Maitimo the eloquent struggled to find the right words. I had been nervous, thinking of this all day, very nearly terrified, but determined. I felt myself beginning to get angry. I wrenched free of him and plopped down hard on the blanket. He sat down next to me.

I had worried if I would be able to relax enough take him into my body or if my fear would cause me to shut him out. Maitimo's organ looked large to me. Although in reality it was, perhaps, not appreciably larger than my own. But completely aside from the intimidating physical aspect of it, this was no small thing we contemplated. Even Maitimo, who shared his father's opinion that the Valar allowed us to assume many half-truths and superstitions to tie us to their will, believed that this act would bind two fëar together in such a way that not even death could separate them.

Throughout that day and evening, each time he had brushed against me, put his arm around my shoulders, or placed his hand on my knee, I had felt an acute response in my groin causing me to think on what we planned to do. Several times, when no one was around, Maitimo had squeezed or fondled my backside, while kissing me teasingly, and my knees had gone weak with anticipation. But now he was suggesting that I, who knew nothing, who had never made love with anyone before, would perform this act on him. What if I could not prepare him properly and I injured him? What if he was ready for me and, instead of entering him as he wished, I only spilled all over him as I had done the first time he had touched me?

"What?" he asked, his voice measured and patient. "You are angry with me now, my love?" He took hold of my chin and tried to turn my face around but I jerked away and would not look at him. "This was your idea. You asked me," I said. To me, my voice sounded as petulant as that of a spoiled child. I thought it no wonder he was not sure he wanted to do this with me.

He clutched my upper arms and forced me to face him. "You misunderstand me. I only meant to suggest that until we are sure of how to do this correctly, to be certain that I would not hurt you, that perhaps you should enter me and we would learn together. And then when I am sure…"

I interrupted him to snap at him, "Oh, that is an absolutely brilliant idea, Nelyafinwë. Worthy of your genius. So, you suggest that I be the one who take the chance of hurting you? You are the elder. You have some experience of making love, whereas I have none, and, as you are so fond of reminding me, while laughing I might add, I am the one who has no self-control…"

Maitimo stopped me with a kiss. Pulling me down into a reclining position, he continued to kiss me tenderly, running his fingers through my hair, brushing it back away from my face, and saying, "You are beautiful, angry or happy, so beautiful. Can it be possible that you still do not understand how much I desire you?"

"I'm sorry," I said, still sounding cross, but at least no longer hostile.

"Forgive me. If I ever laughed, it was only because you delight me with your unguarded responsiveness. If you are certain that you want to do this, then I will do my best to serve you well. I desperately want to make love to you completely. If you still want it."

"Yes," was the only word I could whisper. He reached across my body to fumble in the pocket of his trousers, to retrieve a jar and open it with one hand. With the other hand he stroked my erection. My entire body tensed in anticipation of what was to come, but Maitimo's sweet kisses and caresses simultaneously calmed and aroused me further. I glanced to the side of us at the open jar. "Then you did think about what we would need to come together."

"Of course. There was never of question for me of whether we would or not, only of how best to proceed. You are surpassingly fair, my love, and the brilliance of your fëa overshadows even that. I never intend to resist you in any way again." I reached then for his head, tangling my fingers in his bright hair, not silky and straight as most, but thick, somewhat coarser and loosely curling. I ran my tongue slowly across his lips, moaning as I felt them part for me.

"Then do not make me wait, Maitimo. I am keen to do this, but I do not want to lose my nerve," I said. He flashed me a radiant smile and answered softly, "Then I shall give you what you ask."

He dipped his fingers into the jar and touched me at the opening to my body, causing me to involuntarily flinch. "Ai, sorry, love. Was that cold?" he asked.

"No, not cold, just unexpected. Do not stop," I answered. He caressed me until I bent one knee and moved my legs farther apart to grant him easier access. Gently, slowly, he slid one finger within me. I reacted again. Quickly, wanting to reassure him, I said, "It does not hurt. It only feels a little strange."

"I am hoping for better than just strange," he said. He stoked me with one finger for a while longer and then removed it and replaced it with two, working them within me until he touched a certain spot. I cried out, "Ai, Maitimo, please. Again."

"That is much better," he said, his voice thick and hopeful against my ear, repeating the movement until I whimpered and begged of him to fill me. After that, things moved quickly and my remembrance is less explicit, for to think of it even now is to be overcome by memories more of emotions and sensations than particulars. By instinctive mutual agreement we somehow managed to work ourselves, utterly without elegance, and with fumbling and false starts, pleas, apologies, and much heavy breathing, into a position, lying on our sides, where Maitimo was able to penetrate me.

"Does that hurt?" he asked. "No," I lied, hoping fervently it would soon feel more comfortable. Surely he knew, because he did not move for awhile. He rained gentle kisses over my back and shoulders and stroked my arousal languidly, muttering all the while: "Is it too much?" and "I love you so." Coaxing me with his voice and touch, he forced me to relax until, needing to feel him move within me, I started pressing myself against him.

He began to thrust into me, at first slowly and shallowly and then deeper and more quickly. Breathing the scent of his skin, headier mixed with the tang of perspiration and sex, intoxicated me. He, for so long the center of my world, had become my universe. Suddenly, his voice urgent and beseeching, yet barely a husky whisper, penetrated my trancelike state, "Words, there are words, and I've forgotten them."

"Not important," I stammered, words were the farthest thing from my mind at that moment. "Any will do." Or none at all?

Maitimo was extraordinary. He was not only able to speak, but reasonably coherently. Of course, he did not use all of the words calling upon the Valar, or even Eru, to witness our vows (not that he would have cared to in any case). He said in a breathy, cadenced whisper directly into my ear, "This I promise you, my valiant Findekáno, that you are the only one. I am wholly yours. I will love you and you alone, always and forever." I pledged myself to him as clearly as I was able: "Only you. Forever. Ai, Maitimo, please!" Over the past day, we had promised many things to one another more eloquently and completely, and in language a great deal closer to the proper words of binding, than we could manage at that moment. But as I had suspected, the words did not matter in the least, only the intent.

A wave of complete consciousness of every thought and emotion of the other swept over us. His perception of me, almost shocking in its purity, stunned me. I could never be so attractive, selfless, good or brave as he pictured me. But I worried that he saw how I viewed him as well. He must have known at that point how self-interested and single-minded was my love and desire for him, yet how I worshipped him and my willingness to do anything, everything to hold onto him. Yet I hoped that my knowledge of his heart would make me aspire to be as he had seen me.

Contrary to my expectation, the spiritual side of this bonding did not at all overpower the physical--touching and being touched became a single phenomenon. While I discerned the fullness of being possessed, I was also cognizant of the heat and tightness that overwhelmed Maitimo. The friction, the warmth, the rhythmic motion of the act were as necessary as breathing, as the beating of one's heart, until we exploded so nearly simultaneously that I truly did not know which of us climaxed first, although experience should have informed me that it surely had been me.

Neither of us moved, as though we feared the separation of our bodies would somehow lessen our new bond. Finally, Maitimo gently withdrew from me. "Káno, I need to see your face." He rolled me onto my back and then collapsed heavily upon me. He traced my cheekbones and then my lips with his fingertips. "You are happy," he stated, his comely face completely alight with his own bliss. "Can you feel my contentment still?"

"As though it were my own, and I see it in your eyes," I answered.

"But, there is one thing I must tell you that I think you do not understand, my love. You do undervalue your own worth."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Then I must confess one thing that you apparently missed about me. My love for you is selfish. If you should ever leave me, I will follow you, at whatever the cost, until I find you, and then I will bring you back with me even if I must lug you all of the way," I said.

Maitimo laughed. "If I am ever such a fool, then I beg of you to do just that, and I promise I will thank you for it."

Then, ever considerate, he attempted to push himself up with one arm to shift his weight off of me. "Do not move," I ordered him. I already held him by one hand, but reached to take the other and lace our fingers tightly together.

"Findekáno, I am too heavy. I am too much for you to bear."

"You will never be too much for me," I said.

I want to thank Dawn Felagund, my principle muse for this story, for welcoming me into the world of Fëanor and his sons she created in her novel Another Man's Cage. My Fingon and Maedhros represent one possible way her younger incarnations might have evolved within a few years. Dawn's generosity also extended to Beta reading drafts of the story. Thank you, Dawn. Your corrections and suggestions have been invaluable.

IgnobleBard assumed the grubbier work of reading the earlier drafts. He saved me from producing what I feared, without his help, would be a woman's image of love between two men. Obviously, I accept responsibility for the failures of imagination and style that remain despite their liberal support.

Several months ago I had a discussion with Raihon relating to her story Beleg and Túrin. She expressed the opinion that they were perhaps Tolkien's most slashable couple. Immediately the thought popped into my head that, while I could see her reasoning, no other pairing had moved me or raised that question for me like the relationship of Fingon and Maedhros. The canon cite from the Silmarillion that first struck me (and the one most quoted) is:

"But when they were landed, Maedhros the eldest of his sons, and on a time the friend of Fingon ere Morgoth's lies came between, spoke to Fëanor, saying: 'Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the Valiant?'

"Then Fëanor laughed as one fey, and he cried: 'None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!' Then Maedhros alone stood aside..."

The drama of that moment riveted me to their story in a manner only to be equaled in the following cite:

"Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart. Therefore he dared a deed which is justly renowned among the feats of the princes of the Noldor: alone, and without the counsel of any, he set forth in search of Maedhros..."

Of course the heroic feat that is spoken of here is the rescue of Maedhros from the cliffs of Thangorodrim where he had been chained after his capture by Morgoth. Maedhros's brothers are unable to even attempt this, yet Fingon does, alone, and succeeds. The result is the reuniting of the two friends and their healing of the rift between the houses of the Noldor. Maedhros renounces his claim to the High Kingship of the Noldor in favor of Fingolfin. At the death of Fingolfin, Fingon, as his oldest son and heir, assumes the Kingship. It is Fingon who leads the assault upon Morgoth known as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad or the Unnumbered Tears. Maedhros rushes to support him, but, separated by betrayal,  their armies never come together and Fingon is slain in that confrontation by the Balrog, Gothmog. Even those who know little of the story are aware of Maedhros's end.

As I conceptualized it, my story of Fingon and Maedhros fell into a pattern reminiscent of the idealized relationship between a young man and his more youthful lover in the tradition of Ancient Greece. In this story I present Maedhros as the mentor and teacher of the younger Fingon. Meanwhile, Fingon attracts his older half-cousin, not only by his beauty (which in his case, as a scion of the House of Finwë, must have been considerable), but by his valor, generosity and honesty. The relationship is marked on the one side by the talent, accomplishments, warmth, and beauty of Maedhros and, on the other side, in addition to the youthful transparency and attractiveness of Fingon, by virtues that the older of the two lovers would admire and seek to emulate as well.

The tragic backdrop to their story, of course, is that of the fall of the House of Fëanor and the Doom of the Noldor. A self-admitted coward, I chose to tell only the story of the first euphoric recognition of that love, set in the Time of the Trees in Valinor, and leave for another time its painful end.

Names

I have used the Quenya names for the characters and been attentive to how I imagine the various characters would refer to one another, including the use of nicknames. Since many of the names are known best by their Sindarin versions, I provide a short name reference list below:

Sindarin - Quenya (and/or nicknames)

Fingon - Findekáno, Káno
Maedhros - Maitimo, Nelyafinwë, Nelyo
Fëanor - Fëanáro
Finarfin - Arafinwë
Celegorm - Tyelkormo
Maglor - Macalaurë
Caranthir - Carnistir
Fingolfin - Nolofinwë
Curufin - Curufinwë/Curvo

Lastly, I quote the following dialogue between Maedhros and Maglor, which so poignantly reflects upon their respective names, from Dawn Felagund's story "Evidence Of."

"Macalaurë." Insistent now, demanding answers.

"Do not call me that." You will not let us call you Nelyo of the childhood lost or Maitimo of the beauty you no longer possess or even Nelyafinwë of the kingship you forsook, so Maedhros--that bitter name upon my tongue--do not call me that name I was given by my mother, that name I was called in love by my wife, the meaning of which is also lost.

I have had this awesome illustration for a while. Avi17 did this for me for my Maitimo and Findekano story cycle and this, as the initial story in that series, seemed the logical place to share it.

Click for larger so that you can see the detail (lots of beautiful detail!).

Maitimo and Findekano by ~avi17 on deviantART

I think it is particularly interesting because of Maedhros's freckles (he definitely could have had freckles in my mind) and I also love the detail in Fingon's hair.