Complete by Melesta

Tirion. Years of the Trees:

On the morning after my coming of age, I found myself alone in the house. Írissë had gone hunting with the cousins early, and Finno, as usual, had vanished, leaving no trace behind. My father found me in the stables treating apples to Rochallor, our young steed who had recently come of age himself. With a knowing smile, he said:

'Turno, why don't you take him for a gallop today? He needs it, and it seems so do you.'

I silently thanked his intuition and wasted no time, quickly departing with Rochallor towards a nearby grove. My head was beginning to clear from the surge of emotions I had felt recently. I needed this space to consider where I wanted to take my life, now that I had complete authority over my own decisions. More so, I needed room to make sense of my growing feelings for Elenwë.

As the groves grew thicker and the heat of the afternoon rose, I left the steed near a creek. I strolled up the forest to a small clearing. The sky opened above a mature hawthorn tree that stood tall, providing much-needed comfort and shade. Upon a closer look, however, I spotted two figures splayed underneath the shadows of the solitary tree. It did not take me any time at all to recognize my cousin Nelyo's copper top and the silky blue of my brother Finno's tunic.

More than each separately, I had recognized the familiar sight of them together. As they ever did, they appeared jointly without effort, red against blue, like a streak of sundown against the early evening sky. The burning call for solitude now dissipated, I felt compelled to join their afternoon doze. And just maybe, I could later open my heart to them. Despite our differences, my older brother held nothing but kindness and courage for me. And to balance it out, Nelyo had always been able to look at things logically and coherently. Much like myself under less perplexing circumstances.

I was about to quicken my step toward them when I suddenly felt the entrancing encirclement of Lórien and knew Irmo was guarding their rest against intruders. I obeyed this invisible command and stayed grounded. Nelyo and Finno lay there together, embracing each other softly yet stoutly, absorbed in the sweetness of their unity and the shimmering warmth that surrounded them. I had seen them doze off by each other's side in grandfather's garden countless times, especially after one too many raspberry tarts or glasses of sweet wine at lunch. At times they even rested an arm or a knee against the other, and I never mistook it for anything more than the closeness of kin and fellowship. On such occasions, I myself preferred Findaráto's pensive companionship, escaping with him down the river and letting Ulmo lull us in his music.

But here and now, shielded from the world by the privacy of Oromë's woods, cradled by Yavanna's gifts, I recognized a different closeness to their embrace. The sparks of Maitimo's hair that usually underlined the steady fire to his elaborations in court now seemed like gleaming embers that warmed their content profiles. His cheek resting against my brother's chest, long arms wrapping around his waist, he appeared almost younger than Findekáno. Like a toddler happily clinging to its favorite blanket. My brother held him back with the tenderness I had recognized from our own family naps on the open balconies. Yet his heart, always worn on his skin, now seemed perfectly tranquil, sheltering them from all worry.

I could almost tell by the serene conviction on their closed eyes that they were dreaming the precise moment they were experiencing, wishing to change nothing of their dream. What I was watching was a moment never meant for me to see, nor anyone else. This was not just the intimacy between two lovers but the closest approximation to each of their essences, such as they were in the truth of their fëar.

It suddenly all made sense, all the little pieces of a carefully constructed puzzle snapped together. The intricacies of their unique friendship. The silly little chuckles at secrets they only shared with each other. The way their bodies were always facing, although it surprised none that they always sat adjacent. How they saved the last piece of dessert or fruit for the other at large family gatherings. Their instinctive smile and hazy stares at the lyrics of the same melody Makalaurë would play. They had weaved this secret so intricately and lovingly. Still, they wore it openly in everything they did as if there was absolutely nothing to hide. Like you cannot, nor you wish to conceal the very sound of your own laughter on a joyful day. I momentarily closed my eyes, intuitively wishing for them to remain in this blessedness until the end of Arda.

The revelation struck me like the sight of fire to a blind man who has been gifted vision for the first time - filled me both with wonder and dreadful terror. For now, I firmly understood that Maitimo and Findekáno always were and always would be one. They would be present within one another always. Just as the light of Elentari's stars shines between every turn of Súlimo's winds no matter the physical distance. Each heartbeat brought a wave of renewed love toward both of them. Only to be followed by the horror of every impatient glance I had seen my father and uncle exchange. I started panicking and stumbled backward, afraid that Maitimo and Findekáno will sense my storm and awaken, and I will somehow forever shatter their bliss. I ran through the forest back toward where my father's horse unsuspectedly awaited me.

Frenzied, I marched on until I lost my footing and tripped into the creek that weaved across the forest floor. Wrestling the shock of the cold water against my heated body, I dragged myself on the grass and collapsed. An unfathomable sorrow overtook me, and a chill crept between my bones. I was sure it did not come from jealousy. Nor any abysmal disapproval of what I had just witnessed. Love above all else still flowed freely in my heart. For a moment, I felt defeated, crushed under the weight of some imminent curse I did not comprehend. Nothing made sense. The feeling made me furious, and then I sensed involuntary tears rolling down my face, soaking the very ground I was resting my brow upon. I could not tell how long I knelt there, groaning and hissing, beating my fists against the grass like I was fighting some dark and invincible enemy.

My anger must have tired me because, after a while, I felt exhausted but calm. I sat for a while, relishing in the solitude. And then decided to get a hold of myself. I washed my face in the clear waters of the creek. Ulmo's blessing returned my senses. I stood back up resolutely, straightened my clothes and rebraided my disheveled hair. A faint sound caught my ear, and although still far, I recognized Finno's exuberant laughter. More composed now, I hurriedly mounted Rochallor and fled, grateful that he instantly recognized my sense of urgency. I needed space to shield Findekáno and Maitimo from my anger, my confusion and this inexplicable feeling of regret. I had to distance myself from them.

Beleriand. After the Dagor Aglareb, Victory for the Noldor:

We met in the middle of a sea of corpses. I was still spitting orc blood and sweat as I saw them coming, and someone yelled, 'Victory!' We all echoed. And the word instantly lost meaning. I could barely hold on to my horse by midday as reports were exchanged, losses and gains summarized, horses distributed. My father's steady voice in the background, barking orders - the last strength sustaining me that morning.

And then I saw it for but a brief moment. The death of Findekáno and Matimo. The true birth of Fingon and Maedhros as they faced each other gripping the bloodied manes of their horses. Neither daring to urge a single step forward. Their bodies fierce and glorious. Strong and unbending. Like two of Nerdanel's marble statues. Their gaze blurring out the sea of sticky mesh formed by the piles of dissected bodies between them. Eyes fixated solely on each other. Longing. Craving. Desiring. Desire!

It pierced me stronger than the black arrow I had taken earlier. The desire of kinslayers. Alqualondë. The Ice. Elenwë. Arakáno. The grief and anger I had endured in silence since the day Fëanáro placed a blade on my father's throat. It came surging like the waves of orcs we had just slaughtered. Like a rambling earthquake opening small cracks all inside my body. Steady repulsion infiltrated every breath I inhaled. Liquid metal fused with my blood, stinging my eyes. I did not resist it. Letting it steep, it filled me not with fury but an iron determination.

And still, I could not despise them. Although it would be easier if I did so. For was I not the one to pray for his survival? For their unification? I remembered watching as the great eagle returned them from Thangorodrim. And I had felt hope. Foolish, cursed hope. The Valar had not forsaken us. At least not all of us. That same night I stood behind my brother as he refused to leave the scraps that had once been my cousin. The two neither dead nor alive clinging to each other. Whom had I fooled? All rightful hate and vengeance evaporated. Seeing them, I had seen myself clenching to the frozen corpse of my wife. I could not bear the idea of death. Not then.

Namo be damned! I caught a prayer escaping my heart. Well-formed words and a clear plea. Let him live. The One had heard me; I was more than certain when those grey eyes opened weeks later. I cursed myself but did not sway when I addressed him for the first time since Tirion:

'Hear me now Fëanorian. You are going to live. You must. For him.'

He did so. And here they were now. Alive and hungry amid interminable death. Spitting on the gates of Angband. And He hated them like he hates the light of Elentari's stars. As long as their love lived, there would be death. I knew what I must do.

Not so many summers later, I departed with my daughter and those who would follow me. Those who I foolishly believed I could save. I had left behind Fingon and Maedhros without a word. Fleeing from them, once again.

***

Gondolin. After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears:

The one that Ulmo had sent stood before me in the grand hall of my city. The day had come to face my surrender. For this Man had not come for me. Not really. He came for the one I love the most and understood it was time for her own path. She had come of age in this cursed land. It would be for them, my children, to lead our people and those who were yet to come.

I could not afford to lead them myself. I stayed behind these walls to watch my sister die. I should have left. I had left these walls to watch my brother die. My brother, my King. I should have stayed behind. Leave, stay, it mattered not.

I walked to the top of my tower, welcoming the sunrise. Utterly, irrevocably alone. I looked up north beyond my white walls and tall mountains. As though answering to Ulmo or Morgoth, I whispered resolutely:

'No. I shall run no longer. Darkness claim me as it may. I am to remain in this city until the bitter end, if bitter it must be.'*

Chapter End Notes

*From the Silmarillion, "On the flight of the Noldor":
'Moreover Fingon and Turgon were bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be'.

Valinor. After the Return from Exile:

When he finally returned to me from the Halls, I was glad. For what was there to grieve or forgive, now that Beleriand had become but a faint memory and the World had grown so old. Though our forms were young and strange, we found solace in the familiarity of our fëar. Although I often knew not who I had become, I knew he was my brother still. My Findekáno. My Fingon.

At times I could not help but feel pity, for I had come back to Elenwë, to my parents. My daughter had sailed back to these shores. But he… Still, the ancient strength never left him. It was he that stood and held my hand when Lómion was released at last. Together we journeyed across the ever-expanding lands of Valinor, guided by the grace of Ulmo. Mapping and searching, as we ever did, for the perfect materials to build his new house. Obsessively looking for the softest wood, the smoothest pebbles, the right hue of glass. Yet, as we were relearning the elves that we had become in all those long years, I could never step foot in that house—the home he was building.

‘I will wait to see it when it is finished', I would always respond to his invitations.

I did not provide an explanation. Nor did he ever ask for one. But the construction never seemed to end. There was always something more to be done. Something to be reconstructed, rearranged, repainted. And then, he was gone.

***

I had my suspicions on the very morning my brother disappeared alone and without the counsel of any.* For not even Maeglin, who worked with him often, knew his whereabouts. None did, for many years. But now my father informs me that he has returned. And with him, the oldest son of Fëanáro.

‘How is he taking life?’ - I say on an impulse, unsure myself to which of the two I am referring. I refuse to ponder on it.

My father stands still for a long moment and then catches my gaze. The blue in his eyes now seems like a mountain river that has finally settled on its course in the valleys.

‘He told me the house is now complete’, he whispers at last.

***

I stand now in front of the house that my brother has been building over the ages.

Although it appears somewhat smaller than what I had expected, it feels anything but constricting. This house is undoubtedly a Noldorin home. Geometrically traced lines, clean stone walls framed carefully by lancets, elegant staircases and archways to provide depth. It is embellished by its structure alone. None but a Valinorian Noldo could build such a thing.

Yet, I find surprises everywhere. As I find myself past the main door, Laurelin and Telperion’s ancient light fills my eyes. No, it cannot be, I remind myself. Then I exhale slowly and absorb the clusters of color that compete for the ivory hall. Rays of blue and silver slide through the eastern rose windows. They fall on the marble floor and embrace intimately with the growing streaks of red and gold penetrating from the west. Tall volcanic pillars cast shadows through the light like blades. The columns elegantly narrow from their thick foundation and branch out on the ceiling, creating a supportive web for the central vault. I look up through the skylight windows between the branches and instantly recognize the sight. The misty forests of Dor-lómin as we found them when we first reached Endórë.

Only the Valar know how long I stand there in awe. But now the blue hues have retreated, and the floor beneath me seems like it is burning. My feet absently take me wandering down the hallways covered with velvety green carpets. I chase the lingering scents of baked bread, sweet wine, and parchment. The space suddenly feels alive. Life for two. Two matching teacups sit on the counter. Two apple cores tossed on a plate. Two semi-closed books on the divan. A single long desk in the studio but two chairs on its side. And then, of course, two circlets tossed over the vanity. Copper and gold.

My chest suddenly feels too small for my bubbling heart, and I am gasping for air. I manage to escape to a terrace with a mesmerizing view of Taniquetil and what was once known as the Bay of Eldamar. My heart stills but only briefly. For I finally find what I truly came for. You stand together as if you came to the world this way. Hands clasped, bodies aligned, lips gently savoring one another. Your kiss is new, ancient, something else entirely. My fëa has now extended beyond my hröa, and I watch you wide-eyed. Like a parent looks at their newborn for the first time. With fear, and confusion, and love as limitless and boundless as Eä itself.

‘Complete’, I let out.

Then you lightly unbind your embrace and turn to me, never letting go of each other. And I find myself extending my arms.

Chapter End Notes

*From the Silmarillion, "Of the return of the Noldor":
'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; and aided by the very darkness that Morgoth had made he came unseen into the fastness of his foes'.