Song by Melesta

Alqualondë. Years of the Trees:

'Do not be ridiculous Makalaurë, you are the greatest singer I have heard in my entire life. Has father not named you Kanafinwë for a reason? It is only time that all of Aman takes joy in your voice.'

Maitimo was comforting his brother with the assurance of the eldest among the brothers and cousins of the proud bunch that made Finwë's grandchildren. And while Findekáno would not disagree, for there truly was no voice more beautiful in all of Valinórë, he could not but empathize with his cousin's nervousness. Makalaurë had performed for large family gatherings and noble circles at court, but this was different entirely. For Eru's sake, he was about to represent all of the Noldor at the commemoration of the arrival of the Three Kindreds to the Blessed Realm. It was undoubtedly the largest gathering of the three clans and it did not help that the ceremony was always held on the beaches of Alqualondë, organized by the very greatest among the Teleri musicians. Even the lonely Lord of the Waters emerged from the blue depths to hear the recitals.

'All of Aman? You are not making this any better Nelyo. This is only an ancient tune of the Noldor, one that grandfather himself passed on to me and one that our people sang as they crossed the sea while they were still known as the Tatyar. A tune I dared alter. The entirety of the Noldorin pride depends on my performance today.'

Maitimo captured his dear brother's hands. 'Yes Káno, and the entirety of the Noldor and the High King himself have chosen you to represent them today. Not to mention that you have spent the whole season living and breathing this song. I think you would not make a mistake even if you tried.'

'What if everyone hates it? I will read the displeasure on their faces and it will make it all the worse. Eru help me!' Makalaurë was desperate and Findekáno and Maitimo had to hold back a laugh at his melodramatic expression.

'How about this Káno? Maitimo and I will find a rather isolated spot away from the family and the Noldorin lords and you can only focus on us while you perform? I promise to keep a straight face.' Findekáno said as a last attempt to soothe his cousin's nerves.

'As if you two need a reason to find an isolated spot together.' Makalaurë smirked. Findekáno did not know why he suddenly felt heat surging up his face at that comment but his cousin was smiling for the first time that evening. He would take it. Without thinking he reached and embraced his cousin and Makalaurë let out a long sigh.

'Thank you Finno, you always find a way to make things better.'

Soon enough there was movement on the grand podium and someone came to fetch Makalaurë. Findekáno and Maitimo were left alone and hurried to find a spot at the edge of the gathered crowd, close enough for their petrified minstrel to keep them in sight. Findekáno felt the sudden appearance of the Valar above them, their half-physical presence as it always was, both soothing and unnerving at the same time. But the crowd stilled and the silvery light of the sea reflected the velvety hue of Telperion. It was a moment of reverence.

Ingwë himself opened the ceremony with a tale of the awakening of the Eldar at Cuiviénen and their first meeting with Oromë. The first song followed, performed by Elemmírë and a group of Vanyarin dancers, dedicated to the strength and the guidance of the Vala. The poet was resplendent as ever and the dancers' fair dresses and braids shimmered under the stars. There was not a dry eye in the audience and Findekáno was not surprised. Elemmírë's poetry was a crowd favorite and even Maitimo, who had an astounding collection, praised her above all other masters of the word. Then it was Olwë's turn who, without much speech, lead a choir accompanied by the famed Falmari drummists. Their voices seemed to capture the wilderness of the ancient lands and the beats awoke the earth under their feet. Soon enough no elf could keep their body still.

At last, the time had come for the Noldorin performance and Finwë led Makalaurë alone across the stage. The High King of the Noldor spoke and the crowd stilled at his strong voice.

'We are here today to remember the Great Crossing and the grace of the Valar beyond gratitude expressed. We also celebrate those who have followed and those whom we have left behind under the light of the stars alone. I gift you today the voice of Kanafinwë, son of my eldest son Fëanáro. May he sing and let us celebrate love undying. Those whom we have loved, those we love now, and those we will love in the ages to come.'

Findekáno perceived a sense of gratitude mixed with grief in Finwë's tone. He was sure the High King must have thought of those he rarely mentioned, his long-lost friend Elwë, and of course, his first queen and love Míriel. What it must feel like to live without those you love so dearly, Findekáno did not wish to discover. Then the High King left the podium and everyone's gaze fell on the single elf standing tall, clad in fine red silks. His long dark hair adorned with an elegant band, Fëanáro's work without a doubt. There was not the slightest trace of Makalaurë's stage fright as he took his seat behind the great golden harp. He skimmed over the audience and after a few moments of dramatic silence, the Gold-cleaver began his song.

Under the shimmering stars of dark Cuiviénen…
to the blessed light of Valinórë…

Many in the audience gasped. Songs of Power were almost never performed in Aman, the Valar tolerated them, yes, but they carried too much of the danger of Endórë. Makalaurë's voice merged with the waves, summoning energy as if from the shore across the Dark Sea. His slender fingers moving effortlessly over the strings, as a lover tenderly caressing the body of his beloved. The melody was innocent and young, like the spirits of the Firstborn in the darkness of the world. Yet Makalaurë's voice was strong, filled with steady passion, radiating the fire undying. A fire so potent, dangerous, and prohibited that only one of Finwë's line could conjure. Makalaurë's Song was a song of the Noldor, a Song of life, a Song of the very magic that breathes energy into all things living.

till the end of Eru's Song so bright…
now and in all of my lives…
in the darkness and the light…

The images of light and darkness grew more consuming, Makalaurë's spell stronger. Findekáno felt the familiarity of the Song down to his bones, like a sound he has known since the moment of his first breath. He opened his fëa to the music, unworried that it was so reachable, so exposed. Still, this music was something new, a spell entirely entrancing, and he could not help but draw closer to Matimo as he desperately sought his eyes. His companion was staring back at him, reflecting his own wonder, already enchanted by the musical waves.

your hand I will hold…
my spirit in yours will delight…

Maitimo suddenly reached for his hand and Findekáno instinctively entwined their fingers tightly. They were drowning into a dimension unknown, some other lands, he knew not where. The space around them was shrinking, their exhalations synchronizing, and they could barely restrain from dissolving into each other's orbits.

'I believe we should leave.' Maitimo barely whispered and only then did Findekáno realize the elves around them were clapping incessantly at the proud performer. He found no words to respond but was soon pulling Maitimo away from the crowd. They floated down the stone paths of the city, entirely entranced and unable to separate their hands from one another. Findekáno was barely aware of himself as they finally made it to their uncle Arafinwë's villa. They sneaked quietly into their assigned chamber and could not bother to light candles. Findekáno stripped of his ceremonial robes keeping only his jewelry, leaving Maitimo to stare at him wordlessly. But soon Maitimo was undressing too and did not protest when Findekáno reached out a hand to invite him among the green silks of the bed.

Excitement mingled with dread in his chest and he dared not seek Maitimo's eyes. He turned his back to him, allowing long arms to wrap around his upper body. They laid like that in silence listening to each other breathe in the darkness. And then the Song was back into Findekáno's mind and he surrendered to its magic. He found Maitimo's hand that was resting above his bare navel and brought it to his lips. Little presses at first and then longer, more sensual kisses as he tasted every fingertip, every knuckle, leaving a wet trail on the pale wrist. He felt Maitimo's chest expand against him and then his warm breath linger on his neck. Findekáno let a soft moan escape as he reached behind him to grasp Maitimo's hip. It was a part of Maitimo he had never touched before and it filled him with so much ecstasy that he could not stop to consider what he was doing. But all trace of thought vanished when Maitimo's arm began tightening around him as he gently held the top of his head. Breathy kisses trailed from the nape of his neck to the tip of his ear and onto his temple.

Findekáno's hips began moving as he pressed his behind against the warm body supporting him and Maitimo answered. A soft, perfect dance, a natural rhythm they knew intuitively. Maitimo held Findekáno's waist as he in turn slid his hand down to the side of Maitimo's thigh. He could feel the hard length sliding against the small of his back and down to his behind, caressing all his sensitive spots. Findekáno's hips pushed back further causing the tempo of their dance to speed up. It felt right, divine, like something they were born to do together. It was the rhythm of the Song, ingrained in every droplet of water, in the blood running through their veins. Their bodies moved like the waves of the sea, following the magic of the music that brought them to where they were now. Maitimo's breath grew heavier against his temple and Findekáno allowed his moans to escape freely through his parted lips. Then he felt a hand grasp his own hardened length and it took but a few moments for them both to be gasping, warmth leaving their trembling bodies. The Song evaporating to stillness. Maitimo was clutching his body and Findekáno did not attempt to pull away. Neither risked a glance or a word and soon their breaths settled into the soft rhythm of sleep.

***

Findekáno awoke startled to his siblings yelling his name from outside the door. He turned in panic to find himself in the bed alone though Maitimo's scent still lingered on the pillow next to him. Findekáno recalled vaguely a warm kiss on his lips as Maitimo slipped from the bed with the first light. Then he became aware of the dried crust on the small of his back and the mess on the sheets beside him but he could not find it in himself to regret anything.

He was forced to focus on the voices that had grown to shouts behind the door now. He had slept in and they were all waiting for him at the breakfast table. There would be no chance to stop for a big lunch, it was a day's ride back to Tirion. He responded something back. There was no time to think now. He would dwell on what had happened the previous night on the way back. Findekáno grinned to himself and got up from the bed. Only then did he remember that both he and Maitimo failed spectacularly at maintaining a controlled expression during Makalaurë's performance. He chuckled at the thought.

irion:

It was not until Laurelin waxed and waned trice before Findekáno saw Maitimo again. He had barely rested since returning to Tirion. He felt as his body was moving of its own will when he made his way to Fëanáro's estate sometime after the mingling. Standing underneath Maitimo's window he felt at loss of words or movement. Did Maitimo even want to see him, like this, unannounced? If he did, what in Eä would he even say to him? Yet he was here already so he closed his eyes and looked for an answer deep inside himself. He recalled the sensation of holding Maitimo's hand, not three nights before, but what felt like an eternity ago. The feeling of wholeness as they intertwined bodies and the words of that Song. They escaped his lips without much thought … under the shimmering stars of dark Cuiviénen… in the blessed light of Valinórë…

He must have been singing louder than he believed for suddenly the curtains between the open windows shifted and Maitimo's copper head peaked out. He was dressed in a night robe but Findekáno could tell he had not gotten much rest either. Maitimo beamed as he spotted his cousin but his face swiftly became somber and his eyebrows furrowed.

'Finno, are you mad? My brothers are still awake.' Maitimo hissed.

'I had to see you.' Findekáno quieted the Song and forced his voice low. 'I have not found a moment of peace since Alqualondë. I am losing my mind Maitimo.'

'Me too...'

Maitimo let out barely audibly but kept fidgeting and looking out the window. Findekáno started climbing the trellis of the sidewall before Maitimo could begin protesting and let himself in.

'Did you like my song?' He grinned like an adolescent and felt more the fool.

'You are ridiculous. I love your voice and I am glad to see you.' Maitimo could not help a smile and a blush. 'But you need to leave before my father or my brothers…'

'Please, just give me a moment. And then I will be on my way.' Maitimo said nothing in turn but finally stood still, eyes fixed on him. The quiet in the room turned uncomfortable. Findekáno inhaled deeply and continued hesitantly. 'I cannot stand this silence Maitimo. I feel… Look, the other night, it was… I do not regret a bit of it, but I understand if you do. If it means I would lose your friendship… We shall never speak of it again Maitimo. My heart would not stand… But you should know that I enjoyed it, and…'

Maitimo's gaze dropped to the ground and Findekáno's voice faltered. He let out a sigh and fell silent, fear freezing every muscle of his body. His eyes traced as Maitimo began pacing the room visibly disturbed. Findekáno did not know if the moment lasted an eternity or just a few heartbeats but suddenly he felt crushed, lost. A strange defeat compressing his chest and he felt that this must be what it feels like to lose your spirit to sadness. With his last drop of courage he spoke, barely above a whisper.

'I am sorry, Maitimo, I should never have… It was that damned Song of Makalaurë's. I will go now. If you can find it in your heart to forgive…' he fell silent and reluctantly turned to the window making to leave.

'Wait, Finno' he turned to catch Maitimo's small panic.

'Wait.' He repeated and quietly crossed the room to join Findekáno back by the window. Another moment of silence stretched as they locked gazes, but Findekáno forced himself to breathe. He focused on Maitimo's features under the soft light of Telperion. The storm in his grey eyes and his rising chest betraying his nerves among the otherwise soft lines on his pale face. He took in the familiar sight and found it in himself to gift Maitimo a faint smile. Determined to memorize every detail of these beloved eyes and keep this memory as a token. Store it in his heart and draw courage from it for whatever was to come.

Maitimo must have sensed this shift in energy as if Findekáno's courage seeped into him for the raging waves in his eyes seemed to calm down and his shoulders relaxed. He extended a hand and cupped Findekáno's cheek focusing on his movements. He slowly traced the lines up his temple and into his hair. Long fingers traced a small braid from the scalp down Findekáno's chest and he finally let his hand drop to grasp Findekáno's wrist, gently but surely.

'Finno. May I ask you to tell me, to share all that lies in your heart? Fear not, for whatever you say will not change what I feel for you. Will not change what we are. Just, please, I need to hear it.'

Findekáno's heart skipped a beat, but he focused on the warmth on his wrist and the tender look on Maitimo's face. Patient and compassionate as he always remembered it. A gaze that had always given him strength, since he was an elfling. So, he found trust in Maitimo's words and let the deep fire he usually kept tamed guide his confession.

'Maitimo, you have lived in my heart for longer than I can recall, since before I knew what that feeling meant. I love you, Maitimo, as my older cousin, as my best friend, as… as the other half of my fëa. This love has lived with me for so long, that I no longer know who I am without it.'

Then a flicker of sadness flashed across his features, but he marched on carefully. 'But I have long decided that I do not mind if my spirit is to remain unbound. That I shall remain alone with my longing until the end of time. I would never dare to expect that you…'

He could not finish his speech for Maitimo took a step forward and raised his hands to frame his jaw and gently held a thumb on his lower lip. Findekáno dared not breathe. Maitimo had an expression he had never seen before, a beautiful and terrifying sight at the same time. But then warm lips were resting on his and Findekáno felt like he was slowly falling back into the enchantment of the Song. He let his eyes close and allowed himself to drown in the taste and scent he never thought he would claim. He felt Maitimo's heated breath as he gently explored Findekáno's lips tasting them inch by inch. He moved by instinct at first responding to the kiss and raising his hands to Maitimo's waist. Their lips stilled against each other and for a long moment, they just stood trembling and sharing the air between them.

Findekáno would have believed that this was surely a dream, a beautiful one indeed, but a dream nonetheless and he did not wish to wake up. But then he felt a slight tremor in the body underneath his fingers and sensed more than heard the small chuckle leaving Maitimo's lips. It brought Findekáno to the present moment and he finally grasped who and where he was. And who was kissing him. And what a realization that was, Manwë and Varda bless him both! Findekáno became aware of the light silk of Maitimo's loose nightly robe, slowly letting his fingers find the fastenings and undoing them. Maitimo smiled and moved along under his touch to get a hold of Findekáno's tunic in turn. They disrobed each other without hurry, lace by lace, fold by fold, with the easiness of lovers who have known each other's bodies for centuries. The enchantment turned to magic as fingertips discovered a new crevice, eyes caught a new freckle, silks, and linens slipped down legs, and breath hinged with every exposed curve. Findekáno felt Maitimo's hands as he grasped the gold-threaded plaits and let his dark tresses down his waist. He reached in turn to undo the single copper braid and brought the soft curls to his lips.

When at last they were free of all clothing and jewelry they stood to meet their bodies once again. Taking in the sight of their nakedness as if for the first time. Of course, it was not for the first time that Findekáno had seen Maitimo's naked body. He had, countless times, at public baths, out on the lakes, in their rooms when they would collapse side by side, exhausted after dancing at the festivals. But that sight was always stolen, clandestine, fragmented. He winced momentarily at the thought of the hundreds of times he had to take his gaze away from this body in the past, especially in recent years. Looked away to hide his desire, burry his thoughts, suffocate his impossible dreams. But now… Maitimo was here, gloriously naked, for him alone.

'Eru's Song truly is glorious, my beautiful Maitimo.' He whispered reverently as if not to break the spell. But the last drop of doubt surged and he could not hold back. 'Beloved, I loathe to ask now but I must know. Do you return my feelings?'

'Dear heart…' said Maitimo after a breath and extended a trembling hand, ghosting over Findekáno's chest, right above where he felt that strong pull to him. 'If what you feel is a fire that keeps your heart beating and may yet burn you to ashes… If you feel like thirsting for the very waters that would consume you… Like your fëa will leave your body if you do not hold my hand now and in all of your lives… then yes, I return your feelings.'

Findekáno viscerally felt every image Maitimo conjured and he was suddenly consumed. He pressed Maitimo's hand to himself and pulled him closer, finding those sweet lips again. The enchantment suddenly intensified and Findekáno felt the flame burning him. His kiss turned desperate, hands hastily covering smooth skin and long tresses, hips rushing forward.

'Finno, my Finno…' His beloved breathed with equal enthusiasm into his mouth, burying his hands in Findekáno's hair and deepening the kiss further. Their tongues joined, exploring, caressing, devouring. Searching deeply into each other as if each held half the mysteries of Eä itself. Closer… deeper… Until they were both utterly breathless and collapsed into a tangled embrace barely making it to Maitimo's bed.

'Yours, now and in all of my lives.' Findekáno managed and words were no longer needed after that. They were burning, drowning, losing themselves into each other's spirits. And Findekáno felt like he is only beginning to live all over again.

***

When he woke next, Findekáno was not sure if he had stopped dreaming altogether. His body ached but his spirit was light. The cool breeze right before the mingling tickled his skin and he pressed himself closer to the body wrapping around him. He could feel a beating heart, like a small flame, underneath his palm. He inhaled deeply the familiar scent of sweat, wildflower tea, and pine, and his entire soul rejoiced.

And then he heard it. A soft thrum in the chest underneath him, a melody escaping through pressed lips. Maitimo was humming the chorus of the song, their Song …now and in all of my lives… in the darkness and the light… your hand I will hold…

Findekáno smiled, wrapped an arm tighter, and joined the hum the second time around …now and in all of my lives…

Lake Mithrim, Hithlum:

Maitimo was not dead. Not dead. He had asked Maglor to repeat the fact at least a dozen times and could not grasp still what that even meant. He had to be dead. Fingon had felt his spirit diminishing as he was crossing the Ice. The pull to him fainting in his chest until he felt half his heart was hollow. And Fingon had mourned him. He had already forgiven, for anger could not possibly reach the Everlasting Darkness. Not anger. And certainly not love. So he mourned to survive. Survived he did, and yet, Maitimo was not dead.

'Does he live then?' Fingon asked and knew how ridiculous that question must be the moment he closed his mouth. Was life not the opposite of death? What could possibly exist in between?

'How can anyone be truly alive in there Findekáno… Fingon.' Maglor corrected himself and it sounded more like a statement than a question. Fingon knew the resignation in his voice was practiced, rehearsed a hundred times over. In Valinor, Makalaurë the minstrel rehearsed songs. In these new lands, Maglor the Regent High King of the Noldor rehearsed resignation.

'You should know that at Losgar Nelyo did not… He and father…' Not this again, it was too much.

'No, Maglor, please. It matters not.'

'I suppose not. Rarely anything matters now.' Maglor sighed, the pain now transparent on his features. 'There is one last thing I must say. Nelyo kept saying that you will come. That you will not stop searching for him. No one paid him much mind, we were all at the end of reason after Losgar, after father… Before he left he asked me to sing you a song if he was not to return.'

'A song?' Fingon asked with visible frustration. They were all doomed, Maitimo was worse than dead, and here was Maglor talking about songs. All Fëanorians truly were insane. That had not changed. Maglor kept staring at him patiently.

'Very well then, sing it.'

'Now?'

'Why not?' Fingon responded with a challenge. It was all so absurd.

With the same resignation, Maglor stood and returned with a small harp that Fingon remembered from Valinor. It was one of the first instruments Maglor had thought him how to play in Fëanáro's house. Just a simple, modestly adorned practice harp. But here in these new lands, it seemed a small treasure. Maglor let his eyes fall shut and it took but a few plucks of the strings for Fingon to recognize the Song.

He listened as the Regent High King sang for him, the spell in his voice now tainted with grief, but no less powerful. Fingon refused to acknowledge the emotions that rushed up to his chest. Instead, he focused on the clear melody despite the tears flooding down Maglor's beautiful face. The mask of a High King now crumbled, Fingon saw raw agony, helplessness, and utter regret. His cousin looked young and vulnerable. Yet his pain seemed aged. Fingon remembered the night when he had first heard his beloved cousin sing this Song, long before their family had fallen apart. A night that seemed to belong to another lifetime altogether. But how could he possibly forget? By the time the Song faded, Fingon had made up his mind.

'Thank you, Makalaurë.'

He whispered as he pulled his cousin into a tight embrace and wiped away his tears. Maglor's body tensed but he quickly let his head relax against Fingon's shoulder. How long had it been since someone had held him lovingly? Either of them. Fingon pushed the thought away and mustered as much serenity as he could before asking.

'May I borrow this harp?'

'Of course, anything at all. Are you leaving already? Finno?'

But Fingon had no time to answer questions. There was much preparation to do and too much time had already passed.

***

The new Moon and Sun must have completed their dance for the thirtieth time since he left the camps at Mithrim. Or perhaps more, Fingon knew no longer. The poisonous mist between the bare rocks on Thangorodrim barely let any light through and time felt trapped. Fingon could not determine if he was thinking consciously or found himself warped in a subtle nightmare. Some terrible dark magic twisted his mind and crept under his skin, consuming him slowly. Perhaps Moringotto had already trapped him in his stronghold and he was not aware yet. Maybe he would be cruelly left to starve or wander until he loses all reason. He had to ration every last bit of the scarce supplies he had left. His body was bruised and scraped all over from the numerous falls he had taken on the slippery rocks and he could not remember when he had last slept. One could hardly call sleep the instances of unconsciousness in the shadows. Fingon walked and climbed and the hollows all looked the same. He was desperate.

When he next stopped on a high cliff the wind had picked up and cleared some of the mist. Fingon very briefly spotted a trace of the blue sky above him and his nose caught the faint scent of wildflowers. It passed much too soon but it was enough to let him regain his senses slightly. He was lost and could barely remember why he had come. To find Maitimo, right. If a piece of Maitimo could survive among this desolation. Maybe find a thrall in the body of his cousin, as Maglor had feared. Better thrall than find nothing at all, he thought. Or mayhap the utter truth was that he had come here to die. Let the orcs consume whatever spare flesh was left on him after the Helcaraxë. Or better yet, allow the Dark Vala to capture him, join Maitimo in his cruel destiny even here, in this new life of doom.

'This life… every life… all of my lives…' Fingon began hallucinating out loud. He laughed uncontrollably, sure now that he had lost his mind entirely.

'Now and in all of my lives, Maitimo!' He yelled and the mournful hollows echoed his words …lives …Maitimo… itimo… Like the songs of old. The forsaken song, their Song, he recalled. Then he remembered the harp he had taken from Maglor. Yes, he would sing, the rocks were to be his choir. Let darkness take him at last. He was insane already. What was there to lose, here, at the end of all things. So he took his harp and sang a Song of Valinor that the Noldor made of old:*

Under the shimmering stars of dark Cuiviénen…
to the blessed light of Valinórë…
till the end of Eru's Song so bright…
now and in all of my lives…
in the darkness and the light…
your hand I will hold…
my spirit in yours will delight…

Fingon's Song reached into the deep currents of life, for even Thangorodrim was part of Arda, part of Eru's music. The dark spell of Moringotto could twist life into a terrible form, but it could never diminish it fully. Fingon's voice grew stronger and he felt the heartbeat of Endórë, it filled him with a strength he did not know lived in him. He sang and sang, again and again, until in the midst of his insanity he believed that a voice answered his Song. With the hope of those mad, he looked up and found the source of the answer. It sounded far and faint, and barely recognizable, but he knew that voice. And he knew the body despite the terrible evidence of torment. He knew it now and he would know it in all of his lives. The Song must continue one way or another, he decided, as tears clouded his sight.

Chapter End Notes

*From the Silmarillion, "Of the Return of the Noldor":
'Then in defiance of the Orcs, who cowered still in the dark vaults beneath the earth, he took his harp and sang a song of Valinor that the Noldor made of old, before strife was born among the sons of Finwë; and his voice rang in the mournful hollows that had never heard before aught save cries of fear and woe.
Thus Fingon found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maedhros it was that sang amid his torment.'