The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part I, Chapter VI

In which Fingon reassesses the situation, comes to a decision, and goes on a hike.

With avid business on both sides of the lake, the warm seasons passed quickly. There were buildings to erect and repair, ramparts to be drawn up and reinforced, fields to be dug and irrigated, animals to be watched and tended. There was much exploring to be done in the lightened lands, maps to be drawn and reports to be written, there were hunts to be held and fruit to be gathered. Under the drenching fogs and the nurturing new light, the land around Lake Mistaringë proved to be fairly generous. Life became easier as the year progressed, provisions filling the larders. Yet occasionally, dark fumes and vapours came on the Northern wind, turning the rain bitter, making beasts fall ill and plants wither. At such times the Noldor remembered the threat of Moringotto more keenly than on other days, and speculated about when the next war would come. The sons of Fëanor felt their oath draw them to swift action once more; it took Macalaurë much effort to calm them and keep them from rash deeds. He allowed Curufinwë and the other smiths to go on a prospecting journey to the mountains, and sent Tyelkormo and his horsemen hunting (after ensuring that no similar action was taken by the other camp - he suspected that it would not be wise if Tyelkormo encountered one of Nolofinwë's sons in the woods, both accompanied by a host of huntsmen and armed to the teeth).
Thus when Findekáno finally brought himself to visit the Fëanorian camp again, he found it half-deserted. He left his dagger and knife with the guards and went to see his cousin.

Macalaurë resided no longer in a tent but in a proper house, two-storied, with whitewashed stone walls and a roof of reeds. In general the tents had mostly disappeared, except for a few that (Findekáno learned later) were used for storing food, tools and building material. In their stead, houses of stone and wood had sprung up, most of them decked in reeds, fewer with burned and glazed tiles of clay. The paths between them had been cleaned of grass and strewn with white pebbles. The settlement was now more of a small town than a camp. Findekáno was impressed against his will. While they had made themselves at home in the other camp, too much time and effort had to be put into exploring the surroundings to find all they needed for life; there had been little time for additional luxuries. Of course, the Fëanorians had already been familiar with the environment, so they could expend the time on other things. How much we could have achieved, Findekáno thought, if we had worked together.
But that, of course, was impossible.

He was here secretly, against the wishes of his father, and at first he had seen no reason himself to go back on what he had told Macalaurë. But he had been restless, and as there was a brief respite between the summer's labours and the busy harvesting season, his thoughts had returned to Russandol's fate. And with that train of thought persistent questions had sprung up, questions that he could not answer on his own.
Now finally he was here. To his disappointment Macalaurë did not have time to satisfy his thirst for answers immediately: He was busy explaining to an envoy of disappointed Naucor that his brother Curufinwë was, alas, not to be found here at the time. Findekáno watched these strange people as well as he could without appearing impolite. He had seen their kind before, though mostly from afar. The Naucor came rarely to the Nolofinwëan camp, where few of their works were needed and fewer could be paid for, although Findaráto had obtained tools for the price of some lamp-stones or some jewellery that, light and small as it was, had been brought over the Ice. But the Noldor were loath to part with too many of their treasures that were now a reminder of the old days in Valinor, and thus they had been traded for nothing beyond the most essential things. Curufinwë, on the other hand, seemed to have closer dealings with the dwarves. Findekáno found them fascinating and repulsive at once: With their bushy beards ("Even their women?" Itarildë had giggled when Findaráto had told them of his first dealings with the Naucor), short, stout bodies and broad hands they truly weren't beautiful, but their clothes and armour displayed a keen sense of design and an impressive mastery of craft. Intricate patterns were embroidered on their otherwise deceptively simple tunics and engraved into the plates of their armour, and many of them had mail-shirts that looked as though they had been knit from steel. Findekáno looked down on himself; he was better dressed now than he had been for his last visit, but it was still a far cry from the foreign but beautiful dwarf-livery. The embroidery on the collar of his tunic had been made by Itarildë as an exercise, and it showed.

He sighed, growing impatient while Macalaurë dealt with the dwarves and eventually offered them to be his guests for some days until a mounted messenger might find Curufinwë in the mountains. The Naucor accepted and were led to Carnistir, who was asked to take care of their needs, and Macalaurë finally turned towards Findekáno.
There was no embrace this time. "Greetings, Prince Findekáno," Macalaurë said politely and formally, and "Greetings, Prince Macalaurë," the other returned, somewhat less politely and not quite correctly.
But Macalaurë did not comment on the denial of his title, instead passing on to the obvious question. "What brings you here?"
"I want you," replied Findekáno, "to tell me everything that happened since you stole the ships and abandoned us."

- - -

It was late at night when Findekáno returned to the camp. His absence had long been noticed. The gate-warden let him in without trouble, but warned him that had been searching for him and was rather upset about his firstborn's disappearance. Findekáno had meant to slip to bed immediately after his return, for he was weary from the afternoon's tale and the long road back. But he assumed that it was wiser to face his father at once instead of waiting until morning, when there would be more people to witness the argument that was doubtlessly to come. He asked a passing page where to find his father and was pointed to the study. Swallowing nervously, he knocked on the door and was bidden to enter.

Nolofinwë sat, writing, at his desk that had been made earlier in the year from the wood of a walnut tree. Its polished surface gleamed red in the candle-light. When Nolofinwë looked up, the light softened his features, but there was no denying the lines around his eyes, nor the stern set of his mouth. "Where have you been?" he asked by way of greeting.
Findekáno grimaced. "I visited my cousins."
His father tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you had decided never to speak with them again? While I disapproved of the way in which it came to pass, I did not disapprove of the decision as such."
"I changed my mind. I had some questions that needed answering, and the answer could be found only with them."
Nolofinwë sighed. "You should have told me."
"Then you would have sought to hinder me, and I would have had to go anyway, against your command."
His father tapped his fingertips on the book he had been writing in - his diary, Findekáno guessed.
"Would you? But at least I would have known where you were. I was worried, Findekáno."
"I am sorry. I did not mean to worry you. I thought I would be back sooner."
"I see," said Nolofinwë. "Very well. From tomorrow on, you will not go anywhere outside the boundaries of this camp without permission and company. I will inform your brothers and sister, and the children of Arafinwë." He paused. "And the guards, of course. This will be so until the end of the harvesting season. Is that acceptable?"
Findekáno's barely managed to stifle a gasp. His eyes widened at the idea of such confinement and the humiliation that would go with it – no freedom to move without permission and a guard, like a small child!
But he nodded meekly, saying, "Yes, Father."
For the first time that evening, Nolofinwë smiled. "It will not be so bad. With the harvest upon us, you will have no time for expeditions anyway. And surely the company of your family isn't too unbearable?"
"It isn't, Father," said Findekáno, staring at the flickering shadows the candles cast on the wall.
"All right," Nolofinwë said, patting his hand. "Well, I assume you'll be wanting to sleep now. Sleep well, dear."
"You too, Father," said Findekáno and kissed him goodnight.

After that, things happened fast and almost beyond his control. Findekáno felt as though he was watching his preparations from the outside, surprised at the quiet efficiency and determination that guided his steps - as though he was following the pattern of a dance that had been choreographed ages ago. In truth he had not planned a thing, and he certainly would have waited a while longer, mulling over his options and calculating his chances, if he had not now been forced to take quick action before it was impossible. He packed a small bundle, so small that it could easily be hidden under his clothing. He took only what he thought to be most necessary: an empty water-skin, tightly folded, that he could fill later on; a light shirt so he could wash the one he was wearing occasionally; a lump of soap for that purpose; a small sharp knife more suited for cutting fruit than the large dagger on his belt; a flintstone. He scanned the larder and took some sweet bread to eat at once, but did not pack any other provisions. It was, after all, autumn, and he would find plenty of fruit and nuts in the woods, or be able to catch small animals and fish. He slipped a length of thin string and an iron hook into the pouch on his belt as an afterthought. The nights had begun to turn cool, so he could wear his cloak without arousing suspicion and did not need to pack a blanket.

He did not hesitate until the turn came to his weapons. How ever could he hide his sword, and moreover his bow and arrows from the eyes of the gate-wardens?
Then his glance chanced on the harp that rested, half-neglected, in its corner, and an idea began to form. It would be heavy and cumbersome to take along, but precisely for that reason surely nobody would think that he meant to go far from the camp, or stay away for long. And wrapped in its protective cloth, its bulk might hide at least some part of his weapons.
He nodded to himself. Carefully arranging the sword and quiver of arrows over his cloak and under the harp, hiding the protruding arrow-shafts and sword-hilt with his braided hair, he set to go. The unstrung bow would hopefully pass for a walking-stick in the gloom of night. Findekáno grimaced; his masquerade wasn't overly convincing. He could only hope that he wouldn't encounter too many people – especially not his father or brother, or sharp-eyed Aikanáro. The others, he thought, might understand.
Might.
He left a note for his father on the desk. If it were found too soon, he would be in trouble, but he could not bring himself to leave without at least an explanation. He disarrayed his blankets, stuffing the pillow underneath to give at least a rough impression of somebody sleeping there, although he knew it would fool nobody who took more than a cursory glance.
Then he took a deep steadying breath, checked the arrangement of weaponry on his back, hid his small bundle in the folds of his cloak, and snuck from the longhouse.

He was in luck, for he met nobody on his way through the camp - it was black night, and most people slept in this dark hour. By the gate he was stopped by the same sympathetic warrior who had let him in: a tall brown-haired fellow named Túrelio, not much older than Findekáno himself. Findekáno explained that he meant to go out to the shore to play on his harp a little and clear his thoughts, wishing not to disturb his family, particularly his dear brother Turukáno, who had trouble sleeping anyway ever since Elenwë…
He was rambling, certain that his nerves would betray him, but Túrelio only winked, saying, “Enjoying your last night of freedom, eh?" With a sinking feeling, Findekáno realised that his father had already informed the others of his judgement. He nodded numbly and was relieved when the guard said, "Well, as long as you're back by daybreak, it should be fine. Hop along."

Findekáno smiled; he felt vaguely sorry for Túrelio, who would certainly take some blame once his disappearance was discovered, but he could not go back now. "Thank you," he only said, "I'll see you later then!"
"Not me," the guard replied, "It's Maneséro on the sunrise shift. But I'll tell him to look out for you."
"Thank you," Findekáno said again, hoping that Maneséro wouldn't look out overmuch, and left. He dared not raise his hand to wave for fear of upsetting his load, and worried briefly that it might arouse suspicion. But nobody called after him, and as far as he could discern, nobody followed him as he walked towards the lakeshore.
He followed the lake until the camp was out of sight. Then he began to run.