Fëanorians in Seventeen Kisses by sallysavestheday

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Fëanorians in Seventeen Kisses

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A kiss of necessity

Indis is golden, radiant at his father’s side, all bright joy and anticipation. Finwë smiles and smiles, the hope in his eyes apparent; he is wishing, as always, for more. More life, more love, more everything. Fëanor narrows his eyes, squinting until Indis becomes only a blurry glow at the corners and his father’s proud face looks at him alone. He can’t name what he feels. There has never been a situation like this; it is not how they are made. He wants to weep; to run. He leans up, kisses the soft, bitter silk of his new mother’s cheek.

*****

A kiss as comfort

Findis finds Fëanor in the garden. His hands are fists, and his shoulders hunch in warning, but she sees the tears in his eyes before he turns. In the hall, the work of change goes on: his mother’s tapestries carefully unfastened and lowered and folded away, the walls swept and washed and painted. Findis is too young to understand what hurts him; the whispers she hears about him make no sense. To her he is only Náro, and he is sad. She clambers into his lap, offers a sweet from her pocket, dirties his chin with a stickily earnest kiss.

*****

A kiss as a yes

The ring glimmers in Fëanor’s hand, cool now but warming fast against his palm. He clears his throat, meeting his own eyes in the mirror beside the workshop door. “Nerdanel,” he says, practicing. The tone is too commanding. He shifts his feet and tries again. “Nerdanel.” Too proud. Fëanor fidgets, slipping the ring on and off each finger, sweating although the forge is cold. He holds the band up to the light to ensure the work is perfect, and freezes when the door swings open. There is no need to say anything. Nerdanel grins and molds her lips to his.

*****

A kiss of relief

Maedhros is perfect, and healthy, and happy. Where his father flames, he shimmers and glows: all light, all warmth, all joy. Nerdanel shines with the pleasure of him, rocking, nursing, cradling him against her as she works in the studio…every day some beautiful thing emerges from under her hands. She is herself, still, and more than before. Fëanor gradually lets the cold clamp on his heart grow loose: she is well. Indeed, better than well. Motherhood suits her. He finds her singing Maedhros to sleep, catches her mouth in an upsurge of gratitude. Weeps a little, clasped in her arms.

*****

A kiss of encouragement

Nerdanel shivers in the museum’s atrium. She does not doubt her right to be shown here – she has the confidence of one who knows truth when she feels it with her hands – but she frets over details. The lighting on the center plinth may not be right. The carpet at the feet of the largest piece must be perfectly placed, for balance. Will visitors be too wary to touch the textured spheres? The air warms behind her, and Fëanor’s lips find the nape of her neck. O, Queen of Stone, he murmurs. Her chilly hands steady. Her heart catches fire.

*****

A kiss, casually

There is no quiet in Fëanor’s household once Maglor discovers rhythm. Pans, tables, tools all become rattles and drums. From there it is a game of chase to provide him with instruments whose noise can be easily borne, to teach him to modulate, to soften, to croon. But today he is only piping: sweet, gentle melodies in the garden, as Caranthir rocks in the hammock, reading, and the summer flowers bloom. Passing through on his way to the stables, Maedhros is caught by their tableau. He drops a quick kiss on each of their heads, knodding along with the tune.

*****

A kiss for love

Celegorm cannot believe how small his brother’s hands are. They are like leaves unfurling: ten pale points, tender and trembling, with the tiniest half-moon nails. He is so achingly frail! Soft knees and elbows, ears and nose and pursed little mouth…even the fawns in the forest are sturdier, more solidly formed. Celegorm cradles Curufin carefully, flushed with anguish and delight. The baby’s hands clutch at his hair; his eyes mist when the silver floss does not taste sweet, as he hopes. Celegorm cannot bear that look of disappointment. He kisses Curufin over and over, laughing through his own welling tears.

*****

A kiss good morning

The slam of the door at the end of the corridor is their warning: Fëanor and Nerdanel uncurl and smooth their nightclothes back into some semblance of respectability. They are still soft and gentle with one another, reluctant to let go. But the thunder of small feet in the hallway is a precursor to chaos, regardless of whatever lingering tenderness they might prefer. Fëanor slides a wistful hand down Nerdanel’s flank and bites the curve of her shoulder. “Monsters,” he mutters. “Only one, next time.” Then Amrod and Amras are bursting in, leaping onto the bed for kisses, shouting, “Wake up!”

*****

A kiss as a promise

Fingolfin cannot help himself: he scoffs at the feathers on his brother’s helm, widens his eyes in derision at the array of keen-edged blades in the “armory.” What is Fëanor crafting here, all hot from the forge, wary and evasive and sharp? It is not right. It is dangerous. Does Fëanor really think their safety is at risk? Fingolfin stands tall and drawls some cool warning about law, and custom, and propriety. “Come, brother,” he hears himself saying, “enough of this foolishness.” Fëanor just grins, and draws a blade, and presses his lips to it: red against the polished steel.

*****

A kiss goodbye

Finwë will not join them to hunt. He relishes the prospect of some peace and quiet, with all the high hearts of Formenos gone elsewhere and the space to himself. Silence will help him to think. He knows better than to believe that Fëanor and Fingolfin will have any true change of heart in one meeting, no matter how fine the celebration. But it is time to intervene. Twelve years of distance is more than enough. He kisses each of his bright boys proudly, tenderly: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor. How they shine, riding out, waving farewell!

*****

A kiss in public

Maedhros has never knelt. Not in Tirion, where he was the golden prince to whom petitioners came. Not in Formenos, where to kneel was forbidden, and to stumble from exhaustion in the training yard was to invite a punishing blow. Not in Alqualondë, where staying upright meant staying alive, and taking what should have been yours. Not in Angband: they might throw him to the ground, beat him to it, drag him jeeringly down, but he would never bow through failure of will or faintness of heart. But for Fingolfin, he sinks down, fully. He kisses the new King’s hand.

*****

A kiss as an apology

Fingon and Maedhros used to feed each other oranges, fingers and lips sticky and provocative, presaging delight. When crossing the Helcaraxë, that remembered pleasure burned Fingon’s mouth, seared his freezing hands. Now, Maedhros’ canny trading has brought seeds from deep in the south. He has husbanded them secretly in the warmest of Himring’s rooms, setting the pots beside the window and turning them daily to face the sun. He peels the first fruits and offers sections to Fingon with a trembling hand. Their mouths meet, sweet again and tender. The oils in the bright skins atomize, perfuming the wintry air.

*****

A kiss, passionately

He cannot wait. He stumbles into an alcove, crowds her against the wall, biting at her lips, needing her taste. She matches his fire with fire, arms winding around his neck, hitching herself up until they are pressed closer than close, all one strange creature, burning. It is madness, Caranthir knows: they will lose each other, as Finwë lost Míriel, but the fine, skilled hands he inherited from his grandmother can’t stop touching Haleth, stitching her soul into his. He doesn’t know which of them is keening. Her mouth is a drowning pool. They are all shared heat, shared breath.

*****

A kiss to give up control

“Stay, then.” Curufin watches the muscles in Celebrimbor’s back bunch as the blow lands: his father will not argue with his choice. Perhaps he had been expecting a fight; their tempers do match. But Curufin has read the signs, and he knows the dark road looms. Let his son be safe, at least – from the fighting, from the loss, from the bitter pull of the Oath. If he must turn his back on his father to do so, so be it. Celebrimbor stays turned away, unspeaking. Curufin touches his fingers to his lips. He blows the kiss into the air.

*****

A kiss out of spite

The boy with Lúthien’s eyes has killed Curufin. Celegorm howls and rages and slashes his way through the remaining guards with no concern for his own ending. Let it come; he has seen Amras suffer; he will not submit to being another such sundered pair. But he will have that sprat on the point of his blade first, whatever the cost. Dior’s own sword pierces him as his blow falls and they tumble together, gasping. The boy’s wide eyes blink up at him. Celegorm catches his chin. He kisses Dior’s cheek, bites down on his throat, sinks into the dark.

*****

A kiss to pretend

“Here’s a game!” Maglor says, brightly, holding Elrond’s small, dirty hand in his. “Look: here’s an egg, and bread, and cheese, and fruit, and jelly, all in your dish!” He counts on Elrond’s fingers, subtly checking for injuries, and ends with a raspberry in his palm, all silliness, all light. The child flinches as Maglor’s lips touch his skin. His eyes are wide and dark; his brother’s colder, narrowed. Neither of them smiles. Maglor feels his own false face aching. He reaches for memories of the warm stage in Tirion and breathes. In this new role he cannot show fear.

*****

A kiss because the world is ending

They have come to the end of the land: the liminal space where the lava pours down into the waves and the steam boils up like towers, like Tiron in clouds, under rain. There is nowhere left to run. Maedhros rests his chin on Maglor’s head, watching the ocean, shivering and burning all at once. He murmurs something incomprehensible – it might be I’m sorry – and sighs. The sea surges, hungrily. Maglor doesn’t turn when the heat at his back changes. If he holds very still, he can almost keep feeling the last brush of his brother’s lips on his hair.