Like a White Fire Within by fingonsradharp

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Chapter 2

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“How is it that you are here?” Nelyafinwe asked. “You were not announced—Someone surely would have informed me if—”

“I snuck in, of course,” said Findekáno. He looked exhausted, like he had been travelling rough and hardly sleeping for many weeks. His face and clothes were dirty. “I heard—I heard that Himbaringe was overrun. There was no word from you.”

Nelyafinwe frowned. “No word? I sent messengers, led by my best captain. Surely they should have reached Taras Ehtele long ago.”

Findekáno shook his head. “No messengers arrived. There were rumours of a warlord that made his stronghold here. I feared you were…” He trailed off, his eyes scanning Nelyafinwe’s form as if searching for injuries. His fea reached out and twined with Nelyafinwe’s own, and Nelyafinwe nearly slumped in the relief of that contact. He was not alone; Findekáno was here. 

“I know nothing of a warlord,” Nelyafinwe said. “Himbaringe is the only part of the March that has not fallen.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Arhesto’s company must have been intercepted.” He doubted that any of them lived still, but he could not abandon them without being sure. Þauron, he knew, was still at large, and Nelyafinwe could not bear it if his people were in the clutches of that madman. 

“You are alive,” Findekáno said. His eyes shone as he looked up at Nelyafinwe, a smile dancing across lips that Nelyafinwe ached to kiss. “We are both alive, and Moringotto is dead.”

Nelyafinwe felt his own lips curl at that. Something had settled in his chest when he saw the defeated form of the Dark Foe, a deep satisfaction that vengeance had been wrought, even if it was not him who had done it. 

He wished he had seen Moringoþo fall. He wished he had been the one to deal the mortal blow. 

But Nelyafinwe had learned long ago that the things he wanted, the things he wished for, begged for, did not come to him. Findekáno was the one immaculate exception. 

And if Nelyafinwe was to have only one exception to the rule he had lived by since before the Darkening, he would choose Findekáno every time. 

Behind him, Makalaure cleared his throat. “We are, ah, still here.”

Carnistir snickered. Nelyafinwe’s headache returned. 

He sighed and ignored his brothers. “I was on my way to visit Tyelperinquar in the healing wing. Do you wish to accompany me?”

Findekáno shook his head as if remembering something suddenly. “As I was sneaking in I overheard someone refer to him as a prisoner! I cannot fathom any reason why you would—”

“He was injured on our most recent expedition,” Nelyafinwe said, “and he refuses to sit still long enough to be healed.”

“I wonder where he got that from,” Findekáno said dryly. “I will accompany you.”

With osanwe, he said, I would never be parted from you again.

Nelyafinwe turned to his brothers, cursing his pale skin that reddened so easily. “You know your tasks.”

“No detours,” said Carnistir with a smirk. Makalaure elbowed him in the ribs. 

Nelyafinwe made a rude hand gesture at them and walked towards the healing wing, his gloved hand resting between Findekáno’s shoulders. 

You brought your harp, said Nelyafinwe. He could feel it beneath Findekáno’s cloak, the strings muffled by the thick fabric.

Of course I did, his husband replied. After all, I was to rescue you.

Nelyafinwe’s heart squeezed. He can imagine how Findekáno must have felt, if he’d expected to find Nelyafinwe once again captured by some unknown evil, once again risking his life with nothing but hope that he would succeed.

I am sorry to have frightened you so, Nelyafinwe said. Oft have I turned westward in hopes you would arrive.

I doubt I could have made it were I not alone. The road was perilous.

I know. Nelyafinwe stopped at the entrance to the healing wing, and after checking that no one was around, stooped to press his face to the top of Findekáno’s head, breathing him in. “I wanted to go to Hiþilóme, to you. But there has been so much to do, I could not get away.”

“What have you been doing?” Findekáno asked. “You mentioned expeditions.”

“I promise to tell you all.” Nelyafinwe was sure he’d get the same lecture from Findekáno that he got from every single one of his brothers and Tyelperinquar when he explained what they had been doing, and he wanted to put that off, at least for now. He needed more time with his husband before he would be ready to face the sad and worried face Findekáno was sure to make.

He opened the door to the healing wing to find Tyelperinquar and Curufinwe arguing.

“I am not a child anymore, Atto!” Tyelperinquar was saying. “I am free to do what I wish; you cannot keep me from—”

“I will not put you in further danger—” Curufinwe hissed. He cut himself off when he noticed Nelyafinwe, then did a double take when he noticed Findekáno. 

He visibly swallowed back whatever he wanted to say. “Findekáno. It is good that you are here. We have been in need of reinforcements for some time.”

Reinforcements? Findekáno asked. Even his mind-voice sounded bewildered, and only centuries of practice kept Nelyafinwe from visibly wincing. 

In time, he promised again. Aloud, he said, “How is your arm, Tyelpe?”

“It is fine,” his nephew said long-sufferingly. Nelyafinwe turned to the healer, Sailawende, for her assessment.

“He needs rest,” she said immediately, but managed to hold back her smile when Tyelperinquar let his head fall back against the wall in despair. “I am positive no debris remains in the wound, but there is still a risk of infection. I will need to continue to check it daily.”

“But I can leave?” Tyelperinquar asked, sounding hopeful. “If all I must do is come back here once a day—”

“Absolutely no forgework,” Sailawende said. Her tone brooked no argument. “I shall give you a sling to put your arm in—you must make do with your right hand for now.”

Tyelperinquar sighed in defeat. “Very well.”

“What on Arda did you do to get debris in your wound?” Findekáno asked. 

Before Nelyafinwe could lie and say it had happened in a forging accident, Tyelperinquar smiled wryly. “Does it surprise you to learn that the road to Angamando is full of traps?”

This time, Nelyafinwe did wince.

Findekáno turned to him, eyes wide with alarm. “Anga—What have you been doing?” 

Curufinwe raised his brows. “He doesn’t know?”

Nelyafinwe shot him the most withering glare he could. Curufinwe visibly held back a flinch and lowered his gaze in silent apology.

“Pardon me, my lords, but I would ask that you argue somewhere that is not my infirmary,” Sailawende said. 

Nelyafinwe dipped his head towards her and returned his hand to its place on his husband’s back, all but herding him out of the healing wing. “We have much to discuss.”

“Indeed we do!” Findekáno said incredulously. “You have been—”

Please, said Nelyafinwe. It was easier to say when it was just in his mind. When we reach my chambers, I will tell you all. You have my word.

Findekáno huffed, but said nothing until they reached Nelyafinwe’s rooms and the doors were shut and locked behind them.

Nelyafinwe sat heavily at his desk chair. His shoulder was aching again. Rolling it in its socket was agony, but his face didn’t so much as twitch. 

Findekáno didn’t take the other chair in the room, instead pacing around it with his arms crossed. “Why?” he finally asked, coming to a stop in front of Nelyafinwe. His eyes were anguished. “Why would you go back there?”

“Someone has to,” Nelyafinwe said. “I have the most knowledge of it. I know the layout. I have been in nearly every part of the fortress. Nearly every other escaped captive saw only one part of it.”

“Then draw a map!” Findekáno cried. “You need not—”

“Moringoþo is dead,” Nelyafinwe said. “I have seen his corpse with my own eyes. That alone has done much to ease my mind.”

The tension in Findekáno’s shoulders released, and he moved to stand right in front of Nelyafinwe until he had to look up to meet his husband’s gaze. He traced his thumb over the eight-pointed star scarred on Nelyafinwe’s face. “You are far stronger than anyone can hope to imagine,” he whispered.

Nelyafinwe kept his face expressionless. He was not strong. If he were strong he would have killed Moringoþo long ago. Instead, the Dark Vala had broken him.

Findekáno kissed his forehead, and he closed his eyes.

“Angamando is still full of orqui and ulundor,” Nelyafinwe said. “The creature you fought in 260—the golden worm—there may be more like it.”

“Valaraukor?”

“Those, too.” He sighed. “Though I have less hope of killing them. They can be defeated, but they do not seem to stay dead.”

“Lalwende managed it, though it nearly killed her.”

Nelyafinwe looked up sharply. “Lalwende lives?”

“She does.” Findekáno smiled, but it quickly faded. “I imagine Sauron is hiding in Angamando as well?”

Nelyafinwe shook his head. “I wounded him badly in the battle. He fled, and likely remains in Tol Ñauroron. It will take much time ere he heals.”

“Good,” Findekáno said fiercely. “Let him rot there.”

“I cannot. The more time we take to build our forces, so too does he.” 

“We have time, still. The death of the Enemy has bought us that.”

Nelyafinwe leaned his head against Findekáno’s chest, burying his head in the warm fabric of his cloak. “Why are you still wearing your travelling attire? Set your things down.”

“Not going to give me a separate room this time?” Findekáno teased. “Keep up appearances?”

“There are none to give. My brothers’ surviving people have all come here.”

Findekáno set his harp gently against the wall, his pack beside it. His cloak and outer robes Nelyafinwe put in his own closet.

Findekáno sat down on the bed and held out his arms. “Come to bed, arimelda. I can feel how exhausted you are.”

Reluctantly, Nelyafinwe took off his boots and sank down next to his husband. It was all he could do not to collapse under his own weight, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe from the pain.

Relaxing his muscles hurt almost more than having them tense did, but Nelyafinwe forced himself through it one at a time, starting at his feet and ending with his neck.

“Russo, when was the last time you slept?”

Nelyafinwe had to think about it. “I’ve not slept fully since before the battle. But—”

“Russo, that was a year ago!”

“Has it been?” He dragged his hand down his face. “I’m afraid the days have all run together of late.” He turned over and tangled his fingers with Findekáno’s. “But enough about me. You have been crowned High King of the Ñoldor.”

Findekáno groaned. “Do not remind me. You know well I have never wanted the crown.”

“Yet I can think of no one better to wear it.”

“I cannot possibly live up to my father. And do not think I have forgotten that the crown only passed to me because you abdicated!”

Nelyafinwe smiled. “If I remember correctly, you supported my decision to do so.”

“I did. You needed time to heal, and it reassured many of my people that you did not have Feanáro’s ambition.” He laughed mirthlessly, his eyes glistening. “I suppose I foolishly believed that my father would not die.”

Nelyafinwe squeezed his hand. He had thought much the same, before Feanáro’s death.

“The kingship should go back to you,” Findekáno said quietly. “You are the eldest of Finwe’s eldest.”

“Your people would never accept a Feanárion as king.”

“And yours will not accept me! They barely accepted my father!”

Nelyafinwe grimaced. His brothers would indeed be an obstacle. As soon as they’d learned of Ñolofinwe’s death, Tyelkormo and Curufinwe had urged him to declare himself king once more.

“Technically,” he began, “I ceded the crown to the eldest of the House of Finwe. You tell me Lalwende lives—she is the eldest now.”

“I have already made that argument,” said Findekáno. “She will not take it. Artanáro has not yet reached majority, and she says now that the Enemy is dead she wishes to spend more time in the Falas with her family.”

Nelyafinwe sighed. “What shall we do, then?”

Findekáno bit his lip, then slowly smiled.

Nelyafinwe narrowed his eyes. “You are plotting. What are you plotting?”

“I may have an idea on how to unite our peoples.”

If anything, that made Nelyafinwe more sceptical. “What is it?”

Findekáno’s smile was now a wide grin. “Why, we must get married, of course.”