Kissing my Cousin

Alone

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 22:21:56 GMT

Posted by: downtide

(Author's Notes: This one falls between "The Ninth Wave" and "Cold Thangorodrim". Feanor and his sons have crossed the sea to Beleriand. As always, Quenya names throughout.)

Our ships slipped into the harbour at Losgar under the endless dark sky. We had seen no light in months, since the destruction of the Trees of Valinor, save for what little was shed upon us by the stars. Only that, and the light from our torches and lamps, was reflected on the surface of the inky, cold water.

My father was first ashore, followed as ever by Tyelkormo. I was next, not out of a will to follow close by my father and my least-favourite brother, but more out of a will to feel good solid ground beneath my feet. It was such a blessed relief I fell to my knees on the earth and knelt there for several long minutes, waiting for that dreadful nausea of the past sixteen days to fade.

I felt a toe jab into my ribs. "Get up and make yourself useful," my father said, giving me a glare and pointing to one of the vessels. "There are boxes that need to be brought ashore."

I nodded, sighed, and made myself useful. One of the boxes at least, was my own; my only possessions that I'd brought with me from Valinor, knowing that I would never again return. When the unloading was done, my brothers began to set up a temporary camp on the shore, for it was decided that we would sleep here a while, and move on in a few days. Or at least, in whatever we could best guess to be a few days, without the light of the Trees to mark night and day.

My father was animated; excited yet anxious. He paced endlessly, tense with energy like an over-wound clock. I glanced nervously across the sea from whence we'd come, and then back at my father, questions burning in my head. Eventually I could bear it no longer, and I approached him.

“Father,” I said, trying to force into my voice a confidence I did not feel. “Which ships and mariners will you spare to send back, and who shall you bring first?” I bit my lip and added hopefully, “Findekano, perhaps?”

My father looked at me, with an expression so suddenly full of hate it made me flinch. He stared at me in silence for several seconds, then he burst into laughter, yet it was laughter without mirth. “I shall tell you how many, Nelyafinwe,” he said loudly. “None, and none!” And he laughed again, before bringing his face close to mine, now speaking more quietly. “Consider this a perfect opportunity to rid yourself of your perversion, and start afresh. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to look upon you without feeling such... shame.”

I felt my face burn red with rage and I opened my mouth to give some retort, but I could think of nothing to say. All I could think of was that Findekano was sixteen days sailing away, on a far shore, and if we didn't send back ships for him and the rest of House Nolofinwe, I would never see him again.

Vaguely I noticed that my father was gathering my brothers together and handing round burning torches. I did not know to what end, until I saw one of the torches thrown. It landed on one of the ships, and charred timber caught light, and the vessel began to burn. Then another, and another.

Six brothers, six torches, six ships.

My father strode towards me, offering a burning torch. “Come, Nelyafinwe,” he said. “Stand with us.”

I knew what he meant by that, and I shook my head. I would have no part in this.

“If you are not with us, you are against us and with Morgoth,” father said, spitting on the ground at my feet. At that moment, I hated him more than I ever had in my life. He snatched the torch away and returned to the assembled group, leaving me standing alone.

Wait. Six torches, five brothers and my father. One of my brothers was missing. I scanned the group and quickly realised it was one of the twins. I grabbed the other, and spun him round. It was Telufinwe. I could only tell when I looked at him closely, for the pattern of freckles across his nose was different from that of his twin.

“Which ship were you and Pitya on?” I demanded.

Telu stared at me, said nothing.

“Which ship?” I repeated, my voice raised in desperation.

Telu pointed to one of the ships and I sprinted towards it, leaping without hesitation from the dockside onto the burning vessel. Smoke filled my eyes and mouth and I coughed, pulling my hair over my face to cover my mouth and nose.

The ship was an open sort without a covered deck, and our living space had been a canvas-covered area at the stern of the vessel, rather like a tent. I was lucky, this ship had been berthed with its prow towards the shore and so the flames had not yet reached that part of it. I ran, stumbling over beams and ropes, yelling Pityafinwe's name.

There was movement inside the canvas cabin and I rushed inside. Pitya was in his bedroll, only half awake, rubbing his eyes. “Maitimo? Are we there yet?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, grabbing him around the chest and hauling him to his feet. “And the ship is on fire so hurry!”

As we rushed back out of the cabin I could see that the flames were spreading fast. The sail was alight now and part of it had come down, setting new fires to the stern end of the vessel. I pulled Pitya close and we ran, dodging pieces of falling, burning timber and canvas. But by now the prow end was well alight. Pitya dragged me to a stop. “We can't go that way,” he gasped.

I nodded and the ship lurched. He was right, and there was no time to think too hard. I grabbed my brother tight, turned to my left and leaped over the side into the water, dragging him with me. When I finally managed to pull Pitya ashore, he and Telu fell into each others' arms, sobbing with relief. The others stood around looking somewhat sheepish.

I looked at my father, whose face was now ashen-white, and so many words bubbled up, so many things I wanted to say to him, about how his hate for his eldest son had almost cost him the life of his youngest. But the words would not come out through my rage and fear and despair, and instead I just turned my back on them all, and went alone to a quiet corner of the harbour, where I watched the flames extinguished as the last of the ships slid under the water.

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The Scariest Moment (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:11:28 GMT

Posted by: downtide

What was the scariest moment in your life?

There have been many moments in which I have been afraid, but the time that I was most afraid, was when Morgoth and Ungoliant destroyed the Two Trees. I was out with my cousin when it happened, so I was not aware at the time that my grandfather Finwe had been murdered. To begin with the loss of light was so tiny and gradual that it was barely noticeable. After ten minutes, I could tell that something was wrong with the light. After an hour, it was pitch-black, except for what light came from the stars.

I had never seen the stars before. Always in Valinor, their light was obscured by the light of the Trees.

Findekano and I ran back to the house, people were panicking, running around blindly, screaming. They had lit torches, and my father was leading a group of people to the city square, a procession of fire and chanting. He gathered them together and began to speak to them, no, rant at them, and it was there I learned of my grandfather's murder, and of the actions of Morgoth and Ungoliant that had destroyed the Trees.

That which could not be destroyed, was gone. I had been born in the Years of the Trees, and I knew nothing else but their presence and light. How could it be possible that something could come here, and damage that? It was impossible. And yet it had happened.

I think what scared me the most though, was the look of madness in my father's eyes.

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Change Your Mind (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:07:54 GMT

Posted by: downtide

If you could change one person's mind about something, who and what would it be?

It would be a simple matter of a disagreement about battle strategy. In one particular instance, Findekano and I could not agree. He wanted to hold my troops in reserve, and use them as reinforcements. I told him that it was suicide and by the time my troops reached him, he would have none left. Together, we are stronger. It has always been that way. Why don't you see it this time?

But he would not listen. We argued and we fought, and in the end he could not defeat my logic so he used his rank as king to over-rule me. First trumps third, as always.

So that night we parted in anger, with harsh words between us. He returned to his camp and I returned to mine. And we never saw one another again. For that was the night before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and five days later he was dead. I often wonder, if I had managed to change his mind about those battle tactics, would he have lived? Would we even have had victory that day, instead of being lost and scattered? These things I suppose I will never know

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Kissing My Cousin (is love) (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:05:17 GMT

Posted by: downtide

What does Love mean to you?

Kissing my Cousin is Love

I was somehow drawn to Findekano right from the beginning. His birth made quite an impact on me, because he was the first of our cousins to be born and he was the first newborn that I had seen or held. Amme was pregnant with Tyelkormo at the time, as I recall (or was to become so not long after), and when Macalaure was born I was really too young to notice him much as a baby.

My friendship with Findekano began I suppose as a kind of babysitter. I'm not sure if it was Amme's idea or Anaire's but it was suggested when Findekano was still young that he would benefit from socialising with other children, since at the time his younger siblings were not yet born. As the eldest, I was given the responsibility of keeping the younger ones out of trouble.

Right from the start, even though Tyelkormo and Findekano were the same age (or near enough), they were very different. Turco was always happy to find something to do on his own, and Macalaure was much the same. Kano on the other hand was a very demanding child. He always wanted to play and never on his own, and I suppose I was there so I was it. Truthfully though, I enjoyed the time I spent with him; aside from being an excuse to avoid working in the forge, he was always such joyful company. As he got older he showed a very adventurous streak, and he loved to do anything that was exciting, dangerous or adventurous. Amme and Atar, and his parents also encouraged me to keep company with him, at least to begin with, in the view that I being virtually adult by then, would keep him safe and out of mischief.

Secretly, I enjoyed doing all those things too, whether it was climbing cliffs or diving from them, swimming off the shore or racing horses down the beach, or any number of other crazy stunts. So I encouraged him, though his safety was always my main concern. In the end though if anyone got into difficulty it was usually me. Let's just say that Thangorodrim was not the first, or even the second, occasion on which he had literally saved my life.

I'm not quite sure when our friendship became something more. Looking back I realise now that I was in love with him early on, though I did not understand it at the time. I would think about him all the time and mope when he wasn't able to visit. When he did visit I wished with all my heart that he would not have to go again. I did not understand what it meant, when all the time my parents were encouraging me to make friends with girls and think about taking a wife, and it did not interest me because I only wanted to spend my time with Findekano.

So, yes I think I loved him a lot earlier than I thought I did. He was still quite beneath the age of majority when he kissed me for the first time - or at least the first time it was a proper kiss, and not just a friendly childish peck. I was surprised but at the same time, not surprised at all, and it seemed perfectly natural that I returned the kiss in kind. After that, things moved rather quickly - there was no lingering courtship, just a clumsy and hungry first time, when neither of us really knew what we were doing. We... er... practised hard, after that. *grin*

It's a little strange really, that as a child Findekano was much more forward than I, and as he got older he became much less so. I wonder what would have happened if he'd been less forward then, and had not had the nerve to kiss me that first time. I wonder if I'd ever have had the nerve to kiss him instead, and I think perhaps not. We might never have come together at all, except just as cousins.

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Perchance to Dream

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 12:26:36 GMT

Posted by: downtide

He is so beautiful when he is sleeping. I haven't spent nearly enough time just watching him, curled up like a cat, his dark hair loose and half over his face, his eyes flickering beneath the lids as he dreams.

I wonder what you dream about, my beloved?

I ache to touch him again but for now I'll just wait, and watch him sleep because I do not have the heart to disturb his rest.

A few days more with you...

Just a few more days, then I know he must leave again, but I wish that moments like this could last for ever.

I love you, my Findekano.

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Fated

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 12:18:04 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Written for the LJ community 1character. The rules of the contest were to write fifty sentences based on your chosen character, one on each theme.

01 – Speak
No words needed to be spoken between them: their hands and mouths said it all.

02 – Touch
"How can I touch you now, with only one hand?"

03 - Memory
Sometimes the only way Maitimo could make himself forget, was to feel nothing at all.

04 – Vanilla
He stared at Findekano, eyes wide, and said "I'm not doing THAT!"

05 – Chocolate
Bittersweet, rich aroma, reminds him of his childhood, comforting.

06 - Ways and Means
And thus they all swore the oath, that by any means they would recover what had been stolen from them.

07 – Belief
"So much of our kin's blood shed, I no longer know if I believe in this cause any more."

08 – Linger
"Maybe I can spare just one more day, Maitimo, before I go back to Hithlum".

09 – Illuminance
He looked up at the suddenly dark sky and his father, seeing his wonder, said "Those, Nelyo, are stars."

10 - Ornament
"That, Findekano, is the ugliest thing I have ever seen," he said when the dwarf was finally out of earshot.

11 - Coup de foudre
"How can I believe in love at first sight, when I do not even remember a time when I did not love you?"

12 – Archway
And where the branches of the Two Trees met over his head, their light mingled in a bow of silver and gold.

13 - Fate
"Doomed to eternal darkness, as the Valar promised," he said to Macalaure, before closing his eyes, and hurling himself into the abyss.

14 - Pulse
The weakest pulse was the only sign that Maitimo was still alive, and Findekano wept.

15 – Envelope
Wrapped up in the warmth of Findekano's embrace, he needed nothing more.

16 - Cold
"No matter how harsh the winters on Himring, I am always warm when you are with me."

17 - Need
"You are as air and water to me, Findekano, and without you I shall fade and die."

18 - Drunk
"But it wasn't YOU I kissed, Findekano, it was your FATHER!"

19 – Mask
Those who saw him in battle saw only the rage that dwelt in his heart.

20 – Rose
"You are like the flower on a thorn Maitimo; beautiful to behold, but dangerous to touch."

21 – Two
He stared at his mother, and the tiny twin bundles that now nestled in her arms.

22 – Fresh
Findekano's blade struck and blood flowed, bright scarlet.

23 – Bribe
"Do not tell my father what you saw tonight," Maitimo said sternly, pressing a coin of gold into the servant's hand.

24 – Error
"I shall not take up a brand against these ships, father."

25 – Appetite
"You must eat, my brother; starving yourself will not bring him back."

26 – Refrain
In a public place he would catch his cousin's glance and it took every ounce of his effort to not rush to him.

27 – Family
"For we are the sons of Curufin Feanaro, and against Morgoth's evil we shall always stand together!"

28 – Grieve
And when news came of Findekano's death, Maitimo's cry shook the very rocks of the earth.

29 – Vapor
The hiss of hot metal in cold water brought memories in the steam, of his father's forge, and of Angband.

30 – Tea
He never understood how Macalaure could remain so calm, even after a battle.

31 – Medicine
"It will help your recovery, brother, make you strong again."

32 – Moth
Like moths to a candle flame we are both drawn in and inevitably burned.

33 – Perfect
At that moment he realised that all of them were flawed, and unfit to bear his father's crown, and there was only one obvious choice.

34 – Rope
"I did not intend to upset you, it was only meant to be a game," Findekano said, unwinding the rope from Maitimo's trembling body.

35 – Wind
His red hair was whipped up like a war-banner as he charged into battle.

36 – Crossroads
"Tell me, Macalaure, where did we take the wrong road?"

37 – Summer
In late spring his cousin would arrive and the brief warm months on the hills around Himring were the happiest he could remember.

38 – Candy
The sweetest thing he ever tasted, was not sugar.

39 – Photograph
Even in the long months and years between their meetings, Maitimo treasured an image of him in his mind, every detail of his face committed to memory.

40 – Spoon
It shamed him, in those early days after Thangorodrim, that he could not even eat soup without help.

41 – Forest
They fled into Ossiriand's deep forest and lived not like princes, but like animals.

42 – Mirror
So alike were the twins that even his mother could not tell them apart, so she named them both Ambarussa.

43 – Smoke
There may be no smoke without fire but Maitimo's rage came suddenly, fire without smoke.

44 – Shine
Nothing he ever beheld, save perhaps for the Two Trees themselves, had such radiance as the Silmarils.

45 – Balloon
And once in a while, when Findekano came to him, he felt that his heart must surely swell and burst with joy.

46 – Vine
"Just one more cup, then perhaps tonight I shall be able to sleep."

47 – Butterfly
He wondered how easily his brother Macalaure could be distracted, that he could sit for an hour just watching butterflies.

48 – Gloves
He pulled the left one on with his teeth then picked up the right, smirked at it, and tossed it into the fire.

49 – Venom
I never believed there could be hate in Valinor, but there was, and much of it dwelt within my own house.

50 – Remain
It was a long time after watching Maitimo fall, before Macalaure realised that he was the last.

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The Scent of Old Books

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 12:10:16 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Author Notes: This is a modern-setting AU featuring Maedhros and Fingon, the spawn of a plotbunny I swiped from Lalaith. The setting is not named but it is actually based on Lincoln, England. There is indeed a cosy second-hand bookshop on the hill leading up to the Cathedral, but it is owned by neither a red-haired elf nor a lady named Edith.

Names: All in Quenya as usual. My Maitimo muse is a snob and he will not permit the use of Sindarin names.
Maitimo ('Timo) = Maedhros
Findekáno (Káno) = Fingon
Atarinkë = Curufin
Ambarussa = the twins, Amrod & Amras.

The Scent of Old Books

There is something about the scent of old books that always makes me think of him.

I remember him sitting in the faint yellow light of oil-lamps, curled up on a fur rug by the hearth at Hithlum with a book in his lap. The threads in his hair glimmered gold in the lamp-light and he absently chewed on the end of one of his braids, as he always did when concentrating. I close my eyes, teased by the half-remembered scents of lamp-oil, burning pine and old books.

"Are you alright?" I feel a hand touch my left arm and I turn to face Edith, the book-seller. Her plump rosy face regards me with concern. I nod and smile at her.

"Have you ever noticed," I reply, "that a book can bring back memories even before you open it's covers?"

Edith smiles and pets my hand. "You sit down love, I'll make us both a nice cup of tea." I take a seat on the high stool by the counter and wait while she disappears into the kitchen at the back. While she is busy, a customer comes in, purchases a book about gardening, I take the money and ring it through the till.

"You should work here, you know," Edith says, coming back with tea and biscuits on a tray. "Lord knows you spend enough time here already."

I chuckle and snatch a biscuit. "You say that every week." My smile softens. "Perhaps I will, when you retire."

---------------------------------------

I did not enjoy books as a child. Or rather, I should say that I did not enjoy studying, though I was fond enough of reading when it suited me. Too often in my earliest memories, books were a chore and studying them was a necessary hardship to be endured in between mornings and afternoons spent outside in the golden light of Laurelin. Study was something on which my atar insisted but I was a poor student, frustrating his teachings and always able to find something better to do than reciting dry prose.

Later memories recall a reversal of roles, and I in turn became teacher to my youngest brothers as they learned their letters, painstakingly formed in a young, clumsy hand. Atarinkë was studious but Ambarussa were more like myself, and I was to learn well my atar's frustration.

Much later, after crossing the sea, I kept books as a source of comfort, a reminder of the home I had left behind. I did not read them often, for they were few in number and by then, I knew their text word for word even without looking at them. It would set my heart at ease though, to touch them, to feel their weight in my hand and to smell the muskiness of their ancient pages. And of course, Findekáno loved them.

The scent of old books always reminds me of him.

-------------------------------------------

Years pass by as swiftly as dawn follows night, Edith retires and in time she passes away, as humans must. Her books and her bookshop remain, and I never can bring myself to take down the sign from above the door that bears her name and replace it with my own.

Edith's bookshop, for it will always remain her shop and not mine, nestles on a steep little cobbled street in the shadow of the town's gothic cathedral. The interior echoes the exterior; narrow crooked passageways shelved to the ceiling with second-hand books, and those which cannot fit the shelves stand in piles on the floor and on the steep stairs. Now the health and safety inspectors tell me they are a hazard to the public, and I must move them. Throw them away, they tell me, but I cannot do that. Each book is a moment of memory captured and preserved on paper like an insect trapped in amber. To throw them away would be to cast away someone's treasured memories. Perhaps I shall take some of them home, and fill my rooms with their scent.

I sit on the high stool at the counter, sipping my tea and reading a well-thumbed old paperback. The bell above the door jingles just beyond my attention, then a shadow falls across the page and I look up into a pair of smoke-grey eyes. A slender hand reaches out, tips the book to read the title, and the eyes frown disapprovingly at me.

"That thing again? Don't you ever tire of it?"

I close the book and shake my head. "I hate it."

"Then why read it, 'Timo?" He sits on the edge of the counter, swinging his legs like a child and looking at me, his pale face still framed by black braids.

"Morbid obsession?" I shrug and smile weakly at him, then I open the book again and it falls to the pages I read the most.

He takes the book from me, reads aloud from it. "Again therefore in his pain, Maedhros begged that he would slay him; but Fingon cut off his hand above the wrist and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim." He visibly shudders. "Morbid indeed. Why don't you read the happy parts?"

"He didn't write any happy parts." My eyes flicker once again across the last paragraph and I feel a momentary pain in the stump of my right arm. "Were there even any happy parts, Káno?"

He sighs quietly and clasps my hand in his own. "Aye, 'Timo, there were. Perhaps he just forgot about them, or else he thought they would not make a dramatic enough story."

I nod and close my eyes again, inhaling deeply, and the scent of old books replaces the memory of smoke and steel and cauterised flesh. I look from his face to the book again, but I am merely looking at the page, not reading the words printed on it. "I will never understand how he knew about us."

Findekáno shrugs. "Who knows? Perhaps he was there. Perhaps he just had some kind of connection. Some humans do, you know." He gets down from his perch, takes the book from me and replaces it back on the shelf. "Now, 'Timo, the day is over and it is time for you to close the shop and put away the books and the memories. Come, I will take you to dinner."

He waits while I switch off the lights, turn the sign to 'Closed' and lock the door. As I leave I take one look over my shoulder to the shelf where Findekáno filed the book, and it suddenly strikes me as amusing that the shelf on which it stands is labelled 'Fantasy'. I laugh quietly to myself, and slip my arm around his waist.

"I do adore the scent of old books," I tell him as we head up the hill towards the cafe beside the cathedral. "It always reminds me of you."

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Rememberance

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 12:03:58 GMT

Posted by: downtide

He is speaking to me, but I cannot, will not hear him. All I can see is that day, that terrible day, when I finally held in my hand the treasure I had coveted for so long.

The sky was filled with fire and smoke that day. The ground heaved and trembled with thunder and I could not keep to my feet. I collapsed to my knees in the sand, my eyes filled with the fire of my father's creation that I now clutched in my fist.

"We did it! We did it at last!" cried Macalaurë. He too held a Silmaril, cupped in his two hands, his face illuminated by it's penetrating light.

All for this. For what? For nothing.

The Book says that my corrupted fëa could not hold the Silmaril and its purity burned my hand. It did not. It was just a gem. Just a bit of rock.

For this, we had exiled ourselves from Valinor. For this, we had waged war elf upon elf, had shed blood unmeasured and tears unnumbered on the soil of Beleriand. For this, five of my brothers, my father, and my beloved cousin were all slain. For this, the Valar had forsaken us. All for this, for nothing.

I curled up into a ball and wept. It was not my hand that was burned that day, but my fëa. The pain was not physical but it was no less intense for that. I screamed, begged for Macalaurë to take it from me. Not just the Silmaril, but everything. My pain, my fear, and all that I had wrought for this. For nothing.

Madness drove me then, and I began to run across the broken, trembling land. I had no thought of where I was going, this was not a race to reach a destination but rather it was my last desperate attempt to flee from my torment. Such a futile flight, for it is not possible to escape from one's own doom. No matter how far I ran, Truth pursued me relentlessly.

In my madness I did not see the chasm until it was too late. The earth bucked under me then I was falling into fire and darkness. I, who had already fallen as far as any elf could fall, now fell further. My hroa was burned to ash and I was embraced into the belly of Arda.

I curl up again into a ball and I weep. At last I hear his voice again, worried. "Maitimo?" It is not Macalaurë that speaks and gently touches me. It is my beloved cousin Findekáno. The nightmare vision fades and I blink through my tears, searching for his face.

No fire. No smoke. No Silmaril.

I cling to him, he holds me close, stroking my hair and whispering, "Hush, Maitimo. It's me. It's over now."

If only that could be so! But it is never over. Even here, even now, so long after that terrible day, my fëa is still steeped in the blood of my kin. Even though the Silmaril I held is long lost in the earth, its fire still burns me and the oath of my father still holds me. All of that, for nothing. For it is the doom of the Noldor that we may never forget.

Notes: Maedhros uses Quenya names throughout, rather than the more common Sindar ones.

Maitimo = Maedhros
Macalaurë = Maglor
Findekáno = Fingon
Hroa = physical body
Fëa = spirit

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Brother Of Mine

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 12:01:13 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Warning: Incest between brothers (consentual)

( Read more... )

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The Strongest of Us

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:55:45 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Of the host of ten thousand that had ridden with Maedhros to the Nirnaeth, barely a hundred of us were left alive when finally we reached the relative safety of Dolmed in the company of the Naugrim. Maedhros was wounded, as was I, but while my injury was light and swift to heal, my brother seemed to linger on the brink of death, as pale and weak as he had been after his return from Thangorodrim. I sat with him and each day he would ask me if there was any news of Fingon, and each day I would answer none. Day by day the spear-wound in his side healed and yet though growing stronger in body, his spirit remained diminished.

"He is dead, Macalaurë, he said to me quietly one day, his grey-green eyes dimmed with tears.

I put my hand on his. "No, Maitimo," I said. "We would have heard by now, if that was so."

He shook his head, his red hair a curtain around his ghost-white face. "He is dead," he repeated. "I felt it, the day we fled Eithel Sirion. I felt him fall."

My heart ached for him, because nothing I could say would lift his spirit.

"My head hurts, Macalaurë," he said to me. "It hurts, and will not stop."

It was in the autumn that Celegorm and Curufin came to Dolmed, and Maedhros received them graciously even though his heart was heavy. That first evening we dined together but in uncomfortable silence. Maedhros ate nothing but only sat watching his brothers' faces for any sign of the tidings they may bring.

At last I could bear the tension no more and I asked the question that I knew was forefront in Maedhros' mind. "What news is there of Hithlum?"

Celegorm and Curufin exchanged glances and Curufin looked away to stare into the flickering candle-flame. "Hithlum is over-run, Morgoth holds it now," Celegorm replied.

Maedhros made a sudden choking noise and pushed back his chair. "Findekano...?"

"Findekáno fell on the fifth day," Celegorm continued. "Slain by Gothmog."

Such a scream of despair and loss I never heard, before or since; a dreadful sound that could surely have been heard from the gates of Angband itself. Maedhros fell to his knees and wept.

Celegorm and Curufin left the following day, headed to meet with our other brothers in Ossiriand. I urged Maedhros that we should ride with them but he would not be moved.

"I cannot live without him," he said through his tears. "My heart is broken in two and cannot be repaired."

He fell to sobbing and I put my arms around him. "You must live," I said. "You are head of the House of Fëanor. Your brothers need you." I held him close while he wept on my shoulder. "I need you, Maitimo."

"I wish we had never come here," he said. "I wish that Atar had never made those cursed Silmarils, then we would still be in Valinor and Findekáno would still live."

"We cannot wish ourselves back into the past," I reminded him. "We can only go onward, and live with the hand that Fate deals us." I lifted his chin with my finger, made him look at me. "You are the eldest and strongest of us, Maitimo."

He shook his head and rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his hand. "We are lost. We are defeated."

"No!" I put my hands on his shoulders and shook him. My heart was breaking to see him so in despair and I so helpless to shake him free of it. "Maitimo, brother," I said, "I know that you loved him, and he loved you in return."

He fell still and looked at me. "We fought, the last time I saw him," he said quietly. "I do not even remember why." He chewed at a strand of his copper hair. "I told him that I hated him, because he was leaving me again."

"Oh, Maitimo!" I pulled him into an embrace again and wiped at his tears with my sleeve as though he were an elfling. "He knew that you loved him, of that I am certain."

"He was my beloved. My bonded. My soul-mate." Maedhros said quietly, shaking.

A sharp pain knotted my stomach. In truth I knew, I had always known, even before we left Valinor. But that moment was the first time he had openly admitted it to me. "I know, Maitimo," I replied. "I always knew."

Maedhros blinked. "You did?"

"Of course. We all did." I smiled at him fondly, he hung his head and I reached for his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Come, now, Maitimo. You are the strongest of us. You are the head of the House of Fëanor, and your brothers await you in Ossiriand."

He lifted his head and nodded at me, and managed a weak half-smile. "Aye."

And so we rode together to Ossiriand, and our brothers rejoiced to see him alive and strong. But ever after, he was diminished by his loss and never could anyone coax laughter from his lips even until the end of his life.

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Babes in the Wood

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:48:17 GMT

Posted by: downtide

“But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.”

After the bloodshed, an eerie silence hung over the ruins of Menegroth, the house of Dior. Maedhros picked his way through the ruins in search of his brothers. He had already found Celegorm and Curufin, lying together in death as they had stood together in life. Now, here he found Caranthir also slain. Beside Caranthir’s body knelt Amrod and Amras, weeping in one another’s arms. Maedhros knelt beside the twins in their brother’s spilled blood, and wordlessly touched them in acknowledgement of shared grief.

The scent of blood turned his stomach and he went inside Dior’s house, but there was as much death inside as there had been outside. Here though, he found Maglor and he laughed with relief that his closest brother was still alive and uninjured. Maglor’s face was pallid and he suddenly looked much older than he had done the day before.

“What now, Nelyo?” he asked quietly. “All this, for nothing, the Silmarils remain beyond our reach.”

Maedhros closed his eyes. He’d all but forgotten the reason for this battle, despite the unshakeable oath they’d all sworn along with their father. “We are damned, Macalaure,” he replied quietly. “We are no better than them.”

Two soldiers came into the room, their clothing bearing Celegorm’s insignia. They approached Maedhros anxiously, as though unsure of their position now their liege was dead.

“What are your orders, Nelyafinwe?” one of them asked.

Maedhros was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “See that the bodies of my fallen brothers are respectfully burned,” he said at length. “And then burn this place to the ground. I do not want it’s presence to become a monument to what happened here.”

“The children…” Maglor was whispering quietly. “The children…”

“What children?” Maedhros demanded.

Maglor looked at his eldest brother. “Dior has twin sons, Elured and Elurin. What of them?”

The other of Celegorm’s soldiers gave a hearty laugh. “Dior’s brats are already dealt with.”

Maedhros turned on him. “Dealt with? What do you mean?”

“We took them into the forest and left them there,” the soldier said. “The wolves will do the rest.”

Anger flashed in Maedhros’ face and he struck the soldier in the face, hard enough to break his nose and loosen half of his teeth. The other soldier backed away. “I should leave you to the mercy of wolves, or worse, for such a deed.” He dragged the soldier back to his feet and pressed his knife to the quivering elf’s throat. “Now, you will tell me exactly where you left them”.

An hour later Maedhros was preparing to ride out of Doriath, Maglor tried to persuade him to stay but he would not. “I cannot rest while knowing those boys are lost out there,” he said. “I may be famed as a kinslayer, but I will not be known as a killer of children.” And he spurred his horse and galloped out of Dior's house, towards the forest.

Celegorm’s men had taken the boys deep into the forest, to ensure that they would not be able to find their way back. The undergrowth grew dense and Maedhros was forced to abandon his horse and instead he carried his supplies on his own back. He hoped that come nightfall the wolves would find the horse before they found the children.

Maedhros hoped the twins would have had the sense to remain where they were but when he reached the spot where they had been left, he was disappointed to find that they were no longer there. He called their names but neither child nor wolf responded to his calls.

Day became night, but Maedhros did not rest nor sleep. He searched through the night, in every sheltered spot, expecting to find the boys sleeping peacefully and unharmed. But with every passing hour his hope dwindled and by sunrise he realised that the children were more likely on the move, and so he started to spread his search wider.

Had he brought Arod and Amras with him, he might have had more success, for Maedhros’ skills at hunting and tracking were inferior to those of his youngest brothers. But this was a quest he felt was for him alone; he felt responsible for the deaths of the boys’ parents and he was determined not to be responsible for the deaths of the boys themselves.

Days passed, and then weeks, but the guilt that ate at Maedhros’ heart would not allow him to give up the search. He barely ate, save for whatever game he managed to catch. No longer was he hoping to find the boys alive; while he could hunt for food he doubted that small boys would be able to do so, and even if they had escaped the wolves they would surely have starved to death by now. Still he could not rest or abandon his search.

One evening he found scraps of clothing caught on a thorn-bush. The scraps were fine and elven-made, and were stained with blood. He took the scraps into his hand and fell to his knees, weeping with despair.

Eight months after leaving Menegroth, Maedhros rode alone into Maglor’s camp. He was so weakened by hunger and so soiled from his travels that Maglor barely recognised him. What spark of light had once lived in Maedhros’ eyes was extinguished.

“Did you find any trace of the children?” Maglor asked quietly.

Maedhros opened his hand and showed the scraps of blood-stained cloth he still clutched. “We are damned, Macalaure,” he replied. “We are damned.”

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Behind a Locked Door (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:44:51 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Write a drabble/ficlette based on the word: fun

Prince of Himring had been locked in his room with Prince of Hithlum for over twenty-four hours now, and the servants were starting to worry. To begin with there was laughter and excited chatter, and that followed by mostly silence but for the creaking of furniture and the occasional moan and murmur.

Breakfast was brought, then lunch, and these were left outside the door. They remained undisturbed, except for one moment when Prince of Hithlum opened the door to look at the tray of food. He smiled, reached for the bowl of berries and the cream, then disappeared back inside. More laughter ensued.

Prince of Himring asked for wine to be delivered, and it was, along with more food that still remained untouched. "Perhaps he is sickening?" the servants wondered amongst themselves. "Perhaps he is crazy?" they added later, when the sound of raised voices and breaking glass was heard emerging from the room.

It was the following dawn when the two finally emerged, looking dishevelled and exhausted, as though neither of them had slept. No words were spoken about what had occurred behind their locked door, but looks were exchanged between the Princes, and the servants gossiped amongst themselves.

No-one dared to ask Prince of Himring just how it was that he'd managed to get cream in his hair.

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Jealoust (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:43:10 GMT

Posted by: downtide

What makes you jealous and how do you deal with it?

Flashback to Hithlum, I.445

The whole journey from Himring to Hithlum, I puzzled about what could have excited Findekáno so much that he needed me there so urgently. But then, it had been nearly two years since we'd seen each other last, and even his letters to me had become few and far between. Still this latest letter had been full of excitement, and spoke of a secret, a surprise that he wanted to share with me as soon as possible. He seemed happy, at least, and so was I that we would finally have the opportunity to spend time together.

It was Findekáno's custom to ride out into the vale to meet me some miles away from Hithlum, but this time he did not. He was not even waiting for me at the gate. Servants took my horse and I rushed inside, calling his name. Eventually he heard me and came hurtling down the stairs. "Maitimo!" He threw his arms around me and kissed me hard.

From somewhere upstairs I heard a baby cry, and felt him tense, and he pulled away from the kiss. He was still smiling. "Come with me, there's someone I want you to meet," and he tugged me by the hand, leading me upstairs. I was surprised to see, in his chambers, a dark-haired woman sitting by the window nursing a very young infant. "This is Alassë, he said to me. "And this..." he placed his hand gently on the baby's head, "this is Ereinion."

I looked at him blankly, not understanding.

"Maitimo, Ereinion is my son."

Long pause. "So... Alassë is your wife?"

Findekáno nodded, smiling broadly.

I felt nauseous. I turned around and rushed back downstairs, not stopping until I was outside again, headed halfway to the stables with the intention of riding back to Himring.

Married... with a child...! How can he do this to me?

In my rage I kicked the gate to the stable-yard so hard that I broke it, and I fell to my knees amongst the splintered wood. My heart was broken. How long I knelt there I do not know, but eventually I felt a touch on my shoulder and I looked up into Findekáno's grey eyes. I turned away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Maitimo, please..." I pulled away from his touch and continued to stare, through my tears, at the floor. "Maitimo! Look at me!"

I looked. "I apologise for the gate," I said stiffly. "I will leave enough money for its repair before I depart."

"Maitimo! I don’t care about the damn gate!" He sighed. "Please, don’t leave."

"You have no need for me now," I replied. "You have your wife and your baby. Tell me, Findekáno, do you love her?"

"I cannot explain it, but yes, I do. Though it is different from the love I share with you."

"How can you... how can you love us both? How can I ever sleep again, knowing that you're sleeping in her arms, instead of mine?" I stood up and kicked again at what remained of the gate. "How can I share you, Findekáno? Do you no longer love me?"

"Oh, Maitimo!" He reached for my hand and squeezed it. I did not return the gesture. "Of course I love you. You are the fire in my soul. You and I are bonded, I cannot help but love you."

"Then why?" I demanded.

"Because, no matter how deep or strong or perfect is our love there will always be one thing missing."

I stared at him, understanding hitting me as hard as if he'd punched me in the stomach. He was right. There was one thing I would never be able to give him, and so he'd sought for it elsewhere.

A child.

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A Year, in Letters

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:36:32 GMT

Posted by: downtide

In good weather it was a twenty day ride from Hithlum to Himring. Findekáno told me that he could make it in twelve, if riding alone, by taking short-cuts no-one else but he would risk. But then, he had crossed Angband for me once before, so even the worst of Ered Wethrin was no barrier to him.

The pattern would be the same most years. He would arrive in late spring, and for a few weeks we would be completely absorbed in each others' company, taking full advantage of our precious time together. Then, somewhere along the way, there would be a disagreement, and since we are both stubborn and hot-headed the disagreement would become an argument, and the argument would become a fight. And it would always end the same way; with Findekáno riding home without even saying goodbye.

Inevitably after such a violent storm, parts of Himring would be in need of repair.

I would write letters to him then. The first would be full of anger and hate and when it was written I would read it over and over again until I could no longer read through the tears in my eyes. Then I would burn it. The second letter, and sometimes the third, if the argument had been particularly intense, would be the same. The next, written perhaps a week or two after Findekáno's departure, would be calmer. With my rage spent (on the fixtures and fittings of my home) there remained only frustration and questions.

Writing was always a chore for me, in part because I never really grew accustomed to writing with my left hand. The result was always a great deal of discomfort and a page filled with an untidy scrawl in a shorthand version of tengwar that only Kano could decipher. Also because words never came to me as eloquently as they did to Findekáno or to Macalaurë. I am and always was a soldier, not an orator, and so then, as now, the words came only with much clumsy effort.

That letter, full of frustration and questions, would be sent my messenger to Hithlum, and inevitably Findekáno would ignore it and send my messenger back without reply. I soon grew wise to this trick and the next letter would be a copy of the last, already prepared and ready to send as soon as my messenger returned to Himring. Findekáno would reply to this one, perhaps a month or two later, and his response would be cool, full of small-talk and not touching upon the questions I had raised. This would always anger me again and my next letter would be short and biting.

The delay between this letter and Findekáno's reply would often be longer for by this time winter would have set in, and few messengers could make the journey during the harshest weather. When it did arrive though, his reply would be long and rambling, all the coldness in his heart melted away along with the spring thaw.

So I would write again, a letter written over the course of several weeks, telling Findekáno how much I loved him and missed him, and how much I regretted the fight that had caused us such grief the previous year. He would write no reply to this one, but I would wait by the window looking westwards, for his response would be to deliver himself to me. No words need be written when his lips are upon my own.

And then of course, after the lovemaking and the cosy summer days together, we would inevitably fight once more and the whole cycle would begin again.

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The Oddest Gift (TM)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:35:05 GMT

Posted by: downtide

What is the oddest gift you've ever been given?

During the four hundred years or so of relative peace between the Dagor Aglareb and Bragollach, Morgoth sent forth the dragon Glauring from Angband. To begin with, Glaurung was small and young, and little more than a pest. The first time I laid eyes on the dragon was whilst on an orc-raid with the dwarf-lord Azaghâl and some others of his kin, with whom I was a friend and ally. Glaurung had attacked us from the air out of nowhere, striking down two of Azaghâl's companions in one swoop. The second would have taken Azaghâl too, but I managed to push him aside and strike the dragon's belly with my blade as it flew close past us. I did not cause great injury to Glaurung but it was painful enough to drive him away and he fled.

It was just a little thing, all I really did was shove the dwarf out of the way, but Azaghâl insisted that I had saved his life and, to the Naugrim, that is a feat of great honour. He insisted on repaying me grandly.It was perhaps three months later, as winter was setting in at Himring, that Azaghâl returned with a gift for me. In a presentation of great ceremony before a whole host of Naugrim that had accompanied him, not to mention several of my own brothers and my cousin Findekano, I was awarded the famous Dragon-Helm of Dor Lomin.

It was, I swear, the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on, before or since.

I tried to keep a straight face because Azaghâl was so serious about it's value, stressing that it had been made by the finest smith of their people. And indeed it was well-made of the finest steel and gold, with a delicately-wrought replica of Glauring himself sitting on the crest, the gold wings embracing the sides of the helm and the head raised up above the visor. But, being made for a naugrim head, it was several sizes too big for me to wear, and so heavy I feared that if I moved my head to quickly my neck might snap. And it was indeed quite hideous to look upon. The twins laughed themselves into a heap on the floor. Findekano, ever the diplomat and concerned that the dwarves might be offended by either Ambarussa's laughter or my speechlessness, told Azaghâl that he thought the helm was magnificent, and that he liked it very much.

So I sent the dragon-helm to Hithlum the following spring, as a gift for Findekano's next begetting-day. I gather Kano kept it hidden away in a trunk for about a hundred years. The next time I saw it was when Findekano granted the lordship of Dor Lomin to the House of Hador. It had seemed apt that the Dragon-helm should return to it's homeland. From the look on Hador's face when he took hold of the helm (and almost dropped it on his own foot) he thought it as ugly as I did.

The third and last time I saw the helm was at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I was astounded that anyone but a dwarf was able to wear the thing in battle, and more so that anyone should display such bad taste as to be wiling to wear it in public. I later found that the helm's wearer was Turin Turamabar, great-grandson of Hador who had received the helm from Findekano. Apparently Turin's predecessors had had better taste than Turin himself.

Still, Turin fought well, even against Glaurung himself who was by now much bigger and stronger. He seemed an intimidating assailant, and he survived the battle where many others of my house and his did not. "He'll slay Glaurung one day, wearing that helm," Macalaure said to me, watching him thoughtfully. And three decades later he did, though he died shortly after and I never found out what had become of that ugly helm.

With any luck, it got melted down and used for cooking pots.

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Speaking In Tongues

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:32:57 GMT

Posted by: downtide

I read the scroll twice in disbelief, and a third time just to be sure I had understood it correctly, then I hurled it into the fireplace and watched with smug satisfaction as the parchment was consumed by the flames.

"Idiot. If he thinks he can control us by making such ridiculous laws..."

"Hmm?" Findekáno was sprawled on a bearskin rug, stretched out on his stomach and propped up on his elbows, reading a book. He looked up from his concentration and gave me a bewildered half-smile. "What was that?"

"Bloody Elwë. Thingol, whatever foolish name he's calling himself now. Thinks he can ban everyone from speaking Quenya."

"Oh. Yes. I got a message about that at Hithlum a month or so ago." He stretched out on the rug and looked back at his book.

"You know they're calling you 'Fingon' now, and I, apparently, am supposed to be referred to as 'Maedhros'." I glared at the flickering flames and the remains of the offensive scroll which had by now turned to a little pile of ash.

"Mmm." Findekáno nodded. "I quite like that. 'Maedhros'." He got up from his place on the rug and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It's just the Sindarin equivalent of Maitimo."

I shook my head and gave a disapproving snort. "Not quite. Apparently 'maed' doesn't just mean 'well-shaped'. It also means 'handy'." I looked down at the place where my right hand used to be, and scowled. "I can't help but think it's some kind of crude Sindarin insult, and that every time they call me Maedhros, they're secretly laughing at me, and congratulating themselves on being so witty."

"I am sure it's pure coincidence," Findekáno replied with a smile, coming around to face me. "You are taking this whole thing too seriously."

"No, I..." But I could not finish my protest because Findekáno silenced me with a well-placed kiss and a minute or two later I found myself lying beside him on the bearskin rug. He always insisted that making love with me was so much more exciting when I was angry.

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Heavy The Crown

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:28:43 GMT

Posted by: downtide

I awoke to find him lying on the bed behind me, his arm wrapped around my waist. For a while I just lay there, feeling his sleeping breath on the back of my neck. Then I felt him stir half awake, he moved to hold me tighter, sending a sudden flash of agony through my right arm. My cry roused him to full wakefulness and he pulled away. "Did I hurt you?"

I tried to roll over to look at him but pain demanded that I remain still.

"I am sorry," he continued. He gently kissed my shoulder and I felt him slip out of the bed.

"Don't leave me," I whispered.

He came into my view and knelt by the bedside, laying his hand on my cheek. His face was as pale and drawn as I supposed mine must be. "How can I ever leave you, my Maitimo?"

I smiled, reaching out to touch his face, only realising too late that I had reached with my bandaged right arm, and a hand that was no longer there. I bit back a choking sob and closed my eyes. "Help me sit up."

He did so, though I cried out again with the pain, and he rearranged the pillows.

"I will get up today, I think."

"So soon?" He looked at me with concern in his grey eyes. "It has been barely more than a week."

"A week is a week too long for me to lie fading in my bed," I said in reply. I smiled and reached this time with my left hand, to brush his cheek with my finger. "I feel much better today, Findekáno." I could tell from his eyes that he did not entirely believe me.

......................................

My brothers and cousins were surprised to see me out of bed so soon. Even my uncle Nolofinwë cast me a look of mingled admiration and pity, and he bowed to me as a subject to a king. For that is what I was, then; Nelyafinwë Maitimo, for five years high king of the Noldor, and my throne had been cold Thangorodrim.

I sat with the crown on my lap; a crown which last I had seen on my father's brow. "Put it on," Nolofinwë urged.

I shook my head. "It is too heavy for me, Uncle," I said quietly. Then louder, so that my brothers and cousins should hear also; "This is a mantle I do not wish to bear. I cannot be your king."

"Why?" Tyelkormo demanded.

I fixed him with a stare and he flinched. Did he see the chill of Thangorodrim in my eyes? "Because it would be better for all our people if the rift between the houses of Curufinwë and Nolofinwë were healed. So long as the crown remains on my head that will never happen."

I stood, shaking and leaning heavily on Findekáno for support. He looked at me oddly, as surprised by my words as the others for I had told him nothing of the decision I had made in the last few days. He held me as I hobbled towards my uncle and, as best I could, I bowed before him.

"You are worthier of this crown than I," I said to him. "So it is yours. You are my king." I offered him the crown; he hesitated then took it in his hands. There was a moment's stunned silence and then Tyelkormo leaped up with an angry roar and flew at me, would have hit me if Macalaurë and Turukáno had not held him back.

"Better you had died on that mountain than shame our father like this!" he protested, his face scarlet with rage. "If you are too weak to bear it then I will do so, and at least retain a shred of honour for our House!"

"No!" I shouted, my voice momentarily strong. He looked startled, then a wave of dizziness swept over me and I sagged into Findekáno's arms. Tyelkormo regarded me with contempt. "I am still head of the House of Feanáro," I reminded him quietly. "My decision stands." And with that effort more than my weakened body could stand, I passed out.

......................................

As dusk fell I sat beside the window looking out towards Ered Wethrin, while Findekáno braided my hair; yet another task on the ever-growing list of things I would be unable to do for myself. "You must rest tomorrow," he said. "You did too much, over-stretched yourself too soon."

"I could not rest with the crown weighing so heavy on my shoulders," I reminded him. I turned to him and smiled. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

His fingers fell still in my hair and he shrugged. "I can understand why you did it," he said, diplomatically evasive. He resumed braiding, and when he was done we sat in silence, neither speaking or looking at one another. The same thought was in his mind and mine, though we did not speak it. For I had not only crowned a new king that day, I had also made a new heir.

I leaned forward and gently kissed the lips of he who would one day be my king.

......................................

Notes: Quenya names used throughout:

Nelyafinwë Maitimo = Maedhros

Macalaurë = Maglor

Tyelkormo = Celegorm

Findekáno = Fingon

Turukáno = Turgon

Curufinwë Feanáro = Fëanor

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

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On Cold Thangorodrim

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:11:23 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Warnings for non-con, torture.
( Read more... )

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The Ninth Wave

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:08:32 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Notes: Set in Valinor during Maitimo’s youth. He is a young adult, his cousin Findekáno is perhaps just past adolescence. Maitimo’s mother is expecting the birth of the twins Amrod and Amras

This story is inspired by a painting by the wonderfully talented Jenny Dolfen, and her accompanying quote; “I wondered about Maedhros referring to his friend Fingon as "the Valiant" after the flight of the Noldor. How could an Elf who had grown up in the bliss of Valinor earned such a name, in a time when danger, strife, enemies, war, even weapons were unknown? There was only one possible explanation: Fingon liked dangerous sports. So, obviously, he and Maedhros often went cliff-diving off the coast of Valinor, and Fingon constantly chose the more dangerous spots.”

I could not pass up an idea like this, (nor could I resist a hint of slashiness between two semi-naked cousins.)

The Ninth Wave

The young dark-haired elf burst into the house without knocking at the door or waiting for invitation. Nerdanel looked up from her sculpture of gold and glass, and she smiled. Findekáno was a regular enough visitor to the house that she had almost come to regard him as a son of her own. Not that she minded, much. She did not care for the family politics that prevented her sons visiting Fingolfin’s house so she welcomed Fingolfin’s son into her own. His presence made Maitimo happy, and that was the most important thing.

Nerdanel stepped back from her sculpture, waddling a little under the weight of her heavily-pregnant belly, and regarded her creation with a critical eye. “Maitimo is upstairs, taking care of Curufinwe,” she replied “Does this look right to you?” she said, indicating the curved top part of the sculpture.

Findekáno shrugged. “It looks fine,” he said, unsure even what the scultpture was supposed to be. Art was as always the last thing on Findekáno’s mind. He ran up the stairs to look for his eldest cousin.

Maitimo was sitting in the nursery telling a story to little Curufinwe, who bounced and gurgled happily on Maitimo’s knee. He paused as Findekáno came into the room and smiled.

“Can you be excused from babysitting for a while?” Findekáno asked, his grey eyes bright. “I have something to show you.”

“What is it?”

“Story! Story!” demanded Curufinwe.

“Another cliff,” Findekáno replied with a bright smile. “Better than the last one. It must be at least twenty feet higher.” He looked hopefully at his cousin. “I thought we might go and check it out properly.”

Maitimo frowned and glanced out of the window. The weather was bright but very windy. “Okay, we’ll look,” he agreed. “But you must promise me not to jump unless I say it’s safe. With this wind you might end up pasted all over the cliff-side.”

Findekáno nodded, and tugged at Maitimo’s sleeve. “Yes, yes, come on!”

“Story!” said Curufinwe again. “Story!”

“Hush, Curvo,” Maitimo scolded, carrying his youngest brother into the next-door room where Macalaure was practising on his harp. Before Macalaure could protest he sat Curufinwe down on the floor. “Take care of Curvo for me, I have to go out,” and he hastily closed the door and rushed downstairs.

-----------------------------

An hour later, Maitimo stood on the cliff top looking down at the waves crashing on the rocks below. The wind whipped his coppery hair around his face and whipped the water into a foaming surf.

“What do you think?” Findekáno asked, eager with anticipation.

“You want to jump down there? I think you’re crazy,” Maitimo replied, glancing at his cousin. He had said that many times in jest, but this time Maitimo was starting to be really concerned. The cliff was tall but that did not worry him so much as the rocks in the landing pool. And with this wind, it would be difficult to be precise enough to enter the water in just the right place.

“No I’m not, look,” Findekáno said, pointing down into the water. “The landing-spot is right there. Now count the waves.” Maitimo counted for a while, unsure what Findekáno was trying to point out. “Do you see? Every ninth wave is a really big one. If you time your dive so that you land right when that ninth wave comes in, the pool will be more than deep enough.”

“And if you miss, then I shall be riding back to explain to your father how I managed to get you killed,” Maitimo pointed out.

“No, actually it’s easy. I’ve... tried it already.” Findekáno’s last three words trailed as he realised his mistake.

“You dived on your own? After I expressly forbade it?” Maitimo’s eyes burned dark with anger and Findekáno shuffled his feet, looking down at the floor to hide the embarrassment in his face. Maitimo sighed and put an arm over his cousin’s shoulder, his brief flash of anger melting away. “Findekáno, I make these rules only because I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Findekáno nodded. “I know, but... I just can’t resist.”

Maitimo grinned. “Your father should have named you ‘Reckless’ instead of ‘Valiant’. Sometimes I think your valour crosses the line into insanity.” He sat down on the clifftop and started to remove his boots and most of his clothes. “Well?” Maitimo asked a shocked Findekáno. “You are going to dive today, right?”

Findekáno nodded dumbly.

“Well, hurry then, before I change my mind.”

-----------------------------

One... two...

Maitimo glanced nervously at Findekáno, who stood beside him, his expression fixed in concentration, dark hair billowing around him in the wind.

three... four...

His muscles tensed, awaiting the moment of release. Findekáno was tense too, his body firm and athletic in contrast with Maitimo’s tall and lanky frame.

five... six...

I must be crazy... He spread his arms wide, his gaze fixed again on the landing-spot that Findekáno had indicated.

seven... eight...

As the eighth wave drew back to its furthest point, Maitimo jumped. His body folded in the air as he drew his arms forward and tucked his head in, rotating... not too much... he straightened his legs and entered the water hands-first. For a moment the shock of the impact panicked him but as chill of the water closed around his head and body he realised he’d hit water and not rocks. Momentum carried him deep, his hand brushed the rocky bottom of the pool, he pushed off and propelled himself back to the surface.

Findekáno...

Maitimo felt another surge of panic, for his younger cousin was nowhere to be seen, but as the ninth wave receeded he saw Findekáno’s dark head bob back out of the water. The younger elf waved one arm in the air and gave a loud whoop of delight.

They let the next wave carry them to the cliffside and they scrambled ashore. Maitimo sat panting on the sand that collected between the rocks, trying to regain his breath and still the racing of his heart. Findekáno sat beside him. “Again, cousin?” he suggested.

“NO!” Maitimo replied quickly. “That was absolutely the scariest moment of my life.”

“Cousin, you are getting much too boring in your old age,” Findekáno gave Maitimo a playful shove. Maitimo shoved back and they laughed and wrestled in the sand for a minute or two. When they stopped for breath they were lying close to one another. Maitimo gently reached up and brushed dark hair and sand from Findekáno’s face. He felt his heart racing again; this time with desire.

Findekáno smiled and gave Maitimo a brotherly kiss on the cheek; Maitimo replied by taking Findekáno into his arms and returning the kiss, long and passionate, on his mouth. He felt a brief moment of resistance from his surprised younger cousin but it did not last long, as Findekáno melted into his arms.

At last they paused for breath and drew apart. “Now who is the reckless one?” Findekáno said with a grin.

Maitimo shrugged and smiled back. “I know, but... I just can’t resist.”

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Just a Name

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:05:37 GMT

Posted by: downtide

Memories are stirred and I find myself thinking lately of the time I first saw you, and of how I first came to realise that I was in love with you. Mostly, I think of your name, and the way it rolls around in my mind.

It started in the house of your father, and you were less than a year old. I had travelled there with my parents and my brother Canafinwë, and the occasion was your naming ceremony. I was little more than forty years old, my brother still a child, only twenty, I was full of excitement, because you were my first cousin to be born.

Even then, there was little love between my father and yours but our mothers were friends and they sat long in conversation, doting on you and no doubt sharing the stories that mothers do, about births and babies. I hovered close by, wanting to see, while my brother had no interest and went to play alone in the garden.

"Come, Maitimo," your mother said to me at long last. "Come and see your new cousin."

You were in your mother's arms but you were awake and your bright eyes glittered as you took in the sight of new people around you. Already your hair was dark and soft to the touch. I smiled at you, you gurgled happily and smiled back.

"He likes you, Maitimo," your mother said. "Do you want to hold him?" I nodded, and took you into my arms for the first time, the first time of many.

"What is his name?" I asked.

"Ah, not so fast young Nelyafinwë, she scolded. "You will have to wait until the ceremony. Until then it is a secret."

"Do you have your gift, Maitimo?" my mother prompted.

"Oh! Yes!" I handed you back to your mother and pulled from my pocket the gift I had made for you; a birthing gift for a baby. It was a little cat, crudely made from copper, with green glass eyes and a cluster of little bells hanging from its collar. There was a chain to hang it from your crib and it would, I hoped, jingle when you played with it.

You reached for the copper cat and put it in your mouth.

The ceremony began soon after. Our grandfather Finwë was there, as was our other uncle, Finarfin, who was yet to marry. As most ceremonies go it was too long and tedious for a young elf and I paid little attention, until the moment that your father announced your name.

Findekáno.

At that moment it was just another name, and you were just my baby cousin. I had no inkling that day, what the name Findekáno would come to mean for me in the future.

Findekáno.

The next time I saw you, you were perhaps twelve or fifteen, and you in turn had come to our house to visit for the naming ceremony of my next brother Turkafinwë. You held him in your arms just as I had held you.

After that we saw one another only when your mother visited mine, for my father or his family were not welcome in your father's house, except on occasions when etiquette demanded his presence.

It was gradually that you and I became friends. You already had a reputation for mischief and as the eldest, I was instructed to keep an eye on you and make sure you did not get into trouble. In truth I have to confess that I encouraged you. My father would scold me always for the time I spent with you, telling me that I was too old for playing with children. I resented that he curtailed our adventures but could see no contradiction in making me take care of my younger brothers so that he might work in peace.

And so it was many years then before I saw you again and when I did, I barely recognised you. I was in the garden, practising alone with my sword, and I had paused in my exercise to rest for a moment. You came up behind me, put your hands over my eyes. "Guess who," you said.

I turned around, thinking you were one of my brothers and I was ready to chastise you. It was a moment or two before I realised who you were. "Findekáno?" You grinned, nodded. I stared. "You've changed! You're all grown up!" I could not help but continue to stare at you. Your eyes still glittered but your face was no longer than of a child. Your smile though, was still full of mischief.

"I came to ask if you wanted to go rock-climbing with me," you said, a hopeful look on your face. "You do still climb, don't you?"

I shook my head. "I never have time," I replied. "Not with three brothers to watch out for."

"Then you deserve a break," you said, putting your hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to be so serious all the time."

And so we did. We went to one of our childhood haunts, a cliff by the sea, and we climbed it twice until we were both exhausted and we lay outstretched on the sand waiting for muscles to stop aching. You had evidently kept practising while I had not.

"We should do this again sometime," you said. "I missed our adventures."

I rolled over to look at you. We were both naked from the waist up, sand clinging to sweaty skin. I did not reply. I was too absorbed in looking at you and thinking how utterly beautiful you were.

Findekáno.

Your name filled my mind again.

"Did you not miss me?" you asked petulantly.

"Yes," I replied, my voice quiet. "Days I spent with you were always happy ones." I sighed. "It's a pity really, that we have to grow up, that we couldn't stay like that for ever."

You were silent for a while, gazing up at the sky. "Have you yet thought about... marriage?"

I laughed, surprised at your question. "No. Why?"

You shrugged. "You're of an age to be thinking of it. I just... wondered, that's all."

"I haven't met the right girl yet," I replied. That at least was true. No matter how many times my parents introduced me to well-bred and beautiful maidens, not one of them had caught my interest, nor aroused any sensation of attraction in me. "I am starting to wonder if the right girl even exists at all."

"Oh, I'm sure..." You did not finish your sentence, but instead you came and sat closer to me. "Don't be sad about it."

"I'm not," I replied, smiling at you. "But it would have made things so much easier if you'd been a girl." You blushed brightly and immediately I wished to retract my foolish words. "What I mean to say is..." I began, but you hushed me.

"I already know what you mean," and you leaned forward, brushing my lips, oh, so gently, with your own.

And that was the moment that I first knew, consciously, that I was in love with you. I cupped your face in my hands and kissed you in return, gently, slowly, savouring the taste of your lips on my own. Afterards I fell back onto the sand, eyes wide at the sky, wondering what in the name of the blessed trees I had just done.

You lay beside me and placed your hand on my chest, feeling the frantic pounding of my heart. I wanted to say that I was sorry, that I should not have done such a foolish thing, but I could not say it because, in truth, I felt no regret. When I eventually did find the courage to look at you, it was with great relief I saw that you were smiling.

"Thank you," you said, simply.

All words escaped me then except for one. Only one word filled my mind, my eyes and ears, my universe.

Findekáno.

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The Gift of Light

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 11:02:13 GMT

Posted by: downtide

On the whole I'd say that my childhood was mostly a happy one. It is difficult to be unhappy when living in Paradise. My most abiding memories are mostly about the births of my younger brothers, although there were in the end so many that I can no longer separate one from the other. Celegorm was born in a thunderstorm, I remember that.

But my earliest memory is of when my father took me to see the Trees. I was no more than seven years old. He roused me early from my bed that morning, and his face was lit with excitement. "Come, Nelyo," he said. "You must get up now. We are going on a journey".

"Where are we going, Atar?" I asked sleepily.

"Not far. There is something I want to show you. Something very special. Come!" And so he carried me on his back, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders and my face nestled in his dark hair. He ran westwards, towards the mountains, where the sky was lighter.

At last we came to the green mound beyond Valimar, where I saw two immense trees, ablaze with silver and gold light. Their light was so bright it hurt my eyes to look at them. Instead I looked at my father's face. It was shining, in the reflected gold and silver glow of the trees, and his expression was one of someone captivated by beauty.

"What are they, Atar?" I whispered, for it seemed irreverent to speak in the presence of such powerful light.

"Those are the Trees of Silver and Gold, Telperion and Laurelin," he replied. "The Valar made them for us, as gifts, so that we may have light in Aman."

In my youth and innocence the trees themselves seemed less remarkable to me than the effect they had on my father. He seemed to glow with a light of his own when he looked on them and, I later learned, in those years he looked upon them often. I smiled at him, to see him so obviously happy.

"If only I could make something just one-tenth as wonderful as these trees," he added, speaking more to himself than to me.

"You can," I replied. "You're my Atar. You can do anything."

And at that moment, as we looked at one another, we both believed that he could.

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