Helmapellopë by averytinylizard  

Maitimo knew he should have seen all the signs earlier. Or maybe he should have left, argued in his mother’s favour as she asked to take her children with her as Fëanáro went into exile. Or maybe even married, started a house of his own, away from the troubles of his family. But it was too late now, and he felt his father’s gaze, heavy and harsh, as he called him daughter.

A father was owed his children’s obedience, and so Maitimo stayed beside his father, taking the place his mother left empty. He organized the servants, made sure the twins did the work their tutors assigned them, answered any letters that came from Tirion. He didn’t mind the work, and it was clear how much it was needed. Still, he cannot say he did not bristle when Father asked him to take care of the fields and to make the family bread. “You're the only one of our family taught these things, child. At the very least, the only one who stayed. And Formenos cannot live off hunting and the Donkey alone.”

The Donkey, said always as if it were a title, was a gift that the Valar gave to every community outside of the greatest cities in Valinor. It was a silly little beast, as donkeys often were, and stubborn. Its milk was plentiful and sweet as honey, nourishing enough that any woman could leave her babe alone for weeks at a time and count on others to feed it using the Donkey's milk. Fëanor had depended entirely on the Donkey, in fact, after Miriel went to Lorien and before he was weaned. Stranger than its milk was the beast's life, for one could kill it, butcher it, and so long as one did not make clothing from its hide, it would live anew in the morning. This was very rarely done, however, only during dangerous trips where one might not find enough food. It was a symbol of love from the Valar, and thus the Donkey was beloved.

So Maitimo acted as a mother for his brothers for a great many years without thinking it strange, much less dangerous. It was only twelve years, until they returned to Tirion and mother could take back her role in the family. And if Fëanáro needed comfort in those days, who could resent him for looking for it in his eldest? It was no trouble to speak to him in the dining room, in his office, in his chambers, to advise him, assuage his fears, to hold him as he cried. And as even Finwë could not stop Fëanáro’s dark dreams, Maitimo slept in his father's room. First in the divan, then on a pile of mattresses by his father's bed, then on the bed itself. It wasn't really strange. Had he not spent many nights there as a child, snuggled between his parents? Maitimo was only helping his father as he had once been helped. That was what any child owed his father, after all. If some nights his father grew erect or ground against him in his sleep, well, Maitimo could not blame him for the things his body did as he slept, and he certainly would not shame them both by speaking of it.

He could not justify the insistence on calling him daughter, however. He had lived as a man for longer than he had ever been a girl! He did not look much like a girl either. His shoulders were broad and his waist was wide, and he barely had breasts or hips to speak of. Nobody ever called him a girl, not without meaning to hurt him. And yet, Fëanáro did it with such sweetness in his voice. My sweet, My flower, My daughter. Again and again and again, he called him daughter as if he could think of no higher compliment. It was so strange! Maitimo sometimes had to wonder if he was reacting too strongly. He clearly meant no ill by it. And if he said that Maitimo would be a wonderful mother one day, well, most people were confused on how to refer to his role in any family he might have when he married. If he married a man, bore his children, wouldn't he be a mother? Biologically, at least, he would be. So it was maybe not as terrible as it made Maitimo feel.

But what of speaking of wishing to see him as a bride? Of needing to make his dowry? Fëanáro would say these things and all the awful things about mothers and daughters would come back to Maitimo and make him sick.

And Maitimo could live like this, tired and wilting beneath his father, until early spring the tenth year of their exile. His father finally did something he could not ignore. That morning, cold after a few days of warmth, Fëanáro had his arms snaked around Maitimo, his face against his chest, and spoke. “Daughter, I miss your mother.”

It was no use to argue with father. Mother had done so, and where had that gotten her? Maitimo would not gain anything from arguing over something as petty as this. “So do I, father.”

“No, not like I miss her. There is no replacing a mother for you, but a woman can take another's place in her husband's heart.”

“I–” A breath, to not let his excitement show. “I thought you hated the very concept of remarrying.” Who? Who would be the woman to lift these burdens off his shoulders?

“No, I hate what my father did to my mother. To turn her back on her, to let another into her bed, that is a betrayal of highest order. But your mother abandoned me. She abandoned us.” And his face burrowed deeper into Maitimo's chest, nuzzling into his cleavage. “And if someone should take her place in my heart, shouldn't it be someone who has taken her place in the family? Someone who has my love already? You look so much like her.”

“Father! You speak of–!” An abomination? A sin? Simply incest?

And one of the hands on his hips gripped tighter, while the other moved to his front, between his legs. Maedhros felt a scream building on his throat and swallowed. No one could hear. No one could know. “No, not father. I think you ought to call me husband.” And the scream did come out, but luckily Fëanáro smothered it with his mouth, with his tongue, and Maitimo needed to stop him before Fëanáro did something he could not take back.

Maitimo managed to pull back, and said, “Father.” What could he say? If Fëanáro had reached the point of considering marrying his son, he did not think something like whether he was willing would make a difference. And Maitimo could not fight him off, not the greatest of the Eldar. He needed time to think, to stall this assault. “Not today. Please.”

“Why not today, my flower? Do you have any plans?” He said it so softly, disappointed but still kind. Like a father speaks to his child.

“I'm not ready. I– There are customs to be fulfilled, and you always said my suitors would have to prove themselves worthy before I even accepted their proposals.” He sounded stupid, dull, so clearly a liar.

“I did. And it's good that you do not give yourself away this easily, I suppose. What conditions should I meet, to be worthy of your hand?”

Something impossible, but that did not seem so at first glance. “I want a robe that shines and moves like flame.” That felt suitably romantic, made to fit Fëanáro, and still subjective enough that he could say he had failed the challenge.

“Aye, that sounds good. I have your measurements already, so I'll start working today.” And then he kissed him, light and paternal, as his hands palmed Maitimo's breast.

Maitimo ran to his chambers. He hadn't slept in his bed for so long that it was covered in a fine layer of dust. He didn't care. He laid face first and sobbed. He felt dirty, violated, wrong. What manner of spirit had possessed his father? He never thought something like this was possible. To almost be raped by his father! He needed to tell someone. Not his brothers. Now that mother was gone they needed their father more than ever. And besides, what could they do to help? Makalaurë was at best flighty and at worst a coward who would not do anything to defend anyone, Tyelkormo and Carnistir were too impulsive to not ruin everything, Atarinkë was barely out of childhood and had always loved their father too much, and the twins were still children. And Finwë? One could not trust Finwë with anything related to Fëanáro. His son blinded him. If Finwë would follow Fëanáro into exile after he threatened his own brother with a sword, Maitimo would not trust that his reactions to the news wouldn't be to tie him to the bed to let Fëanáro have his way.

So he was alone. What were the options? Run, fight, convince him to stop. No one had ever convinced Fëanáro to do anything, so really, his options were to fight or run. Would he be forgiven for patricide? Maybe, but if he wasn't, was he willing to trade this cage for another one? Would he be willing to tear his family apart even more? No.

And running was tempting. It was so tempting. But he couldn't. His father's gaze could turn to one of the children, and if Maitimo staying was the price for his brothers not having to suffer those eyes, he would stay as long as he had to.

Maybe he could keep these challenges going forever, delay the courtship until the twins were grown, or even until their exile was done. He needed his mother.

But his mother was not there, and that was the great trouble.

He barely saw his father those days. He spent all his time in the fields, making sure all was getting enough rain and nutrients. And he harvested the grain too, the only man in a sea of women and wheat. He was thankful that he lived in Valinor and not in Middle-earth, where the harvest depended on the whims of the weather and plants were not guided by the Maiar and Valar. If he ever wanted to leave the house, he could simply say he wanted to plant some almond trees, or that the carrots seemed ready to pull from the ground, without worry for any weather.

And his father worked all day as well, excited to make a gift for his soon-to-be bride. Maitimo could not go to his study, he said, for the robe was not ready and it should not be seen until Fëanáro put it on him.

Greatest gift of all was the fact that Fëanáro let him sleep in his own bed.

So Maitimo collected grain, a basketful, until his hands were sore, and then he went to the mill, using the millstone for the royal family. There it was grinded until it was fine, perfect for a soft bread. Maitimo had liked this process as a child, following on stumbling legs after his mother, watching her great basket and holding his smaller one. They would often harvest from the same stalk, Maitimo on the bottom and Nerdanel from the top. And as he grew, understood that it was woman's work and that he was no woman, he still loved going to the fields with her. She was the first to know those strange feelings in him, those wishes, and she let him practice his letters and his harp as she worked. Those fields belonged to his mother, and they loved him as she did.

Without her, they were little more than a bother. But they did let him leave the house, so he had a little affection for them.

And the seventh night after Maitimo laid down his challenge, Fëanáro rushed into the kitchen where Maitimo was kneading their bread.

“It's done. My love, it is done.” He hugged him from behind.

“Already?” Maitimo could not– He thought he would have more time.

“Yes, and I cannot wait to see you wearing it.” The hand over his stomach moved up. “You will look radiant in it.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but he would keep them off his voice. “You work quickly.” And suddenly the embrace turned perverse, Fëanáro's hips pressing up against Maitimo's buttocks. He wasn’t erect, not yet, but his hips were rocking up, up, up, and it was only a matter of time. “Father, I'm working.”

“Call me Fëanáro. You will not be my daughter for long.”

“We are in the kitchen! Anyone could see.”

Maitimo had seen his parents a thousand times in a similar position. Fëanor, insistent with his affection and Nerdanel, reluctant but loving. Now that it was himself in this position the only thought that came to his mind was, but was she willing. Here, on their desk, in their bed. Was she willing. Were his affections returned, or was she worn down until she said yes? No other couple in Valinor had seven children. And a terror and fury filled him, and as Fëanáro kissed his neck, he wanted nothing more than to reach for the rolling pin and beat him with it. He wanted to beat him until he didn't even twitch, until his brains were splattered across the floor.

And then Fëanáro stepped away, and Maitimo could breathe again. “Come to my room after dinner. You will adore my gift.”

The most terrible thing was that Maitimo did adore it. If he could only forget why his father had made the robe, he would think it the greatest ever made. The doublet beneath it was black as coal, and simple, but the gown itself seemed to flow from where it could be peeked at, at the sleeves and neck, and it was so elaborate it was hard to focus on one thing. Its sleeves were long and wide, so much so they almost reached the floor, and slashed so that as one moved it shifted, showing its insides and the paler colors within, for the outside of the garment was scarlet, and its insides there were oranges and yellows, some dark and some so pale they seemed white. It reached his ankles, and was so light that as his father spun him around it flowed high around him, jumping as a flame might. And the embroidery! It wasn't gold, for a single thread of gold could not shift color as this one did, but whatever it was it curled all around, not as garish as embroidering actual flame might be, but calling it still to mind.

“And? My sweet, do you think we could be married as you wear this?” The robe seemed ruined then, with just one sentence.

“Not yet. I thought there might be three challenges.” He just needed to make them impossible. This had been too easy, thought of in only a moment.

“Ai, you are cruel to me, to tempt me and leave me dry!” He took then Maitimo's hands in his, kissed them. “But tell me, what shall I do next?”

“I want a single stone, father, perfectly pure and smooth, and yet showing every color of the sky.”

“Pure and yet with many colors? You know enough chemistry to know that is impossible.”

“You know enough of my value to know that I cannot marry anyone but the best.”

“I do. I raised you to know that at least. I shall make this, then. How large?”

“However you might think it necessary.” Maitimo knew this was impossible. So, confident, he wished his father luck.

He went to the fields again, after seeing his father frustrated in his laboratory. He seemed to be stuck deciding whether what was missing from his improvements upon a diamond was heat, pressure, or song. Good. The longer he spent frustrated, the longer Maitimo had to be free.

So, he went to where the Donkey ran. It brayed when it saw him coming and jumped up to him. It was a stout little creature, but it moved with surprising grace. Came with being blessed by the Valar, one supposed. There were other donkeys in Formenos, but none were as fast as the Donkey, or as playful.

Maitimo still brought apples for all the donkeys, even if it was the Donkey that he liked best. He fed them each one apple, listened to their bray, and laid down in the fields with his eyes closed, feeling the wind, and that Valar-wrought blessing. Formenos, even as it was a place of exile, was loved, and the Valar would not allow such perverse things to happen in their land.

And as he felt those hopes, the Donkey came near, at first sniffing for another apple, and then coming to smell him. It panted, warm and wet, against Maitimo's head, and pushed his head against his hair, messing it up and nuzzling against him. Maitimo reached up with his hand to pet him, the angle awkward, for he did not wish to get up. The Donkey was soft, its dark fur almost wool-like, and warm as a fireplace. It was hard for things to be so terrible with it near.

Fëanáro had his jewel finished by the end of the month. It was not his most elegant creation, large and unwieldy, but it was pretty. A smooth, uncut oval, shining white and grey and pale yellow.

He smiled, overconfident. “I know it is too large to wear, but I do think I have fulfilled your challenge.”

Maitimo was very happy with his own cleverness as he saw the jewel. “You really think so? I see a thousand colors missing. Where is the starlit sky, or the bleeding reds when we see Laurelin from hundreds of miles away, or the white and grey ribbons of a cloud? I do not see the light blues or the purples fading into black as we walk away from Tirion. Even the sky here in Formenos cannot be seen in this jewel.”

Fëanáro sighed, but smiled. “Ai, I am glad you are so demanding. You are right, I fear, but I do not know how to make all those colors mingling as they do in the sky, not without introducing impurities. Did you have to make this so difficult?”

“Only because my suitor could rise to the occasion. There is no shame in failing.” Maitimo knew he couldn't let his joy show. Still, he smiled, and hoped it seemed flirtatious.

“No, no, there isn't. But I must have you, and it would bring shame to you if I simply took you to wife with no ceremony.” He slapped his hands against his thighs and began to walk about his room. “I will think of something. Now, go. I need quiet to solve this riddle.”

Maitimo kept his cry of joy clamped up in his throat until he reached his rooms. Oh, he could have danced, so hopeful was he!

Fëanáro did not come out of his laboratory for four months. He slept there, he ate there, and Maitimo only had to see him when bringing him his meals at noon and night. His brothers and grandfather worried, but Maitimo reassured them. Their father was obsessive whenever a problem caught his attention. He would finish whatever he was working on, and everyone would have Fëanáro back. In fact, he told the twins, they should take the chance to do all their mischief now that nobody willing to punish them was paying attention.

The only mischief they attempted was to tame a fox so they could keep it as a pet, but Huan would catch it by the scruff each time he saw it in the house, and they gave up after a few days. Those were the calmest months Maitimo had been through since this exile started.

Of course, Fëanáro had to ruin it by leaving his laboratory.

At first, seeing the stones on their pillars, smooth and black, Maitimo thought his father had lost his mind. They were colorless! If the previous attempt had been fair but still a failure, this was no attempt at all. Maybe whatever delirium had made him see a bride in his son let him see the sky in these black stones.

And then Fëanáro made him touch the smallest one. It was cool to the touch, and smoother than any other stone he had ever touched. His fingers were so perfectly reflected on its surface that Maitimo thought Fëanáro had thought his challenge a riddle and decided to make these stones work like a mirror. “Think of the sky over Araman.” Maitimo barely had time to picture it in his mind, before it was there, on the stone! “Tirion, during the mingling.” Again, the silver, golden sky, shining from the stone. “The sky over Cuiviénen.” And Maitimo did not know what that looked like, but still it appeared, countless stars shining against a sky perfectly dark. And as Maitimo looked at that sky, he could not help but feel anger at never having seen it before, all of Valinor blanketed so much by the light of the Trees that Varda's creations were but shadows of what they could be.

“What can't it show?” His voice was trembling. How could his father do this?

“There is nothing the Palantíri cannot see, as long as the seer has a strong enough will.”

Maitimo thought suddenly, Mother, without any will to actually see her, and still, she was there! Working, happily carving a reclining figure from a marble block. “Can she see us through—?” But Fëanáro gripped his wrist and tore his hand away from the stone.

“Why would you look for someone who left us? Hmm? She is not thinking of us, so let us not think of her. We shall be happier without her.” His grip was still tight, maybe even tightening, and twisted his wrist at a strange angle.

“I'm sorry.” Maitimo hated to say it, but he did. His wrist hurt, and he couldn't let Fëanáro do anything stupid. He had to remember not to make him think of Nerdanel.

Fëanáro let go, and started to massage where his grip had bruised. “No, no, I apologize. Of course you would feel guilt at taking your mother’s place.” And he kissed Maitimo on the lips, sweet as sugar. “But no, she cannot see us, though those holding a stone could see each other and speak. That's why I made seven. One for each of your brothers, though the twins will have to share, one for my father, and one for us.” He laughed, and continued, “Of course, if we ever have children of our own I will have to make more for them.”

Maitimo swallowed, keeping down the bile. “Thank you, father. Can I take this one to my room?”

“Of course. But I told you to call me Fëanáro.”

Maitimo took a few days to think of the third challenge. Fëanáro had done the impossible already with the Palantíri. He needed to think of something not even a Vala could do.

“I want you to capture the light of the two Trees. Not something that reflects it, or that emits something that looks like it, but that is truly shining forever with their light.”

Fëanáro smiled, reached up to kiss him. “I was thinking of a way to do that already! Oh, once I am finished you will look radiant.”

Maitimo already had ways to comfort himself. Still, for days he could not bring himself out of bed, clutching the Palantír close and looking out at any place that was not this damned fortress.

And once some days had passed, he knew that he had to plan a way out. He no longer had ways to delay Fëanáro. Leave this place, or kill him.

He went outside to plan, away from that house that choked him. To kill him would be to replace one abomination with another, and he had to be better than this beast that used to be his father. Maybe he could fight, make him realize his advances were unwanted. He couldn't stop Fëanáro, but maybe that would wake him up to what he was doing. And then the voice in his head said, but what if he doesn't? What if you refuse him and he continues?You know what being forced into marriage means. And that thought cleared his head of those delusions of hoping that his father would see reason. To fight him would be at best to die, at worst for the rape to bind him into marriage.

So he had to run. He had to tell his brothers, maybe through Makalaurë, that they should stay alert to their father's behavior and leave if he acted strangely. If he did that, then he could run without guilt. He should take his jewels, any light, expensive clothing, to sell them and buy a house of his own. He could take the Palantír too, look and make sure his father acted appropriately with his brothers.

Tirion would be his hiding place. Fëanáro was not allowed there and he had not planned once on going during all his years in Formenos. It was highly populated, but the area around it was empty enough that Maitimo could live there with no one noticing as long as he covered his hair and some of his face. He could live as a shepherd, or a swineherd, or a farmer. It did not matter, so long as he was away from his father’s hands and eyes.

Fëanáro seemed so confident in his new project that he left his laboratory quite often. He would cook for the family, go out to hunt with Tyelkormo, help the twins with their lessons, and Maitimo remembered when his father was a father rather than a suitor. It hurt, seeing the monster who haunted his dreams as just a man. Can't you go back to your project? Or at least show them what you show me? Sometimes, he would see Fëanáro and forget what exactly he was planning to run from.

Or at least until night fell, and then Fëanáro would slip into his chambers. “I'll make you a diadem,” he said, “a necklace, a ring, all of them for our wedding day. And when I finish my Silmarilli in a week's time, I shall put them on the diadem for you to wear each day of our marriage.”

Maitimo knew he should speak, unless he wanted Fëanáro to kiss him on the mouth. “Thank you. I am sure they will be beautiful.”

“They are, even unfinished as they are. But they do not yet shine as they should. As you asked for.” Maitimo hid his face into his father's neck, as he did as a child when he had nightmares.

“So you will begin to court me in a week?” That was such a short period of time! He had to talk to Makalaurë.

“Aye, though that seems like such a long time. At least during my last courtship, Mahtan was there to stop me from going into my maiden's chambers. To have you so near…” And he smelt his hair, and sighed. “Would you mind a shorter courtship? I obviously have my own permission, and I am not allowed to speak to your mother, so obviously I need not ask anyone to give you to me. How about we get married as soon as I finish your jewelry? That should not take too long.”

It did not matter. Maitimo would not be here when the wedding came, but still, he felt a sob building in his throat. “Of course. We can shorten our courtship.”

Maitimo indulged himself the next night. He milked the Donkey, enough for all his family, hoping to later heat a cupful for himself, spicing it with cinnamon and ginger. It was a childish treat to give himself, but he needed a simple joy these days. And as he milked the Donkey, this brown-eyed, long-lashed, gentle blessing that the Valar gave to each home away from Tirion, he asked himself, They can give us a beast to feed us in a land with no starvation, but they can't keep sons safe from their fathers?

And a prayer flowed from his lips, as he looked up into the pale sky, knowing that behind the blanket of blinding Tree-light, there was still the dark sky and innumerable stars. “Varda Elentári, you who first lit our way when we woke, who guides all those who are lost, help me out of this nightmare I find myself in! I have made plans already, but I am so afraid.”

He saw no sign of Varda, no far off twinkle, nor did he feel any reassurance, hearing only the Donkey bray. And so it was until late at night, as he felt sleep almost take him, as the warmth of his drink leached from his chest, and a thought, soft and queenly, came into his head. When he gives you the jewels, ask him for a last gift. Ask him for a cloak made of the Donkey's hide, for if he kills that which fed him as a babe for the sake of his perversion, then you shall know him lost. Wear the cloak wherever you make your home, for it shall serve you well.

He knew not whether it was a desperate dream, or truly Varda shining her light on him, but he decided to do as the dream said. What need of the Donkey did Formenos have anyway? There were no motherless babes here, no need for desperate travels. And if the blessing of the Valar being killed made its inhabitants leave the walled city behind, then Maitimo would be glad. There was no good here.

He went into Makalaurë's room without knocking, knowing that he was interrupting his rehearsing. No one ever went to Makalaurë's room this hours.

“Makalaurë, I need to speak with you.” He kept his voice even. He needed to warn Makalaurë, not make him panic.

“Can't it wait?” He didn't even stop strumming his harp as he spoke.

“No.”

Makalaurë sighed, overplaying his annoyance. “Go ahead.”

“Has our father acted strangely towards you?”

Makalaurë frowned, thoughtful. “Not that I can remember. Strange in what manner?”

Maitimo breathed in, kept his voice steady as he listed, “Untoward stares, overly affectionate touching, speaking of inappropriate things. The sort of behavior that is not acceptable towards one's child.”

“Maitimo, what are you talking about?” He leaned towards Maitimo, took his hands in his. They were soft, long fingered, rough only at the fingertips .

“Tell me, is he behaving in the manner that I described?” He needed answers. He had until Fëanáro finished his Silmarilli, and it would be harder if he had to take his brothers with him.

“No. Maitimo, w–”

“And towards our brothers? Has he done anything to them?” Which of his brothers would be more likely to draw Fëanáro's gaze? “To the twins?” They looked even more like Nerdanel than Maitimo did, and spoke of her so often. “Or maybe Atarinkë?” Ai, he admired his father so much, spent all his time with him. So many things could happen in that forge when they were alone.

“No! Maitimo, you speak of such awful things. Has our father been, what, overstepping with you? I thought you were simply taking care of him.”

“He's done nothing to me, Makalaurë.” He squeezed his brother's hand. “But he has been strange, of late, obsessive. You saw how he was these last months.”

“Maitimo. Whatever he's doing, tell me. I will help you.” He sounded close to tears. Ai, Makalaurë! He was always the most sensitive of their family, and it hurt to put this burden upon him. But Maitimo had to choose between living and dying, and he would be selfish, this once.

“He's done nothing. But you can help me, brother. If he ever acts strangely, towards any of this house, promise you will get them to safety. Maybe Tirion. He is not allowed in Tirion.”

“You're leaving.”

“Promise me, Makalaurë.” And now Maitimo was crying as well.

“I promise.” And Makalaurë pulled him close, squeezing so tight that Maitimo felt all the breath leave his lungs in one sob. “Stay safe. Wherever you go, promise you'll stay safe and I promise I'll do the same for our brothers.”

Maitimo knew Makalaurë couldn't see him nod, but it was all he could do.

He knew that the Silmarilli would pass his test, for one could always trust Fëanáro to do the impossible, but still, seeing them shocked him.

The days after swearing with Makalaurë passed quickly as lightning yet slow as molasses. Each moment was a torment, long enough to drive him mad, and yet, once Fëanáro came into his room, small bag in hand, he could only think, already the week has passed?

But it had been a week, however strangely the time passed, and Fëanaro took out the jewels from their little bag.

They were small, the size of quail eggs, but as soon as he took them out the whole room was filled with blinding gold-silver light. So brightly they shone that Maitimo could scarcely force his eyes to focus on them, yet he managed, for he wanted to see the whole of their beauty. They were cut as a diamond might be, and yet as he touched them each facet was so infinitesimally small that he knew they couldn't have been cut. As Maitimo turned it in his hand, the jewel didn't reflect light as a diamond might, taking light from the outside and turning it into a rainbow riot of colors, but refracted its own light, the room filled with light and, still, specks of brighter light went round and round on the walls.

It wasn't just beautiful, for a tree or a mountain or the sea might be beautiful. Beautiful was not a word worthy of these little jewels. Maitimo didn't know what words existed for them.

Fëanáro spoke, barely above a whisper. It felt wrong to be loud in front of these greatest of creations. “I shall create a chain for them, so you might wear them on your neck. I would like to see you wearing them on our wedding night.”

“Fëanáro, I need to ask you for one last thing.” Maitimo knew he should say this now. Even if it felt wrong to taint the jewels with thoughts of a travesty as what he was about to ask.

Fëanaro laughed, as he used to laugh at Nerdanel's jokes. “Ai, darling, test me no longer, for I have found the limits of my skill.”

“This is not a test of skill, but of your love.”

“Then I shall pass it easily.”

“I want you to make me a cloak from the Donkey's hide.” He spoke loudly, the first time using his voice at its full strength since he saw the Silmarilli.

Say no, say no, say no. Give up.

“That is all? Ai, my sweet, the only thing tested shall be my patience!” But he kissed him, sweetly, on the cheek. “You shall have it soon.”

“And the jewels? May I keep those?”

“Of course. Now, I shall go to the fields and get started on your cloak.”

As soon as Fëanáro left his rooms, Maitimo packed. His jewels went into a bag, and so did all his lightest clothing, and waybread and dried meat. Formenos was cold enough that he could simply leave with his warmest clothes on and not worry about the heat until reaching further south. The Palantir went in the bottom of his bag, covered in rags, so that no one could spy through it, and the Silmarilli he carried always on his person, wishing to have their light close.

As he packed, he heard the Donkey's cry, more pained than any other time he had heard it. He hardened his heart to it. Whatever it was suffering, he needed the help this cloak would supposedly give him.

He went into Fëanáro's rooms every night as he worked on the cloak, for he knew that if Fëanáro saw his packed bags he would be lost. Maitimo was sweet to him, giving him kisses, desperate to make him believe he wanted this, as Fëanáro spoke of the drying skin, the defleshing, the cleverness in his keeping the head to use as a hood. The only thing he didn't do was open his legs, telling Fëanáro that he wanted to be truly a maiden on his wedding night. Anything Maitimo could do to keep him happy, he did. He listened to Fëanáro recount his dreams, he let him stroke his breasts, he bathed with him, and told himself, I just need the cloak.

And one day, Fëanaro gave it to him, laughing, saying that “I hope you do not insist on wearing this on our wedding day!”, and Maitimo knew that tonight was the night he was free. He made Fëanáro a warm dinner, a stew made for colder nights than this one, and kissed him as he bathed him. He played the role of the delighted bride-to-be, and as Fëanáro fell asleep, he knew he had to wait just an hour, until his sleep was one from which he would not easily be roused.

And so after Fëanaro was deeply dreaming, his face as calm as it ever could be, Maitimo ran to his rooms. He took his bags and strode to the stables. He took a horse, a quick gelding of such gentle temperament that he had not once heard it make a noise, and rode towards a forgotten side door out the fortress. He had paid its guard to stay away from it for a week, with a tale of a maid from a nearby village he wanted to court before informing his father, and sweet Lindómo had been so excited for him he told him of a brook nearby with countless white flowers growing on its banks. “This girl of yours will love it! Ai, how that river sings!”

Maitimo did ride by the river, enjoying its sweet sounds as he followed it south, hoping to reach Tirion in a few days' time.

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He came into a village just outside Tirion wearing his new cloak, for it hid his face best out of anything he owned. It was only a matter of time before Fëanáro sent someone to look for him, and it was better to hide his face until then. He changed his speech too, making it hoarser and trading his th's for s's. He kept his hair tied back, careful to never let a lock spill from beneath his cloak, and slouched slightly. Anyone who knew him in person would recognize him, but no stranger would think he was a prince.

He took a set of rings, delicate braids of gold and silver set with diamonds and sold them in exchange for a farm in the southern outskirts that had fallen into disrepair. Its owner had moved to Formenos with Maitimo's family, and had sold it for barely anything at all. Now that a few years had passed, Maitimo could buy it for even cheaper. He could, if he wanted, live at those great mansions where youths desiring to leave their families homes stayed until finding a spouse, or at the houses offered by universities or masters to their apprentices, but that required giving a name, and he would be recognized immediately. Better to live on the outskirts, and build something for himself.

For a sapphire necklace he bought some goats, and he simply went to the market and was allowed to take some seeds to plant his own crops. He felt people stare, muttering about his Donkey-skin cloak, but nobody mocked him to his face, and he walked with his head held high. The cloak would serve him some day, he had to believe.

And as he repaired his farm and fed his goats, as he planted his crops and talked to his neighbors, he felt the most normal he had felt in years, even before his father's advances. It was wonderful to be behind no stone walls, never having to ask before leaving, hearing no paranoid ramblings. Everybody called him Donkeyskin, yes, but what a low price to pay that was, for not having eyes focused constantly on his chest!

Somedays he took his Fire-robe and his Silmarilli and danced in his house, with the curtains drawn, of course. His ordeal had given him these gifts, at least, and it seemed a pity not to enjoy them.

And at night, alone, he took out his Palantír and watched what happened at Formenos, and breathed most freely in those moments, when he saw that Fëanaro slept alone in his bed.

He was buying a great friendly herding dog, both for work and for the company, when his neighbor Cemniel walked up to him and said, “Donkeyskin! Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The prince is coming to visit!”

Oh, may the Valar have mercy on him. “Which prince? There are a great number of them.”

“Oh, Prince Findekáno. He so rarely comes here, preferring mostly the mountains, or the sea.”

Findekáno! If anyone could recognize Maitimo it would be him. “Aye, it is most strange. Do you know when he is coming?”

“In just a week. So, Donkeyskin, you ought to find some finery. Your cloak is endearing to us, but a prince demands some respect.” Cemniel was, of all the people he had met in their little village, the most determined to tame their Donkeyskin.

“I have no finery, Cemniel. I think I will simply avoid him instead.”

“Oh, Donkeyskin, I was simply making a joke. Princes come so rarely here. You ought to take the chance to meet one, they are generous with their riches, and your house is so humble.”

Maitimo liked Cemniel, but she could be stubborn as few others. “I like my house as it is, and need no princely riches.”

“Still, Donkeyskin. A prince! In our little corner of the world!”

He knew that Findekáno would be coming soon, and so that he needed to hide. There was nothing more dangerous than being recognized. After just a few days inside his home he began working on making a belt for himself, wishing to place the Silmarilli on it. He could do that, at least, to not go mad with boredom in his little house.

Unfortunately, people seemed determined to see him, for someone knocked on his door. “I'm busy! Come back in a week.”

“I will not be here in a week, Master Donkeyskin. May I please come in?” Findekáno! By the Valar, why was he here?

“No.”

“Then can you leave the house?”

“I will not interrupt my work for some stranger.”

“When I heard about you, Master Donkeyskin, I was not told you were so rude.” Heard of him! Since when did Findekáno pay attention to idle gossip?

“Heard of me? Which of my neighbors told you of me?”

“None of them! I came here because I heard of you. I wished to see the strange man who had come to live here.”

Well, one could always count on Findekáno to be rude. “If you want to enter a man's house, you ought not to insult him. Now you may not have seen Master Donkeyskin, but you have heard his wisdom. Goodbye!”

He heard Findekáno laugh as he walked away, and the most foolish part of Maitimo's heart wished to open his door and follow him, for it sounded so much like the way he laughed when they were still friends.

Findekáno was only here because he didn't know who Maitimo was. If he had, he wouldn't have been so playful. Their last few months had been awful, a thousand arguments quoting their fathers and trying to hurt each other as much as they could. And when Maitimo had told him he was leaving with his father, Findekáno had acted so strangely. At first he had begged, offering whatever he could to get him to stay, insisting that Maitimo would always have a place in his home, hearing nothing about what Maitimo owed his father, as if the last months of only fighting had never happened. And then came anger, which Maitimo had been expecting, and he answered in turn. Why did he want Maitimo to stay so badly, if he was going to react like this to a simple no? And then, as Findekáno tried to defend himself, tears began to roll down his face, and as he cried into Maitimo's robes, he continued his barrage of insults and begging and apologies.

Maitimo did not want to return to that.

The next morning, again came Findekáno.  “Master Donkeyskin! I wish to apologize for yesterday. I should not have called you strange.”

“Aye, you shouldn't have. But here's a way you could make amends: leave.”

“But I still wish to see you. And I am hungry, Master Donkeyskin. May I come inside and have breakfast with you? I heard your cheese was wonderful.”

“Picture a man wearing the skin of a donkey as a cloak.” Findekáno hummed, and Maitimo said, “Now you have seen all that is interesting about me.”

“And my hunger?”

“Close your eyes and I shall give you something to eat.” Maitimo grabbed a small cheese wheel and some bread, and spied through his keyhole. Findekáno had his eyes closed, and so Maitimo opened the door.

Findekáno, as was his obvious manner, reacted to the door opening by opening his mouth. Maitimo instead put the bread and cheese in his hands and went back inside.

He heard Findekáno sit down by the door and eat, and decided that he could have his breakfast as well. He took a slice of bread and spread some soft cheese and a little of Cemniel's blackberry preserve on it. He drank some tea too, and heard Findekáno chew. He was probably doing it with his mouth open, the animal.

“Your cheese is very good! Have you always been a goatherd?”

“No, only since coming here.”

“Really! Well, then I pity all other cheesemongers, for once you have experience to match them, they will find themselves utterly outclassed.”

“Your flattery will not get me to open the door.”

Findekáno took the opening. “Then your cheese is awful and you will never amount to anything.”

“Neither will your insults.” 

Findekáno sighed. “I will be leaving soon.”

“I hope so.”

“What do you have against me?” Findekáno sounded genuinely hurt. Of course he did. Never had a day passed where the boy did not wear his heart on his sleeve.

“Nothing at all. I simply missed when my days were boring.”

“Ai, then we are nothing alike, for I came here looking for some entertainment. Tirion has been so dull lately.” Maedhros could almost see him stretching, spreading his arms, so like the old days did his sigh sound.

“So you came to stare at the man wearing the skin of a donkey.”

“Not to stare! But in search of something new. Say what you will about Fëanáro and his kin, and you can say plenty, but things happened around them.” And Maitimo felt a tightness in his chest at the mention of his father.

“Well, you have not seen anything new, but you have heard it.”

“I did, didn't I? Goodbye, Master Donkeyskin.”

“Goodbye, Findekáno.

He left early the next morning, when he was sure that Findekáno would be sleeping still (for such an energetic man, he slept in surprisingly late without someone working to wake him). And as he walked his goats to the green hills, Roandur running around them, he let himself breathe the clean air and think about Findekáno. He had loved that boy once, not enough to marry him and not enough to stay, yet he loved him still. His last memories of him before leaving for Formenos had been dark with anger, with their fathers, and now Findekáno walked again into the life Maitimo had built here, and those sweet moments of before shone again.

He remembered those parties that went on too long, Findekáno falling asleep on his lap. The scars on his fingers from when he tried his hand at falconry before knowing why all the falconers wore gloves, or that not all birds were tamed. The poems, at first with awkward rhymes and stuttering rhythm, then increasingly complex and intellectual, until simplifying again into a quiet beauty. Confessing  to him that Maitimo was in fact a man, telling his best friend immediately after telling his mother.

And he remembered the moments of fumbling adolescent exploration, of awkward kisses and strange touches, a constant awareness of that line that should not be crossed. Maitimo had teased him often, asking to go for a swim, if this new hose showed off his legs, if he could braid Findekáno's hair. He hadn't known if what he felt was real want, but Findekáno's cheeks would always go red, and he would wipe his palms on his robes, and look fetchingly silly. Sometimes, when Maitimo let him hold his breasts, or kissed his neck, he would move his hips up, adorably trying to rub against air. Findekáno would try to tease as much as he was teased, but his attempts were even more awkward than Maitimo's. Still, Maitimo remembered him being a good kisser, enough that he wondered who could have taught him that.

It was easier to not miss him when he wasn't there. To speak with Findekáno was to love him, and Findekáno would only speak with him unknowingly. And besides, Maitimo was past this innocent teasing. It was better to forget him entirely once Findekáno went back to Tirion and to resenting the Maitimo he knew.

He did not miss Findekáno after he left. He forgot him quite easily, in fact, with his work and his dog and his goats. He made friends with the miller, and bought a spinning wheel and dyes and sold wool alongside the milk and cheeses, and was happy. He did not miss Formenos, and he did not miss Tirion's palaces, or his brothers or his uncles or his father. He could see them whenever he wanted! There was nothing to miss.

“Did you hear Prince Nelyafinwë is missing?” Cemniel had declared it her duty to bake his bread, and was much chattier when doing her chores than Maitimo was. Most of the time, this was an endearing habit. Sometimes it meant that she brought up awkward topics.

“No. Does anybody know what happened?” Was Donkeyskin taciturn? Maitimo couldn't remember.

“Well, no, if they knew what happened they probably would have found him already!” Cemniel breathed in, as she often did before talking for a long while. “But we know he wasn't kidnapped, for he packed before he left, and we know that a guard was bribed, and he insists it was done by Nelyafinwë himself. He says Nelyafinwë told him he had a darling in a nearby village, so people suspect elopement, and considering how his parents married that is not out of the question. Still, who trusts a guard that can be bribed? I think he went back to Tirion to continue his studies. It may be illegal, considering the exile, so you have an explanation for the secrecy, and fits the fact that everyone insists the prince was completely normal! Any explanation that talks about sorcery or Melkor or any of that nonsense should not be trusted, because it doesn't fit what we know of the boy, though I suppose I do not know him personally, so my word should not be trusted. Say, Donkeyskin, you came from the north. Do you know anything about what could have happened?”

It took Maitimo a second to realize Cemniel was finished talking. “I told you, I come from northern Tirion. Nowhere near Formenos. But, I heard no rumors of sorcery, so take that as evidence against your least favorite theory.”

“Oh, everything to the North of Tirion might as well be Araman to me, Donkeyskin. But the lack of sorcery does not help me know what happened.” Maitimo hoped she never would.

“Well, who is looking for this missing prince, anyway?”

“I think it is almost the whole royal family! His father is up north torn with grief, of course, and his father with him, but Turkafinwë and the Ambarrusar are looking for him in the wilderness, Arafinwë’s children are looking for him along the coast, Curufinwë the Younger is looking for him in Aulë’s Halls. I can't remember where exactly Morifinwë is looking for him, but Kanafinwë came to Tirion to look for him, and Finwë Nolofinwë and his childrens are looking for him in Tirion and its outskirts.”

Oh, Valar help him. “How long until they come here to look for him? And why did they wait so long to start the search?”

“Well, Curufinwë wanted to keep the search private. You know how strange grief is, he probably did not want the whole world breaking down his door to tell him everything he had done wrong. I can only hope his son is alright, wherever he is. If it had been my child missing…” Cemniel sighed. “But I do not know when they will come here. Oh, Donkeyskin, I promise life here usually is not so exciting. Ai, a prince, missing!”

Maitimo prepared to stay inside until this search ended. He needed to pickle his vegetables, salt his meat, milk his goats and prepare to make as much cheese as possible. He bought too much food for his goats and dog, and built a roof and tall walls over the goat pen, so he could feed them without being seen. He didn't know when one of his relatives would come here, and he needed to be prepared to stay inside for a few months at least.

He worked quickly, keeping an ear out for any rumors of approaching princes, and was thankful for this little village’s lack of notoriety. That bought him enough time to hide when word came that Findekáno was coming to search the farms on Tirion's southern outskirts.

And as he did not know when Findekáno would arrive, he hid as soon as he heard rumours of his imminent arrival. He was, most likely, being paranoid, staying inside longer than he needed, but he could not risk being seen. Perhaps that was how his Donkeyskin would serve him. Being seen as odd in one way would maybe make people more likely to forgive other oddities.

He stayed inside for months, at least. Findekáno seemed less like he was searching through the countryside near Tirion as he was combing through every house in the region, and Maitimo did not know when he would come near. So he did not risk going out those long months.

It was lonely. He looked at his Palantír as often as he could, always at hours Fëanáro was usually asleep. He did not want to risk Fëanáro knowing where he was, or even that he lived in a small rural house, for that was all he could probably guess from what the Palantír would show him.

He wore his fire-robe and Silmarilli often, too. Even having the sight of his family, and his dog and his goats, he needed a way to find some comfort without wasting what food he had. He danced with those robes, wore the Silmarilli as he did his work, anything to make a life as isolated as this less dull.

Of course, the Silmarilli created problems for him.

He wore his Silmarilli as he spun his wool, for he needed to be productive even in these dull days. Besides, the Silmarilli gave more than enough light to work. To wear them was not simply sentimental, it was practical!

So much light they gave off, in fact, that without his notice their light could be seen through the keyhole, and was seen by a passerby. “Copper-top,” came a sigh, and as Maitimo stood up to see who had spoken, the passerby said, “Maitimo!”

Panic blinded him. It was Findekáno, and he was found, damned. Maitimo needed to keep him quiet, and he hoped their friendship of old would be enough. “Findekáno, keep your voice down.”

And Findekáno whispered, saying again, “Maitimo.” He sounded in awe. “All this time, under my very nose.”

“Please do not tell anyone.”

“Everyone is so worried.”

“Tell them not to be.”

Findekáno sounded grieved. “Maitimo, let me in. I cannot have this conversation with you through a door.”

The most childish part of Maitimo refused to open the door. “Yes, you can.”

“Not unless you want people to overhear us.”

Ai, he was damned. He put the Silmarilli in the small box he had for his jewelry, and threw on his donkey-skin cloak. He opened the door, and Findekáno did not wait a second before throwing his arms around him. Maitimo untangled himself from his embrace and closed the door.

Findekáno was smiling wildly, grabbing Maitimo's hands and kissed them, and Maitimo needed space. “Maitimo, Maitimo, what good it is to see you after these long years. Oh, these people have named you wrongly. Donkeyskin , they said, having you in their midst.”

“It is good to see you also, I suppose.

“Why did you run from Formenos? Maitimo, dear Maitimo, what is it you're doing?”

“I cannot tell you. Besides, why do you sound so upset? You never wanted me to go.” He could pull his hands away from Findekáno's mouth, but not get him to let go.

“No, I wanted you to stay in Tirion, with me.” He sat them down on the bed, holding still his hands. “Maitimo, for the sake of our friendship of old, tell me, why would you leave like this? I do not believe it is solely because you wanted to be a goatherd.”

“It would be better for both of us if you did.”

“I cannot. My Maitimo would not have left in the night, leaving no note and stealing jewelry and a horse.”

Maitimo tried to stand, and Findekáno put his hand on his thigh and kept him down. “Your Maitimo had no reason to run. Trust that I did.”

“And trust me not to tell whatever secrets you hold.” As he spoke, the hand on Maitimo's thigh rubbed circles with its thumb. Round and round on the inside, and Maitimo was aware suddenly that Findekáno had wanted him once. He was in his bed, in his house, in a place nobody knew Maitimo's name.

Findekáno could do so many things, Maitimo realized, without consequence. He alone of the two of them was a prince now, and Donkeyskin the strange goatherd was no reason to prosecute a prince. Ot blackmail, he could give conditions for his silence, and what choice would Maitimo have but to obey? He left the lion's den only to let a tiger into his home! He needed to leave. He shook, and kept his tears from flowing and stood up and walked where he kept his shepherd's crook. He held it in his arms and stayed quiet.

“Maitimo, tell me, please. Whatever trouble has found you, I will help you with it.” He had his hands raised up, either showing his lack of weapon or preparing to protect his face.

“You can help by staying quiet. So long as people don't know where I am, I shall stay safe. Tell people you did not find me, and I shall hold you the most generous of my friends.”

“If they don't find you during this search, people will ask Manwë for help. You cannot stay hidden forever.”

His father, asking for the help of the Valar? Wouldn't he want them not to know what he had planned? “I shall have to trust him to keep me hidden then. I am hiding from something that no just lord would expose me to.”

Findekáno tried to step closer, and Maitimo held his crook even closer, ready to strike him if he tried to hold him again.

“What are you hiding from? Makalaurë is worried about you, and he spoke strangely and kept so much hidden also.”

Maybe if he told the truth, Findekáno would step away. If he was as Maitimo remembered him, he would understand and give him space. If he wasn't, Maitimo would run again, finding a new hiding place each time his family came close.

“I have a suitor, Findekáno, and he terrifies me.”

Findekáno stepped away, sitting again on the bed, before reconsidering and sitting on the chair by his desk. Maitimo set his crook on the floor. “And your father? If you could not refuse him by yourself, could he not have done it? I have never thought your father to be the type to let some overconfident man browbeat his children into submission, whatever his faults.”

“My father wanted me to marry him.” He sighed. “What you see me wearing are the clothes he made for the wedding.”

Findekáno slapped his thighs, and his voice almost reached a yell. “Damn him, then, him and this suitor both! Hide at my father's house, and let him try to force you then.”

“I do not wish to be at any man's house. I wish to be alone.”

Findekáno made a gesture to get up from his seat, but stayed in place. “Then we need to think of something. Could you go to your mother’s house? Surely she would oppose this marriage.”

“If I saw her, I would need to tell her the whole of the story, and if I did that, the tale would kill both me and her.”

“Then could you find someone to marry? Make your suitor give up his pursuit that way?”

“Who? I cannot marry a man, nor live with one, and you know I cannot love a woman.” Maitimo sighed. “But it is the best choice, I think. I should have left that house long ago, and no father can tear his married child from their household.”

“Then I will help you find a husband. Someone gentle, and who will keep away this suitor.” And Maitimo let himself stand close to Findekáno, hold him close, and feel him breathe against his stomach. Findekáno was careful with his arms, never letting them fall anywhere that might upset Maitimo, and Maitimo felt that friendship run through his veins again, keeping him warm after those years of cold. “I promise. Ai, we will solve all these problems of yours.”

And as night fell, and Findekáno had to leave, Maitimo told him to come back tomorrow, so he could give him some food for the road in his search for a husband.

Maitimo went out early that morning, hoping to buy all his groceries in time to make something for Fingon. He bought lard, and venison, and some onions and potatoes. Pasties would be easy for him to eat on the road, and were not so difficult to make.

He made the filling, spicing it as he knew Findekáno liked, letting it cool before working on the dough. He cut the lard into the flour, making sure he did not overwarm or overwork it, until it seemed properly integrated while still loose. He then added cold water, and mixed some more, and started to cut the dough into pieces before rolling it into circles.

He heaped as generous a filling as he could into each pasty without it overflowing, and as he crimped the first one, a thought came into his head, A pity, that Findekáno is leaving to look for a husband for me!

A pity? No, why would it ever be a pity for Findekáno to help him? Yes, Maitimo was not ready for a husband, but clearly one was needed in this situation. Findekáno was simply being kind, doing the work that Maitimo could not do.

But if I am looking for a husband who is kind, and brave, wouldn't Findekáno be perfect?

He would be. Ai, that was the trouble, he would be. And Maitimo was about to send him away on a quest to look for this new husband. He obviously did not want Maitimo still, if he agreed to do this without complaint. And besides, even if he did want to marry Maitimo, he was not ready yet. He needed a little while.

Then leave a sign that will take a while to find.

He still had a pasty he had not filled. And after filling it with half the meat he had left, he went to his jewelry box and took out two rings. One was silver, a delicate little band that had never fit Maitimo quite right and yet he had never had the heart to sell. But Findekáno had smaller hands than his, and it might fit his ring finger. The other one was gold, purposely made to see the hands that made it, flawed with intention. Atarinkë had made them long ago for the whole family, knowing his skills were not so far that he could make a perfect ring, and so leaned into imperfection.

He washed both rings and put them into the pasty, and closed it and crimped its corners and marked it, so he'd know to put it at the bottom of the basket he'd give Findekáno.

And as they cooked, he could not wait to give them to Findekáno, and took the chance to steel himself.

Findekáno was in a village three days away from Maitimo when he bit into a pasty and his teeth hit a piece of metal.

A knock came frantic at Maitimo's door. He opened it, and Findekáno held out his fist and said, “You dropped them into the pasty.”

“I know.” Maitimo knew that half of confidence was acting. So, he acted. “What do you plan to do with the rings?”

Findekáno sounded winded, as if he had run the whole way from wherever he had discovered the little proposal. “You— I did not think you meant to do it.”

“Well you know now .”

“If… If you think that you can trust me to keep you safe, then I shall strive to deserve that. I will marry you, as soon as you like.” Findekáno blushed, and added, “And if you think that you can grow to love me, I shall strive to deserve that, too.”

Maitimo kissed him, softly, slow enough that Findekáno could move away if he wanted. He liked the kiss, with no fear and no unwanted advances and no fathers. It wasn't the kisses of childhood, or adolescence, when he knew no fear, but still, if Maitimo had to kiss someone for the rest of his life, he would not mind it being Findekáno.

As he pulled back, Maitimo sat them on the bed and had to say, “I do have conditions of my own, before we marry.”

“Of course.” Findekáno seemed to be struggling not to smile.

“First, I want my own bedroom, to which only I have the keys. I know how it sounds, but—”

“If you need that, then you can have a whole house of your own. I won't resent your need for space.” Findekáno seemed genuine, even about the house.

“I also ask that we not have children. And that you do not insist on this.”

Findekáno seemed grieved at this. “Is this about not wanting to bear children, or not wanting to raise them?”

Maitimo knew that most men would not like to be told that he would not ever have children. Still, a part of him resented even the question. “Both. But I think it is enough to know I do not want them.”

Findekáno nodded. “Any other conditions?”

“I would like you to know who my suitor was.” Findekáno deserved to know, if only so he understood what Fëanáro asking for Maitimo meant.

“Maitimo, tell me. I shall keep quiet, if this brings you shame.”

He held Findekáno's hands, needing the grounding. “It was my father.” Findekáno frowned, clearly not understanding. “Findekáno, my suitor was Fëanáro.”

And Findekáno stood, and said, “The Valar must know. Surely they will do something once we tell them.”

“Findekáno, you promised me your silence.”

“But I did not know this. ”

“Findekáno, the last thing I want is for the whole world to know my shame.” He sat them on the bed again.

“It's not your shame! It's his, and I refuse to let him live with no consequence while you spend the rest of your life in fear.” Findekáno sounded so incredibly angry.

“Findekáno, it does not matter what consequences you think are appropriate. This is not a monster from a great tale, who you only have to slay to fix everything. He's the monster and he's my father. I only want him away from me, and to forget all he tried to do, and having to stand before the Valar and tell them what happened will not help me.” Findekáno still had his lips pursed, ready with a retort. “Or at least, not yet. I want to discuss where we'll live and whether you think we should marry now, or in a few months.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. We shall act as you think is appropriate.” And he breathed deeply, before starting again, “I think we should wait a few days to marry, if only so I can find you a golden ring, and well, we'll need a few months before finding a house of our own, so we shall need to stay somewhere while doing that . You wanted a room of your own, so we cannot stay here because this house, while lovely, has barely enough room for you , so maybe you could move to my father's house…” He seemed ready to ramble for as long as he lived.

“Actually, Findekáno, I think we should stay at my mother's house.”

Chapter End Notes

thank you so so so so much for reading!!! this was the first fic i wrote where i was genuinely proud of what i wrote instead of being like, eh, good enough. english is my second language, so if you have any critiques of wording and grammar i would especially apreciate it.

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