Don't You Ever Look Away by Elrond's Library  

Chapter 2

Maitindë stood at Findekánë’s side when their uncle Arafinwë came crawling back to Tirion to assume the kingship of the Noldor who remained. 

Arafinwë stood at the gate of Tirion’s palace, surveying the array of women who he had left behind. Indis stood tall, a veiled statue in white and gold. Findis, Anairë, Eärwen stood to her left, Maitindë and Findekánë to her right. Torches burned bright, casting flickering shadows over their faces. 

“Ammë,” Arafinwë knelt at his mother’s feet. “Forgive me. I was led astray.”

Indis let the moment stretch, eyeing the crowd of people who watched just outside the palace grounds. “Rise, Arafinwë Ingoldo Finwion,” she finally said, loud and imperious. “You are welcome in my home.”

Arafinwë bowed low, forehead to her feet, before rising. Maitindë huffed a quiet half-laugh that only her lover could hear at her younger uncle’s theatrics. For all that Arafinwë claimed to hate the game, for all that he had distanced himself from the Noldorin court, he knew how to play it with ease. She knew he knew what was necessary in this situation. How to work the crowd to his advantage. 

Maitindë was not impressed. 

Since making the decision to stay, she had worked with Indis tirelessly to keep the power of the Noldorin throne firmly in Indis’ hands. Though she was sure her Atar would prefer Maitindë take power for herself, since the throne had passed to him on Haru Finwë’s death. She gave up that claim. Not for lack of interest – she knew she’d be good at the job – but because her position was tenuous. Fëanáro had failed to name an heir when he left, too intent on getting out and away from Tirion, from the yoke of the Valar. A vast oversight on his part, one she could not rectify without him.

Maitindë did not have the popular support to back her claim, nor, and perhaps more importantly, the support of the courtiers who had stayed behind. She had burned too many bridges in service of her Atar’s interests. 

The people were used to seeing Indis at Ñolofinwë’s side during the Formenos years. 

So, Indis. 

And now, it seemed, Arafinwë. 

Maitindë followed Indis, Findekánë at her heels, to one of the public receiving rooms. Indis stood before Finwë’s customary chair, lowbacked with garish yellow upholstery, opposite the equally garish loveseat for honored guests. Without a word, Findis and Anairë pulled small embroidery projects out of their slit pockets. Maitindë knew, because she did this too, that there was an arsenal of tools and materials in those pockets. She herself carried a notebook, charcoal pencils, an embroidery project with all associated tools, and the dagger her nephew had made for her. That had never been necessary, but she felt better having a piece of not-so-little-anymore Tyelpë with her. 

He had presented a matching one to Findekánë with a wink and a knowing smile, the little minx.

Maitindë stood by the fireplace, Findekánë seated by her side.

Arafinwë followed Eärwen, who came in with a pinched look on her face. “Nobody else is coming back,” she said to the room, pursing her lips to try to contain the trembling that heralded tears. “They’re all gone.”

“Meldanya,” Arafinwë murmured, laying a hand on the small of Eärwen’s back. She flinched, and stepped out of his touch. She joined Anairë and Findis, who handed her a handkerchief. 

Indis frowned. “Come, Arafinwë. Sit. Tell us what has happened.”

The tale was long in the telling. So much had happened in such a little time. 

Her mind raced with ways to mitigate the damage in the wake of her family’s crimes, so busily considering and abandoning strategies that she did not hear Arafinwë’s question.

“Hmm?” She started, Findekánë’s forceful poke in her side breaking her out of such thoughts. “Sorry.”

“Was Fëanáro planning this?” 

Maitindë blinked. “Don’t be a fool, Ara. Of course not.” 

“You don’t seem surprised,” he said, shrugging. 

“I’m not. You would not be either, if you heard the way he talked in private, in the long years in cold and lonely Formenos.” Indis raised a single eyebrow. Maitindë’s voice grew hard. “Did you really think he gave up his warmongering just because the Valar removed him from court? I have no doubt that had things not gone as they had, Ñolofinwë would not be rushing into the fray after him, because Fëanáro would have slain him then and there.” Using her father’s amilessë felt strange, but any rhetorical distance she could place between him and herself would be welcome.

“That being said,” Maitindë spread her hands, conciliatory. “He absolutely did not plan that bloodshed was certain to happen. But I would be remiss in not acknowledging the potential for violence that may have entered his mind.”

Findekánë let go of a shuddering breath, no doubt remembering the days following the threat on Ñolofinwë’s life. The fights the two women had had, in those days… each taking their father’s sides, each trying and failing to rationalize their respective uncle’s actions in the lead up and aftermath of that fateful council meeting. Messy. 

Maitindë knelt, settling gracefully on her heels, the fire in the fireplace warm against her back. She bowed low to Indis and Arafinwë, then turned and went further, forehead pressed to the floor in Eärwen’s direction. “You are under no obligation to accept, Princess Eärwen of the Teleri, but I offer what consolation and regret I can on behalf of my House for their actions.” 

She waited, two, five, ten beats. She heard Eärwen sniff, then walk out of the room without saying a word. 

Maitindë stayed kneeling on the floor, beside Findekánë. It wasn’t any more or less comfortable than standing, and Findekánë could touch her shoulder, a comforting weight. 

Conversation moved on, awkward. Arafinwë asked what the state of the court was. Indis explained that plans were in motion to keep her in power. Arafinwë eyed Maitindë cautiously, and she knew that he could see her fingers in this plan. 

She had been playing the game for as long as her young uncle had been alive. But he was shrewd, clever. And she was about to watch it all fall. 

Arafinwë pushed forward his own claim. Made pretty arguments about why Indis and Findis should retire to Valmar and let him take over the burden of kingship. Insinuated, of course, that their fragile womanhoods could not handle the task, bah! Had he ever really known his own daughter? Little Artanis had the makings of a great queen, had she not been born last of that generation.

In the end, Indis capitulated to her son. He would be King. Indis would maintain the duties she had under Finwë’s kingship, over the palace, the grounds, and the charities. 

Maitindë retained her hard-won place on the Council, and argued successfully for Findekánë to take Ñolofinwë’s seat. 

Maitindë huffed a laugh after Arafinwë left, side-eying her lover. 

“What?” Findekánë murmured, voice low. 

“I’m going to be a thorn in his side for the next thousand years or more.”