summon forth the wounded night by skywardstruck  

They were to take the Teleri ships by force. A direct order from Fëanáro. He would not be impeded by those who chose to side with the Valar, who had trapped the Eldar in this lifeless prison. And so his sons would follow.

Maitimo obeyed. An unfortunate circumstance, he was told; the Teleri chose this road, chose to stand in the way of those who would force Moringotto to answer for his crimes. Maitimo obeyed, and drew his sword, the very sword he’d used to swear the oath alongside his Atar. He slashed through the mariners on the docks, only armed with spears and shortbows. Maitimo repeated over and over in his mind, this was inevitable, trying desperately to silence the part of himself that knew this was wrong, for delivering justice would mean damning himself.

Unfortunately, it seemed, his end would come sooner than expected, for fate was against him. Despite the strength in arms of the House of Fëanáro, Maitimo found himself cornered. For who could possibly know the ships better than the Teleri who made them?

A stray arrow found its way into his arm, another in his chest. A spear slammed into his side, and its wielder took advantage of the moment, shoving him with all the force they could muster. Maitimo let out a pained cry, his voice echoing into the cold night as he fell backwards, his weakened body crashing into the deck of a smaller swanship below. Too wounded to move, Maitimo could only watch helplessly as the sea began to rise against him, the waters seeming to cry out in lamentation as the rush of a wave slammed into the ship and shattered the hull.

The last thing Maitimo remembered, as the waters of Uinen dragged him down, was the sound of horns and a glimpse of a banner of blue and silver as he fell deeper and deeper, into the Void, where he belonged.

✵

“It is fortunate that you arrived when you did, Findekáno, else all of this would truly have been for naught,” said Makalaurë, his expression grave, deep sadness and disbelief behind his words.

“I do not take pride in this sacrifice,” Findekáno reminded him, “only that I chose to answer the cries of a friend in peril, and I would do so again. I am glad you are safe...”

“Not I,” Makalaurë replied, his voice shuddering. “Nothing could bring me peace, not even your presence.” He could no longer hold back tears, pretend that this was a victory. “Nelyo, he—”

A sinking feeling came over Findekáno’s chest. Maitimo’s cries were what had led him to the harbour.

“Maitimo... what of Maitimo?!”

“He... he is drowned. Lost beneath the waves,” wept Makalaurë. “He is gone...!”

“No...!” cried Findekáno, the words striking him like a piercing arrow as he gripped Makalaurë’s shoulders. “It cannot be so! He must still be—”

“I witnessed the moment the waves took him,” Makalaurë asserted, refusing to meet Findekáno’s gaze. “There is nothing we can do.”

“Then I was too late...!”

“This is our cruel fate, Findekáno,” said Makalaurë. “Would that the waters could have claimed me instead!”

✵

How Findekáno had longed to see Maitimo again now that they were united in purpose, to heal the wounds of their broken hearts. Now that day would never come.

And yet... none of this bloodshed needed to happen. Surely, Fëanáro and his sons had started it all. Maitimo, who sought to divide, to oust the descendants of Indis; it was what everyone else had told Findekáno, and Maitimo’s exile was proof. This violence, too, was befitting of a selfish person like him, no longer the kind heart Findekáno fell in love with.

Yet Findekáno chose to throw himself into the heart of the violence, to drown in sin alongside him. Why? It was not even a question; Findekáno needed not ponder long to find the answer he knew in his heart. It hurt so much to see Maitimo meet the fate he deserved, because Findekáno knew a part of him still loved Maitimo, the one in his memories, as he longed for the joy, the thrill, the wholeness they had before and could never have again. From every stolen kiss on the streets of Tirion and every heated touch beneath the sheets; every heartfelt speech in the other’s defence and song to lift their spirits; every jeweled treasure they made for each other; every promise for a future that would never come.

Findekáno was doomed to be trapped inside the past and cursed to move forward. Makalaurë was right. If he did not press on, his sacrifices, transgressions, would mean nothing at all.

The winds of Araman battered the tent, interrupting Findekáno’s thoughts. Hearing the voices of his family outside, Findekáno immediately got out of his bedroll to follow the others, and immediately, he noticed something was wrong.

“The ships... what happened to the ships?!” asked Findekáno, dread beginning to creep in.

“The ships are gone!” Arakáno called out. “Could Fëanáro—”

“My brother’s host has indeed departed without us,” answered Ñolofinwë, his heart heavy as he spoke. “Look upon the horizon.”

“It is true, Atar... I can see them,” said Írissë, gazing out into the distance, fur cape fluttering in the wind. She pointed to the vague images of the swan ships peeking through the fog, and Findekáno saw it was true.

“Of course he would do something like this!” replied Turukáno. “Caring for no one but himself...”

“But we know there was not enough room for everyone,” Írissë reminded Turukáno.

“Yes, Fëanáro told me as much,” Ñolofinwë explained, “though I had hoped he would not leave without a word, without a plan forward.”

“Then... are we stranded here?” worried Írimë, standing closely beside her brother Ñolofinwë, noticing the doubt in his voice. “Naught but the Ice lies before us.”

“There is still hope that we may yet cross the sea,” said Findekáno. “I spoke with Makalaurë and felt his concern. Perhaps some ships will return.”

“Indeed they will, if my brother’s vows to me remain true,” replied Ñolofinwë. “We all ought to prepare for the next leg of the journey nonetheless— do you have your sword, yonya? I have not seen it for some time.”

“Yes, Atar, of course I—” Findekáno paused, for he distinctly remembered dropping his sword, during the bloodshed at Alqualondë. He had always planned to look for it after the battle, but Fëanáro would not let anyone linger.

“... of course I will... go and retrieve it,” Findekáno assured his father. “I shall not be long. A few days, at most.”

“Speak to no one,” Ñolofinwë warned, with a subtle sigh of frustration. “After what we have done... we cannot face our former friends now. That love is lost.”

Findekáno nodded, though he was reminded of a different lost love, one which he selfishly admitted to himself hurt far more.

✵

Findekáno tried to keep away from the shoreline to avoid the worst of the winds as he ran through the plains as quickly as he could. The trees seemed to sway as if reaching out to the sea on their own volition, branches snapping as they were flung towards the coast. Findekáno wore a thick fur-lined cloak that Írissë had made for him, which he hoped would cover his face enough when he arrived in Alqualondë.

Unfortunately, by the time he did arrive, Findekáno realized the cloak made him stick out like a sore thumb, as he observed a group of Teleri gathered by one of the docks, preparing for further burials. They seemed to be using some of the wood scraps from destroyed ships to form into caskets, affixing pearls to them, burying their slain with fragments of their people’s most beloved creations.

And one such pile of wood scraps was right next to his sword, which had fallen off the pier and collapsed in the sand. A sigh of relief knowing it was still there, and that the casket-builders were far enough away from it that he could retrieve it unseen... if he was quiet enough. Hiding behind a pillar carved with the ridges of shells, Findekáno carefully tiptoed across the sands, listening to the Music of the wind to blend in with its sound as he made his way to the sword.

Findekáno would recognize it anywhere, a blade of shining silver with elegant swirls carved into it and twisting leaf patterns around the hilt. As Findekáno began to strap it onto his waist, something else caught his eye. A body, collapsed on the shore, leg protruding ever so slightly past the wood pile.... and locks of wavy, frayed red hair sticking out, blowing gently in the wind.

Findekáno dared to let one such lock of hair fall into his palm, thoughts of his once-beloved rushing through his head.

Curiosity got the better of him. Findekáno carefully moved some of the wood scraps, a few small planks tumbling and making a bigger noise than he would have liked. A noise that caught the ears of one of the Teleri.

“Ai— what was that sound?” someone asked. Findekáno quickly hid himself beneath a large curved piece of wood scrap, wrapping himself in his cloak.

“It seemed to come from the northern shore,” another Teler answered, and Findekáno focused his mind to silence his breath, moving as little as possible. Once it seemed the Teler was no longer paying attention, he resumed moving the wood. “Perhaps just the wind,” mused the first voice, quieter now as the sounds of hammering began anew.

Eventually, Findekáno managed to free the body from beneath the wood, Varda’s light bringing the face into view. Warm brown skin dotted with freckles, soft lips, sharp features, a little mole just beside the left eye.

An earring of ruby and silver, swirls wrapped around the ear, a treasure that Findekáno made himself for his once-beloved.

Maitimo. Russandol.

He had been here the entire time, and he had not forgotten Findekáno for one moment.

Maitimo had not fallen beneath the waves like Makalaurë had said, his body instead having washed upon the shore. A mercy, from Uinen. Tears as salty as her waters formed like dew in Findekáno’s eyes as he wept. He held Maitimo’s body close, trying desperately not to let his shaking sobs be heard, and then suddenly—

A weak breath against his skin. The rise and fall of Maitimo’s wounded chest.

Maitimo was still alive, and his family had left him for dead.

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A flash of light amidst nothingness. For a moment, Maitimo could feel himself breathing, smell the air of the ocean— and he could hear voices.

“They may have left you behind, but I will not, not anymore. There is too much explaining to do...”

Findekáno’s voice. This had to be a dream, it could not be anything else.

Another voice called out from the distance, one he did not recognize. “Who goes there?! Show yourself!” Breaths of panic in his ear, the stamping of feet. “You! Get back here! Kinslayer!”

“Gah— not now...!” Findekáno again. Maitimo’s body was gripped tighter, a cloak obscuring what little he was able to see. Was this all just a trick of the Void?

“Please, Maitimo... Hold on...!”

Darkness took Maitimo again before he could find an answer.

✵

Maitimo woke up to the sight of tent fabric above him and the feeling of thick fur surrounding him inside the bedroll, placed atop a pile of blankets. As his vision became a bit clearer, he could see a blue and silver banner hanging from one of the stakes, the heraldry of the house of Ñolofinwë emblazoned on its center. The sword leaning against the wall was familiar, too; he could recognize the patterns of swirls and leaves. He began to open his eyes fully, taking a deep breath in.

“Ah, Maitimo! Thank the stars you are awake,” said Findekáno, and there was no mistaking it this time. Turukáno was about to pull me away, he insisted I rest, but—”

“Is it truly you... Findekáno?” asked Maitimo, his voice still hoarse from the salt water. “This is not some dream, or delusion, brought on by my memories?”

“I promise, this is real, and I am here,” said Findekáno with a soft smile, reaching out a trembling hand and placing it gently on Maitimo’s bandage-wrapped chest. “Your hröa would not feel this, if it had expired.”

“But how? How did you— where am I, how did I get here...? Where is everyone?”

“Take a deep breath, Maitimo... I will explain everything, a little at a time,” Findekáno assured him, as he continued to share his warmth with Maitimo through the caresses of his hand. Somehow, his heart was aching from it; why could he not feel at ease? But Maitimo noticed Findekáno’s touch would always stop just below the neck, and then he found his answer. He could feel the hesitation, the reminders of what they once had, comfort mixed with mourning, with a smouldering bitterness marked by the clench of a brow.

Findekáno seemed to notice Maitimo’s discomfort, removing his hand, his expression apologetic. “We are on the coast of Araman now, hence the wind. Your atar and hánor have left with the ships,” he explained, “and now we wait until they send some back, to return for us. They did not have enough for everyone, so they left on their own.”

“I... expected they would have left by now,” Maitimo admitted; he knew Atar valued haste, and there would never have been time to search the harbour for one who had been marked for death. “So they managed to seize the ships, after all...”

“Yes, though at great cost, as you remember. As for how I brought you here, I returned to Alqualondë to, erm... retrieve something I had left behind,” he began to explain, a little awkwardly, for he did not mention exactly what he had left behind, “and when I came across it, I found you, lying unconscious on the shore beneath a pile of hull pieces.”

“Alqualondë... you were in Alqualondë?” asked Maitimo, trying to meet Findekáno’s gaze, though he could no longer see past the wall between them. “What could have happened...? All I can recall... arrows piercing me, being thrown off one of the ships...”

“Makalaurë told me the waves had claimed you.”

“That was what I thought, in that moment... that we were without hope.”

“And yet, you are here, and the ships secured,” said Findekáno. “I arrived with my host not long after, for I heard your cries, the sounds of battle, and that told me all I needed to know.” Findekáno continued to tell the full story of his part in the horrific Kinslaying— how they rushed towards the harbour with horns blaring, swords in hand, the pride of the Ñoldor burning bright in their hearts as they turned the tide of a battle that their uneasy allies in the House of Fëanáro had started.

“So... that banner I saw... it was you, all along...”

“Indeed it was,” said Findekáno, a pained sense of pride in his blunt admission. “I do not regret coming to your aid, only the circumstances that forced my hand.”

“No... this is not like you, Findekáno,” Maitimo denied, his voice shaking. “Surely I address a stranger. You... you would not... Please, no...”

Findekáno said nothing— his unwavering expression told Maitimo everything, and oh, how it hurt.

Guilt welled up in Maitimo’s heart. All of this was his fault, and he could never erase what he had done. Not only had he failed his father and his brothers, but he had dragged Findekáno down the bloody path of his family’s twisted Oath.

The Findekáno Maitimo knew would never choose to do this.

Findekáno was the shining image of a leader; so many others looked to him for guidance, the strength in his words inspiring hope. And yet there was that streak of independence, the way he brought out the best in everyone he loved, drawing Maitimo into his orbit, into his heart, into his bed. The way Findekáno always knew the right thing to say, unlocking a more rebellious and mischievous side of Maitimo whenever they had their secret trysts. How Findekáno was always determined to succeed at all costs, his smile setting all at ease and hiding his true thoughts, manipulating Maitimo while he secretly plotted at how he might oust the House of Fëanáro from power—

No, none of this made sense. If Findekáno wanted power, surely he would not throw his lot in with kinslayers.

Would he? What was power, to him?

Who was the real Findekáno? He certainly wasn’t the scheming Findekáno he recalled from the time of their fathers’ feud; nor the noble Findekáno of bygone days in Tirion, who had once told him how much brighter his fëa would shine when he forgot to be a prince. Who was the Noldo who sat before him, then?

Perhaps the truth, as always, was somewhere in between. A truth he had failed to grasp back then, when he had first said goodbye.

The memory came crashing down on him like the wave that had nearly killed him.

“And now I know the truth behind your smile,” Maitimo spat, forcing back tears. He would not allow himself to show weakness. “You always believed you could be the one to unite the Ñoldor amidst the strife... to lead them. And now you will. Tirion is yours,” he said, twisting once-treasured compliments into damning accusations. “You finally have everything you wanted.” 

“You care very little for the truth, if that is what you think of me.” Findekáno’s gaze met Maitimo’s own, with piercing silver eyes that could sense his weakness, the rot of his fëa. “I did not wish to believe it, but I have known of your ambitions for a long time... here is the proof, then. How fortunate, that you will no longer suffer my presence, that we will no longer have to endure this lie we have told ourselves— if that is what our love always was,” said Findekáno, every word, every turn of phrase carefully chosen to wound Maitimo as decisively as possible.

Findekáno began to walk away, leaving Maitimo alone in the center of the plaza, the light of waxing Telperion seeming to mock the pain in his heart.

“If this is the path you have chosen, Maitimo... then there is truly no hope for either of us.”

Maitimo returned to reality, his breath catching as Findekáno’s hand turned to grace his cheek, perhaps against his better judgement, catching the tears that had begun to form.

Maitimo was too weak, too desperate to resist his touch.

“Findekáno... I... I do not understand. You came to my aid, you killed for me...! After everything I have done, all of the cruel words I said to you...” Maitimo lamented, as Findekáno’s touch seemed to burn his cheek now with painful reminders, through scarred hands that were once gentle, now stained with blood. Maitimo did not deserve this. He never deserved this, and oh, how he wished the wave had truly taken him, as he once thought, so he would not have lived to see the monster he had created.

“Your life carries far greater weight than that. You are more important than that,” Findekáno asserted, his expression impossible to read now, beyond the subtlest thread of anger. “How little do you still think of me? That words alone would be enough to stay my hand, that I would abandon you in your greatest hour of need? Have time and distance eroded none of the resentment in your heart?”

“Even in your anger, your light shines... you were always the better of us,” Maitimo insisted. “No Oath you have sworn; this path was never meant to be yours. The ties that bound us had snapped... ”

“If that is what you truly believe... then perhaps we have never known each other at all,” said Findekáno through shaking breaths, composure wavering, the realizations overwhelming him.

“Then help me understand, Findekáno!” Maitimo demanded, strength seeming to return to his voice for a moment as his heart reached out for answers. “You share in my transgressions. There is no going back. Our houses are divided. I called you usurpers, manipulators,” he reminded Findekáno. “I accused you of plotting against Atar, who chose to slay our own kin for our cause, and I followed him without question. You knew not who started the violence when you arrived, yet you still chose the path of blood. And now, you have damned your house, too...”

“We were all damned, the moment we chose exile and turned against the Valar,” Findekáno argued, his expression pensive. “I only chose to do what had to be done. Though you say I may be a stranger to you now... I am no stranger to sacrifice.”

Sacrifice, always sacrifice, and yet Maitimo could never have seen where those convictions would lead. “You have damned yourself, for the sake of valor, for me,” said Maitimo, searching for answers, anything to cling onto, behind Findekáno’s tearful treelit eyes. “You knew of the Oath I had sworn, when you chose to carry me here, to offer me a second chance I did not deserve—”

“Do not say such things, Maitimo. It matters not what you think you deserve.” And Findekáno’s comforting voice only added to the guilt, the voice Maitimo always remembered and treasured, coming from one who had committed atrocities in his name.

“Please, just tell me... why...? Why all of this?” A final, desperate plea. “Why, Findekáno... why... me...?”

Findekáno’s gaze turned away in the silence. He pulled back his hand to clutch his chest, the perfect image of courage giving way to tears and the anguished cries of a wounded heart as he finally spoke his truth.

The answer Maitimo knew all along, and feared more than anything in the world.

“Because all this time, I have been selfish, and I could never be rid of you,” Findekáno admitted. “Even if the waves had taken you as Makalaurë said, my heart would still ache for you, my hröa would still crave your touch, and my fëa would never forget the the joy of our union, the emptiness of your absence. I would still rush to defend you, without a second thought. Yes, I killed for you. I spilled the blood of our own kin and I would do it again if I had to! And I carried your unconscious hröa from Alqualondë to Araman to be here with me because I refuse to continue lying to myself, I am tired! I am tired of pretending... that I have ever stopped loving you.”

“Findekáno... I...”

Maitimo was stunned into silence.

What could Maitimo possibly say? He had always struggled to share his feelings openly, forced to adopt the guarded, stern, poised image of his Atar’s firstborn, perfect and well-formed. He would be the leader of their house, no room for weakness in the eye of Tirion’s political storm. But he would never be Curufinwë, he could never be perfect in Fëanáro’s eyes. Nothing was ever enough for Atar, for himself.

But it was enough for Findekáno, who loved him for his flaws and not in spite of them. Findekáno who loved Maitimo for his noble heart, his sense of duty, his willingness to compromise and seek friendship above conflict. Findekáno who had loved him then and still loved him now.

Findekáno, who was so loath to abandon the will of his heart, that he would rather drown in sin with Maitimo than leave him to die.

And no matter how much the realization hurt, how much it threatened to suffocate him— Maitimo’s heart wanted, his fëa crying out to be known again, to be loved and touched. He had always wanted this, whether in dream or waking, as tendrils of truth had battled endlessly against a fog filled with falsehoods, in his images of Findekáno: Findekáno the politician, the mediator, the kindhearted cousin, the lover.

Findekáno who was everything, who gave him the courage to be imperfect.

Findekáno soon noticed Maitimo could not produce words, and finally turned to face him once more. “If you would at least remain at my side... it would set my heart at ease. Even if you do not feel the same...”

It was then Maitimo recovered enough strength to sit up in his bed.

“Enough, I beg, Findekáno...!” cried Maitimo, the tears finally overtaking him as he reached out to pull Findekáno into his embrace beside him, finally giving in to what he had always wanted. “It has only ever been you, melmenya, and it always will be! You say you are selfish in loving me... then please, allow me to be selfish too,” he pleaded. “Even now, when there is little left of me but the Oath and the blood on my hands... even still, you make me whole. My heart has not forgotten you. It has not forgotten our love for one moment... and it never will again.” Maitimo’s words fell from his lips in staggered breaths as they shook from the weight of it all, his feelings that he’d forced to keep locked away, unspoken, unanswered for so long.

“Maitimo... Russonya... I never thought...!”

Findekáno could only weep, knowing this, knowing Maitimo’s love had never faded.

“I never could have imagined... that I would have your love again, that I would have you again,” said Findekáno as he returned Maitimo’s embrace, hands holding his face gently; joy melding with regret, relief with longing.

“I am here, melda,” said Maitimo with a teary smile. “I am here because of you.” Maitimo rested a hand against Findekáno’s cheek, catching his tears as their foreheads touched.

“As am I,” Findekáno replied warmly, smiling in return. “Know that I would follow you unto the ends of Arda, and beyond, wherever this path may lead us.”

Even into the Void, Maitimo knew. They both knew.

A memory then awakened, as Maitimo was reminded of the blissful past he had thought long gone. For a moment, he was beneath the golden glow of Laurelin with his beloved, about to make a choice that would change their lives forever.

He stood on the edge now; it was almost like before, almost, as their warm breaths mingled in the cold air of Araman.

“I am glad to have you with me... I love you more than anything, Finno. You are everything...”

The choice now could not have been clearer.

Maitimo’s heart finally gave in as he closed the space between them, their lips drawn together like the fateful wave that brought him to shore. A gentle wave, this time: Maitimo could feel the softness of Findekáno’s lips as his beloved eagerly returned the kiss; the tender surface of Findekáno’s brown, treelight-freckled skin; his elegant braids with gold ribbons as they fell between Maitimo’s fingers, strong arms that held Maitimo close as if the wind could separate them if he dared to let go.

Findekáno would open his lips just slightly to deepen the kiss, Maitimo following, their mouths searching for the warmth, the wholeness they had lost and always desired. Their shared tears collecting, flowing like the fountains in the pools of Estë. Their bodies shifting until they locked perfectly into place, Findekáno falling backwards into the soft bedroll, Maitimo now resting above him, Findekáno tracing fingers down his back, over every scar as if his touch alone could heal them.

When their lips finally parted, Maitimo and Findekáno laid beside each other, Findekáno running his fingers through Maitimo’s thick red curls as they basked in the glow of the moment.

“Russo... meldonya.” Findekáno was the first to break the silence. “To see you smile again, to hear you say those words again. I am truly blessed... But...”

“What is it? What troubles you?”

“Above all, I... I am sorry,” said Findekáno tearfully. “I had abandoned you then, when last you said goodbye. So much pain could have been avoided... perhaps I could have come for you sooner—”

“Finno,” said Maitimo, his voice just above a whisper, “you are blameless in this. We were both blinded by lies, by ambition, by the wills of our fathers. And more importantly... you are impossible to forget.”

Findekáno caressed Maitimo’s cheek, then his ear, holding between his fingers the ruby earring that had marked their bond as it once was. “I knew you had not forgotten,” he replied with a smile. “I knew that somehow, beneath it all... the Maitimo I fell in love with was still there, waiting...”

“It was you who once helped me find him. But the world has changed... we have changed,” said Maitimo, his expression wistful, mournful. “The Dark has changed us all. We can never be the same again, not after this; we cannot return to what we once had,” Maitimo reminded Findekáno, their hands gently clasped together, hands that were used to slay their kindred. And Findekáno nodded, for the cost had been great, to have what he was blessed with now.

“I know not what is truly left in me anymore,” Maitimo admitted. “All I know is the dreaded Oath, the blood on my hands... memories of things that once were. The bliss, the beauty, the Light... it is all gone. Gone... gone forevermore... our innocence along with it.”

“I wish for us to love each other as we are, not to rekindle what was lost,” Findekáno assured him, his thumb running over Maitimo’s fingers, recalling their shape. “I hoped... we might build something new, upon the ashes of the old. It was all I could think of, every night I sat beside you, praying to the stars that you would wake and come back to us, that none of this would be in vain...”

“Then let us make a future together that is worth the cost,” declared Maitimo, a new sense of determination in his heart, vitality returning to his hröa as he began to rise from the bed, enough to stand with Findekáno’s support. “I can only hope... that the rest of my family desires it, too.”

“As do I, Russo,” said Findekáno, holding Maitimo in his arms once more. “As do I.”

✵

Over the next few dark days, Maitimo would slowly regain more and more of his strength. Findekáno was always there, whether it was for sparring, hunting, or cooking. Sometimes, Findekáno would even sing a gentle song on his harp to lift Maitimo’s spirits, during which Elenwë and Itarillë would often join in to harmonize.

“You should sing the one about the wolf who chased the stars,” said Itarillë one night. “But give it a happy ending, instead. I always feel sadness, when the wolf falls into the sea...”

“You wish for me to improvise?” asked Findekáno, not used to being put on the spot like this at all, cheeks flushed a bit. “How... would the wolf find what it was searching for?” 

“A wise question,” said Elenwë, “the stars are beyond our reach. We look to them for guidance, not to claim them— is that not the point of the tale?”

“Very true,” Findekáno nodded, “I shall have to think about it...” Could the wolf fly, with the help of another? Or a star could fall to the earth and gift the wolf its light. Or...

“Perhaps the wolf finds something else instead,” suggested Maitimo unexpectedly, a curious smile on his face as his words interrupted Findekáno’s train of thought. “Something the wolf did not know it needed, but comes to treasure more than anything.”

Findekáno couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes, that is precisely it— thank you, Russo; how I wish I had thought of it! I believe I know what the last verse shall be...”

As Findekáno began to sing once more, he was reminded of hopeful words Maitimo spoke many years ago, when they were much younger.

Others may try to decide your fate for you, Maitimo had told him, their hearts burdened by expectations. But the future may still be yours... if you reach out to claim it.

Findekáno would never regret listening to the will of his heart, above all else.

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<p>As the hosts of the Ñoldor retired to their tents that night, there was still a feeling of hope among the camp which Findekáno had only stirred further, despite knowing a battle would await them in Endórë. It was often difficult to sleep soundly amidst Araman’s chill, but somehow, with enough fur pelts and Maitimo’s warmth, Findekáno managed it.</p>

<p>Until, hours later, he heard shouting. An outburst from Arakáno, Írimë’s cries of worry, Turukáno yelling curses for the fate that had come for them all...</p>

<p>Findekáno had little time to react before Irissë entered the tent in a hurry, waking Maitimo as well. “What has happened?” he asked in a panic, helping Maitimo up as they adjusted their tunics, Findekáno making sure to grab his sword. “Irissë...”</p>

<p>“You must come see for yourselves,” Irissë answered gravely as she led Findekáno and Maitimo outside. “What we feared most has befallen us...”</p>

<p>Findekáno pictured many possible turns of events, as he and Maitimo walked past the tents alongside Irissë: a sudden tidal wave from Uinen, still grieving for the wounds of Alqualondë; a horrible death from the wind chill; Moriñgotho returning with a vengeance to claim more lives. But none of those things could compare to what he saw when he stood on the edge of the shore.</p>

<p>His worst fears had come true after all.</p>

<p>Across the sea, over the horizon, a conflagration burned red. A distant fire atop the waters that separated the Ñoldorin host from Endórë. A column of smoke swirling into the sky, fog and flame intertwined.</p>

<p>Fëanáro would be sending no ships to return for them, Findekáno knew immediately. For Fëanáro and his sons had chosen to burn them, to leave behind those who had pledged to fight alongside him.</p>

<p>Maitimo’s usual calm expression soon turned to horror as the truth was laid bare before him.</p>

<p>“No... it cannot be,” he pleaded, “it cannot.” His breaths shuddered as he spoke, hands shaking as he dropped to his knees upon the cold sand, praying to whichever Vala would listen to free him from this nightmare. “It must not... no, no, <em>no! </em>Damn it, damn it <em>all!</em>”</p>

<p>“The ships...” said Findekáno, hands placed upon his chest in grief. “Maitimo... Atar, I— how, how could I be so blind, I should have known, I should have listened—!”</p>

<p>A lone tear fell from Ñolofinwë’s eye as he came to Findekáno’s side; for the first time in a long while, Findekáno rushed into his atar’s arms, pleading for some of his strength. But Ñolofinwë’s grave demeanor was a poor mask for the heartbreak everyone knew he felt, as he held Findekáno close for a moment, gazing at the pyre created by the brother he still loved.</p>

<p>“So he truly betrayed us, in the end...” said Itarillë, clinging to her fur robe as she forced herself to be strong, to not cry. “Oh, how I had dared to hope it would not be so...”</p>

<p>“Atar... Káno, Turko, Moryo, <em>everyone</em>...” wept Maitimo, holding his head, refusing to believe the others’ words. “Help me, help me understand... Why, damn it, why...?!”</p>

<p>Turukáno, on the other hand, had known this would happen. “How fitting for one like Fëanáro,” he said, disgust in his voice. “Why would he ever spare a thought for us? All of his lofty words. Freeing the Ñoldor from bondage, from the tyranny of the Valar... and he condemns us <em>all,</em> leaves us here to <em>rot!</em>”</p>

<p>“Or to cross the Helcaraxë,” said Elenwë, resolute in her words. “To brave the cold. To endure pain, sacrifice, and loss... to find joy, in the end, if we can.”</p>

<p>“Ammë...?” gasped Itarillë.</p>

<p>“Elenwë, no... Do not even suggest it! We would never survive the crossing!” Turukáno argued. “I will not sacrifice you, our daughter, <em>any</em> of us to that <em>traitor’s</em> machinations, I cannot bear to lose you...!”</p>

<p>“As if we could return to Valinor?!” Arakáno retorted. “We are Exiles! The Valar have spoken! The first fruits of the Doom are already upon us. There is nowhere for us to go!”</p>

<p>“Nor is there anything for us here, in this wasteland,” said Irissë, the reality weighing on her as she reached out to the cold air. “We must make a choice; we cannot stay here.”</p>

<p>“Ñolvo, please...” Írimë begged her brother. “What... what must we do...?”</p>

<p>“If this be the path you have chosen, háno... then we shall take the only one you have left for us, for I have sworn to follow you,” said Ñolofinwë, his gaze turning to the chill of the Helcaraxë that beckoned to them. It promised hardship, death, grief; the cold, the frozen waters could mean their end. “There is no path for us but forward. And forward we shall go, no matter the cost,” Ñolofinwë vowed.</p>

<p>“Atar is right,” said Findekáno, allowing his tears to dry as he stepped towards the shore to face his family. “We have already come so far, too far to surrender to this,” he reminded everyone, recalling the hope Maitimo once instilled in him as he steeled his resolve for both of their sakes.</p>

<p>Giving up was never an option, Findekáno knew. Not after the massacre at Alqualondë, not after his desperate rush to bring back Maitimo to their camp, the days he spent beside Maitimo’s bed in hopes he would heal, their renewed love he never thought he could have again. He could <em>not</em> allow their story to end here. </p>

<p>And he would not allow Fëanáro to decide their fate for them.</p>

<p>A crowd began to gather. Others from Ñolofinwë’s host, as well as those who followed Findaráto, Artanis and others of the House of Arafinwë, came to listen. For they all knew the same truth: the Helcaraxë was the only road left to Endórë.</p>

<p>“There is always a way!” exclaimed Findekáno. “We <em>will not</em> languish here. We will not falter; we will not relent... and we will <em>not</em> let this betrayal go unanswered!” Findekáno unsheathed his sword, blade held out proudly beside him as people in the crowd responded with rallying cries.</p>

<p>“Fëanáro would rather burn the ships <em>we helped secure</em> for him, through the slaying of our kindred, than allow us to join him in the fight against Moriñgotho,” said Findekáno with more conviction now as continued his speech. “Fëanáro chose to throw away <em>our king’s</em> forgiveness for the sake of his treasures,” he continued, turning to Ñolofinwë. “For the sake of his twisted pride, his ambitions... the hate within his heart. And yet...”</p>

<p>“There is still some good we might do,” said Ñolofinwë, standing beside his eldest son, their determination shared, his presence tempering Findekáno’s anger, if only for a moment. “We are a people condemned. We have committed sins for which we will never be forgiven. But we have not forgotten who we are... we will rise above this! We may yet bring hope! It is in Endórë where we are needed. For Moriñgotho has much greater crimes to answer for. Endórë was once our home, and it may be ours again. We will never allow Endórë and its people to fall into shadow!</p>

<p>“Yet still, the Helcaraxë lies before us,” Ñolofinwë reminded his people. “Our path was always destined to be paved with sorrow from the moment the Darkening fell upon us. But it is through our bonds we forge resilience through hardship, strength amidst grief, hope despite fear. We will endure... we will survive... and we will bring back the light!”</p>

<p>The great host of the Ñoldor erupted in cheers, swords and spears raised high. Even those who doubted Ñolofinwë’s words, who feared the sorrow that the Ice would bring, could not deny the power behind his speech. Immediately, the Ñoldor were spurred into action, gathering supplies from their tents, securing their most treasured possessions from jewels to mementos, wrapping themselves in fur cloaks and facing the wind with a new sense of purpose.</p>

<p>The time had come to prepare for the next leg of the journey— one they all knew they might not survive.</p>

<p align="center">✵</p>

<p>Hours had passed, perhaps even a day, as the Ñoldor were finishing their preparations. Findekáno was bundled up in a thick coat and fur cloak, the hood able to cover his ears snugly. The hosts began to commune, looking to their leaders for guidance.</p>

<p>At the moment, however, Findekáno’s host was not with him, for he had much more pressing matters to attend to. </p>

<p>Maitimo, though he seemed ready to leave, still stood beside the shore. He was dressed for the weather, having gathered whatever supplies he had been using during his time at the Ñolofinwëan camp, but it was clear something was holding him back. He had not gotten caught up in the fervor of Ñolofinwë’s speech, keeping to himself instead. Maitimo solemnly watched the last of the black smoke rise and dissipate, searching for signs of hope amongst the clouds.</p>

<p>Many a time in Valinor, Findekáno, too, had felt lost in the same way. He was burdened by the weight of being Ñolofinwë’s firstborn son, who might one day inherit the kingship of the Ñoldor. He had always forced himself to wear a smile to hide his worries, his insecurities and fears. Only in secret could his true self emerge.</p>

<p>But now, in this time of hardship, Findekáno knew the best way to be strong for everyone he loved... was to be himself. To share his feelings openly, to follow where his heart led him. And his heart had led him to Alqualondë, to finding Maitimo again, to living his truth again.</p>

<p>“Maitimo,” Findekáno said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know there are no words to describe the pain in your heart. I know the betrayal... it cuts deeper for you. But... if there is anything I might do...”</p>

<p>“I am not sure. I sometimes wonder... if things may not be as grave as they seem, despite what we know,” admitted Maitimo, his voice wavering, as if he feared how Findekáno would react. “I... I am still imagining... that perhaps it was all a mirage, that a ship will come, and Makalaurë, and Tyelkormo, and the others... that they will be waiting for me. That I might be in Atar’s arms again, and fight by his side, to finally make him proud...”</p>

<p>“That ship will not come. To them... by all rights, you are lost,” said Findekáno, though it was nothing Maitimo did not already know.</p>

<p>“And that is why part of me cannot bring myself to blame them, for what happened to me,” Maitimo explained, searching his mind for other possibilities. “Perhaps it was an accident. Moriñgotho could have found them; they could have been attacked. We know not what set fire to those ships...”</p>

<p>“Do you truly believe that, Maitimo?”</p>

<p>“What if I said yes? It will not stop me from following you across the Ice, if that is your concern,” Maitimo insisted. “I am called by my Oath to reclaim the Silmarilli at any cost; that has not changed. I will... sort everything out with my family once I arrive in Endórë.”</p>

<p>“Your family... they abandoned you. They could have <em>waited,</em> Russo!” Findekáno argued, the treelight in his silver eyes glowing as his resentment, his <em>rage</em> began to take hold. “They could have searched for you, come back for you, they could have done anything, anything other than this!”</p>

<p>“With what time? What time, Finno?!” Maitimo replied in desperation, his anger, his fear flaring beneath the cracks.</p>

<p>“Certainly less time than it took for them to take the ships and leave us without a word!” Findekáno retorted, still in disbelief that Maitimo was clinging to the past, after they had <em>promised</em> to move forward. Could Maitimo have simply been caught up in the heat of the moment? What if it had all meant nothing?</p>

<p>“But how <em>could</em> they have stayed behind, after committing such atrocities?” asked Maitimo. “Do not lie to yourself! There was never any time, none at all! They were right to leave me behind, Findekáno, I was never meant to live. I was meant to die, to fall into the Void like I deserved—”</p>

<p>“Do not say such things, Maitimo—!”</p>

<p>“And still I live! And still, the Oath drives me,” he reminded Findekáno, slowly losing himself to shaking breaths and the weight of the truth, until he could no longer hold back tears. “The Oath will claim me. It will claim my hánor, it will claim Atar... it will claim you,” he wept, clinging now to Findekáno’s shoulders, the guilt overcoming him, the words spilling out of him. “And I will not let it happen... even if it means I must cross the Ice alone—”</p>

<p>Findekáno could not bear to hear Maitimo’s dark thoughts any longer.</p>

<p>Anger gave way to desperation. He kissed Maitimo, pouring all of himself into the kiss, pulling Maitimo tighter into their embrace, breaths mingling, letting himself be vulnerable as he opened his mind through ósanwë. <em>I will not allow it, meldanya. You once told me, to not let anyone else decide your fate for you. Let me be your strength... I beg of you, Russonya, let me be yours... </em>His fëa called out to Maitimo’s own, searching for the thread that had been cut, to begin to weave together their bond once more.</p>

<p>And Maitimo’s fëa remembered, as he returned the kiss in earnest, tears dripping down Maitimo’s face as he finally gave in. For a moment, the winds of Araman and the growing chill of the Helcaraxë were left behind, and there was only Maitimo and Findekáno, in a world of their own in each other’s arms. He opened his mind, his heart, and Findekáno filled it all with his light as Maitimo leaned into his touch, recalling the first night they had lain together when Maitimo had truly understood what it meant to be free.</p>

<p>The way Findekáno had touched him then with such tenderness, every kiss upon his skin pulling him further and further into purest pleasure until he had forgotten all his burdens that imprisoned him. How Findekáno would forget his own in turn, with every sweet sound that escaped his lips, his hips shifting to feel as much of Maitimo as possible until their hröar seemed to meld together.</p>

<p>The memories all came flooding back at once. Maitimo broke the kiss for a moment to breathe, overwhelmed by the memory, overcome by guilt. <em>Finno... meldanya, forgive me...! </em>Maitimo’s voice echoed back. <em>I allowed my fear to take hold of me. I feared... I could not protect you from myself.</em></p>

<p><em>But I do not fear the future, </em>answered Findekáno with a warm smile, <em>as long as I am with you. </em>And Maitimo’s heart was soon set at ease.</p>

<p>The wind began to pick up again, as Findekáno pulled away and began to walk towards the path of ice, Maitimo following close behind. As they grew nearer and nearer to the Helcaraxë, eventually reuniting with the main host, they noticed snow crystals forming, flying through the air and spiraling towards them, beckoning them forward— and so they followed.</p>

<p>“If your heart chooses to hope, that one day, our family might be healed... I will not take that away from you. I will not decide how you should feel,” Findekáno promised. “If you will only allow me to be angry for you instead...”</p>

<p>“Hold nothing back, Findekáno,” said Maitimo, resolute, ready to inspire hope at his beloved’s side. “We will need it, for the battles to come.”</p>

<p>“Indeed we will,” Findekáno agreed. He knew the Helcaraxë would bring loss, unimaginable pain and suffering; his anger towards Fëanáro, towards Maitimo’s brothers, had not dimmed. But he had channeled it into a new sense of determination to survive, to lead his people in his own way, his conviction burning brighter than the flames that destroyed the ships.</p>

<p>Eventually, sand gave way to glacier, the Ñoldor host leaving the desolate shores of Araman behind. The smallest crack sounded beneath Findekáno’s feet as he stepped onto the Ice, the Helcaraxë that would decide their fate.</p>

<p>“Do not forget, Russo.... you will always be more than your Oath,” Findekáno promised, reaching out to Maitimo as they stood on the precipice of the future. “For as long as we choose to walk this path together...” </p>

<p>“And you will always be my light,” answered Maitimo, and without hesitation, took Findekáno’s hand.</p>

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