summon forth the wounded night by skywardstruck

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hold on tight to my hand, my hand

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.

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...

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...”

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

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.

His worst fears had come true after all.

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.

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.

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

“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, no! Damn it, damn it all!”

“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—!”

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.

“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...”

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

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 all, leaves us here to rot!”

“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.”

“Ammë...?” gasped Itarillë.

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

“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!”

“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.”

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

“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.

“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.

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 not allow their story to end here.

And he would not allow Fëanáro to decide their fate for them.

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.

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

“Fëanáro would rather burn the ships we helped secure 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 our king’s 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...”

“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!

“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!”

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.

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

✵

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

“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...”

“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...”

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

“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...”

“Do you truly believe that, Maitimo?”

“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.”

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

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

“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 promised to move forward. Could Maitimo have simply been caught up in the heat of the moment? What if it had all meant nothing?

“But how could 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—”

“Do not say such things, Maitimo—!”

“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—”

Findekáno could not bear to hear Maitimo’s dark thoughts any longer.

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. 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... 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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

“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...”

“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.”

“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.

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.

“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...”

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

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summon forth the wounded night by skywardstruck

hold on tight to my hand, my hand