Chapter Text
“Look, Maitimo! Found another good one!”
Fingon had been fond of nautilus seashells since he was a child. He loved them all, and cherished even the broken ones he discovered. While silently listening to his younger cousin's enthusiasm over collecting them, Maedhros often participated in helping Fingon find his new treasures. After their steps left happy footprints upon the soft white sands one morning, Fingon even brought the shells with them on their trip to the Two Trees.
It was a rare time when countless blue butterflies came for a visit to soak their wings under the lights of the Two Trees before their next collective migration. The air had become an ether sea during this hour, as a chorus of blue wings rejoiced in their light kissed flight.
Deeply stirred by the sublime beauty of the moment, Fingon took out his harp and composed a new song for the Two Trees and the visiting winged creatures playing among the mingling lights. Like a single chord drawn out of two separate strings, Fingon wove two themes of Time into his music. His new song enveloped the independent rhythms of the ephemeral butterflies and the ageless light of the Two Trees inside one poet’s dream—commanding them to become interdependent with one another amidst his song. And free as the infinitely many waves harmonizing within one ocean, all the lights and the butterflies moved and sang with him like a contrapuntal polyphony within one unifying musical dimension.
As Fingon finished singing the last note of his song, he closed his eyes, and just then, one of the butterflies came near to rest upon his raven hair. From a certain distance, it gave off the appearance of an otherworldly blue feather purposefully placed as a decorative accessory—an incandescent headpiece fit for a Maia. When Fingon opened his eyes again, Maedhros held a finger to his lips.
“Shh, don’t move, Finno,” Maedhros whispered as he moved closer to his cousin. Though perplexed, Fingon did as he was asked. When Maedhros determined he was near enough, he used enchantment to call the delicate creature toward his hands.
“Here, open your hands, Findekáno,” Maedhros said as he gently gathered the butterfly and allowed Fingon to hold it just as he set his harp aside. “This one chose you.”
While Fingon held the butterfly inside his palms, Maedhros quickly grabbed a bowl he had prepared and filled it with water.
“It tickles, Maitimo,” Fingon laughed. “And I don’t think he likes being trapped inside my hands all that much!”
Maedhros smiled while he wrapped his own hands around Fingon’s. As Fingon continued to laugh, Maedhros closed his eyes and gave a short silent prayer, blessing the butterfly inside.
“Make a wish, Findekáno,” spoke Maedhros.
“What?”
“Hurry, you better make it quick, Finno.”
This time, Fingon closed his eyes as he thought of his wish.
“All right, now let us release him,” Maedhros said, when Fingon opened his eyes again.
Maedhros gently opened Fingon’s hands as if he were carefully opening the covers of a treasured book. Two young elves sat transfixed as they watched the butterfly fly freely once more. It braided the air with the silvery and golden beams of the Two Trees as its lustrous blue wings ascended star-wards.
“Look, Maitimo! My palms are covered in light!” Fingon exclaimed, interrupting Maedhros’ attention.
“So are mine. The butterfly did that for us when its wings fluttered against our palms. Quick! Put your hands alongside mine here!”
They let their hands rest inside the water filled basin Maedhros had prepared, and watched the water glow as it pulled and absorbed all the glittering light left on their palms. Maedhros then dexterously made a water based varnish out of the luminescent water and taught Fingon how to properly apply it onto the seashells they brought with them. The two elves worked together to coat the inner and outer surfaces of Fingon’s sea treasures, enhancing their natural hues while making them glimmer as Varda’s stars reflected on water.
“Maitimo,” called Fingon as he held up one of the beautiful shells he’d lacquered under his cousin’s direction. “Take this one with you.”
“I don’t collect seashells, Finno. My pleasure lies in you keeping them all,” laughed Maedhros.
“But— I want you to have this one. Something to remind you of... all this,” Fingon said as he looked towards the Two Trees. “And so that you won’t forget to come back and visit the sea with me when the white seabirds return from their journeys.”
“Seabirds?” Maedhros asked.
“The times you visited and stayed with us often coincided with the migrating seabirds’ return. When I see the elegant white birds upon our seashore, I learned to expect your visit.”
“I see. Well, then I suppose I should coordinate my travel plans with them from now on,” Maedhros said amid his laughter.
“Take this one with you, Maitimo,” Fingon persisted. “So that you’ll remember and won’t forget to visit us when... even when things may change one day.”
“Ah, so there’s a motive behind it then,” Maedhros teased. “Not to worry, cousin. My memory isn’t so terrible, and there’s no need for bribery now. Really doesn’t suit your character. Besides, change may not always be so bad. Isn’t there an old saying which says without change, there’d be no butterflies?”
Maedhros made a sweeping gesture at the migrating butterflies.
“There wouldn’t be all this without change, you know,” he continued. The Two Trees were now adorned with flickering wings of sapphire, and ripples of azure fire flooded the air of the hour. “And there wouldn’t be any point in remembering anything if nothing ever changed.”
Though Fingon’s cheeks turned red, he firmly grabbed Maedhros’ hand and stubbornly placed the seashell he had been holding inside. Maedhros stopped his teasing, and was persuaded to look at his cousin's gift once again. It was indeed, a wonder to behold. The liquid light had crystallized as a profusion of stardust, and it was as though the luminescence of the Two Trees had cadenced upon the spiral shell ship docked at the palm of his hand.
Despite himself, Maedhros couldn’t help but blush a little too. I could never forget you, Findekáno. And that would never change. He spoke wordlessly with a quiet unspoken delight.
Fingon smiled and cupped Maedhros’ hand inside his, bringing the shell close to his cousin’s ear.
“Listen, Maitimo, I think the ocean music changed since these shells have been varnished.”
“Oh? How so, Finno?”
“Just listen, cousin,” Fingon spoke while laughing. “Tell me what you hear, for I desire to know how it speaks to you.”
With his ear leaning against the shell, Maedhros closed his eyes and concentrated for a long moment, before opening his eyes again to the cloudless summer skies within Fingon’s blue gaze.
“Well?” Fingon looked at him with expectant eyes, waiting for him to speak.
“We're expected back soon,” Maedhros spoke after a long pause. “We should get you home. Will you play the song again before we leave, Finno? The one I heard you compose today?”
“You’re no fun,” Fingon pouted, but deciding not to press his cousin further, he obliged him, grabbing his harp.
As Fingon began to sing again, Maedhros moved closer and quietly laid his head down on his friend’s lap, with one hand still on the shell, but now pressed against his chest.
Fingon’s music covered and wrapped itself around his cousin’s spirit like a blanket, and Maedhros soon found himself humming softly, singing along with his cousin. A melody tenderly secured the souls of two young elves, which would one day bind their fates again as music flowed between them, their voices harmonizing with one another like the entwining of two lights.
Though we can’t know anything for certain in this life, perhaps inside dreams we may come nearer to certain truths that are often hidden from us. And when tomorrow arrives, turning today into a dream, I'd like to believe that I heard the sea meeting the sky inside the song of this hour.
Did the shell recite the same story to you as the one revealed to me, Findekáno?
As I listened, I heard an echo of Light singing to the Sea for the first time, when the Two Trees reached for the ocean in winding beams of gold and silver. And pleased with their music, Ulmo had answered; for he took a gentle wandering wave and gave it wings, morphing it into a thousand blue flamed butterflies to chase after the lights’ song.
You asked how the seashell spoke to me, Findekáno, so I shall tell. Perhaps it is only my imagination, but underneath the chantings of the holy lights, salt water, and sand, I was certain I heard your ocean voice caught inside the conch as if it were preserved in stone. And when I held the shell against my heart, your harp strings were weaving fragments of your presence into all the shifting landscapes of this hour’s dream in sweeping swirls and spirals.