Chapter Text
Year of the Trees: 1495
When Fingon woke, he was briefly unhappy to find no warm body next to his own. Opening his eyes, he saw Maedhros standing by the window gazing out over the city, as yet unclad and unshod.
„Truly a sight to behold,“ Fingon said, his voice rough with sleep. His eyes admired the lean form of his friend, his skin nigh as white as the stone of the wall. Nor was he for nought named the Tall.
„It is,“ Maedhros said. „The light of Laurelin seems warmer here. And yet,“ he turned, „even Tirion upon Túna blushing in the rosey tint of dawn does not surpass the fairness of Fingon the Valiant. Specially without garment.“
Fingon laughed. A maid might herself have blushed with rosey tint at such words. But Fingon son of Fingolfin was no maid. Rising from the bed he joined his friend, one arm encircling his waist.
A bird of the air looking in through the window should have marveled at the sight of two high princes of the Noldor in this southern part of Tirion. For they were not in Fingolfin‘s house. Maedhros sleeping in the house of his kin, if uncovered even by a servant, might have rekindled the strife between their fathers. They must instead meet secretly in the house of a friend.
Unspeaking, they looked out over the waking city. Fingon‘s hand gently ran over Maedhros‘ side. Maedhros smiled and pressed a kiss into Fingon‘s unkempt hair.
„Must you go?“ Fingon asked quietly. „It is but three days that you have been here.“
„You know I must,“ Maedhros replied with a small sigh. „My father only suffers me to come to Túna when he has an errand for me. I have now been from Formenos three days, and all my errands are fulfilled.“
„I live not always as my father wishes,“ Fingon remarked with a grin. „Nor do you.“ None amongst their kin would approve of them lying together as lovers as had been their wont for many years. It must be kept secret.
„Fain would I disobey my father‘s commands at times.“ Maedhros smiled wryly. „But my father is not a man to be crossed.“
Fingon sighed. „He is not,“ he agreed.
Maedhros let go of him to fetch his garment.
Fingon sat on the bed and watched him. „When I was younger, I believed we would be together till the End of Days. It now seems like a child‘s dream.“
„We may yet be,“ Maedhros said. „When the twelve years have passed, and if your father releases mine as he said.“
„He shall,“ Fingon said sharply.
„Then it is not forever,“ Maedhros said with a sad smile as he pulled on his breeches. „It is another seven years.“
Fingon scowled. „That seems wellnigh forever,“ he said bitterly, but then his face brightened. „Oh! The feast of the gathering of fruits is but forty days hence. I shall see you then.“ He smiled. „And arrayed in pomp, no less...“
Maedhros came to the bed and kissed his lips gently. „I hope I can come,“ he said. „Arrayed in pomp. If solely to please your eyes.“
„What do you mean?“ Fingon frowned. „Surely you can come to the feast? I hear your father was commanded by Manwë himself to be there.“
For the first time, a shadow passed over Maedhros‘ face. „So he was.“ He turned away and fastened the straps of his pack. „And he shall obey, but Lord Finwë purposes to remain at Formenos. My father would go alone. My brothers are not all of the same mind. We shall see.“
„And if your father chooses to come alone, you mean to stay behind?“ Fingon asked.
Maedhros nodded. His jaw clenched briefly.
„Who then holds your heart?“ Fingon asked hotly. „Your father or I?“
Maedhros tensed. „Both,“ he said.
„It appears you choose to follow his desires more than mine.“
Now Maedhros turned to gaze at him, and there was anger in his face. „It is no simple choice,“ he said. „Would you have our fathers draw their swords again? Would you have one slay the other this time, perhaps? I am trying to keep the peace! Why can you not aid me in this?“
Fingon shook his head with a scowl. „It is not your views I challenge. It is your father‘s. It seems to me that his mind is not wholly on seeking peace.“
Maedhros sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. „Who can say?“
„Cannot you say? You dwell in his house! What is it that Fëanor desires? Speak!“
Maedhros gazed at his friend for a long time. Fingon knew not what to read in his eyes. Did Maedhros truly not know his father‘s designs for the future? Or was he merely unwilling to say? The strife among their fathers made Fingon wary, like all his kin. Fëanor‘s deeds could not easily be foretold even by the wise. Few had insight into his thoughts, and none of them were left in Tirion. If Maedhros could make plain Fëanor‘s reasons to Fingon, it would greatly ease his distress.
Yet Maedhros did not reply. Whether he could not or would not say, Fingon could but guess.
At last, Fingon turned from his gaze and rose from the bed. The air of the room felt colder on his skin than it had mere moments ago. He no longer wanted to be nude and bared while Maedhros was clothed. He collected his garments from the ground and dressed. He looked not at his friend. Rage boiled in him as water in a kettle.
„Fingon.“ The voice of Maedhros was soft.
His jaw clenched in defiance, Fingon turned round to see that Maedhros was giving him a small smile. „I would say fare-well to you in peace, Fingon.“
Fingon sighed, his anger doused like flame. „Fare well then.“ He could not find enough cheer in himself to return the smile. The hot temper had cooled to leave behind a morose woe. Perhaps Maedhros sensed this, for he came up to him – slowly, like one approaching a wild beast – and cupped Fingon‘s face in his hands.
They kissed for long moments. Never would Fingon refuse Maedhros‘ lips. Or, indeed, resist them if he tried.
Slowly, the cloud of gloom in his mind dispelled like mist in the morning light of Laurelin.
„Fare well,“ Fingon said again, more softly now. He reached up to lift a lock of Maedhros‘ dark red hair behind his ear. One more kiss he pressed to his lips before he let go. Maedhros clasped his arm briefly, and then he was gone.
From the window, Fingon watched his friend walk along the roads of Tirion and smiled. He would not let anguish overcome his heart. Seven more years would Maedhros be in exile with his father. It was not a long time. Surely he would come back to Tirion after, Fingon thought. Back to him.
Only seven more years.