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Maedhros shivered in the cold. Today was one of the rare days he didn’t feel like the fire of his spirit was trying to burst out of his skin; rather, it was as if the cold emptiness of Angband’s deepest pits was gnawing at him from within.
Findekáno approached, draping a blanket over him. He leaned to kiss him on the forehead, pausing for just a moment, and Maedhros sent a small pulse of affirmation through their marriage bond. On days like this, ósanwë was the easiest way to communicate. He didn’t know what he would do without Finno’s mind so close to his own; he was never more grateful for his husband and the risk they had taken that night amid the Darkness, to bond before the sight of no one else but the One.
“A cold day?” Findekáno asked, settling down beside him in bed.
Maedhros nodded, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. He always felt the worst on these days, a combination of his limited ability to speak and his guilt over how little his own fits of anxiety over the cold mattered in the face of what he had damned Findekáno to on the shores of Losgar.
“It’s alright, Russo,” Findekáno murmured, picking up on his thought. “You have told me again and again that I am allowed my pain, even in the midst of your own. How is this any different?” And I forgive you, meldo. I forgave you before I knew you stood aside for my sake; I forgive you now, and forever.
Maedhros sighed, leaning against him, drinking in his warmth. Thank you, he whispered in Findekáno’s mind.
Findekáno hummed, stroking his hair softly. “I love you,” he said. “Always. And I shall never tire of telling you so.”
Thank you, he said again. I—I love you. It was harder to say that, and he hated himself for it. Once, expressing his boundless love for Finno had been the easiest thing in the world, but in Angband that love had been turned against him as a weapon. He was only now relearning how to be there for Findekáno.
“Happy anniversary,” Findekáno said, startling Maedhros out of his self-loathing.
That surprised him enough that he muttered aloud, “What?”
Findekáno smiled at him, eyes full of light. “We lost track of the years amid the Darkness,” he admitted, “but Quennar has been deep in study with the Sindar, and the scholars among your people, and he has devised a new calendar. By my calculation, today is ten years since we were married, vennonya.”
A small burst of warmth bloomed in Maedhros’ chest, and he actually smiled. Findekáno would never cease to surprise him. He would never have even thought to ask—anniversaries seemed so unimportant in the face of...everything. But to be reminded of their wedding night, rushed and mournful as it had been, was suddenly the most valuable thing of all. (So long as he did not dwell on how little time they had spent together since then. That was over now: he was with his Finno now.)
“Happy anniversary,” he whispered. I love you. This time, the words came easier.
“I thought,” Findekáno began, “we might start a little tradition?”
What do you mean? Maedhros shivered again, just a little. I don’t have a gift for you...
“No, no, that’s quite alright,” Findekáno assured. He got up out of bed, and Maedhros let out a pathetic whimper, but through their bond Findekáno sent a flood of reassurance, and he clung tightly to his husband’s presence in his mind. He hated being so weak, so dependent, but it mattered less when he was with Findekáno. He knew Finno did not judge him, and indeed delighted in comforting him.
Findekáno walked across the room, pulling a small candle out of a basket. He bent by the fireplace to light it, then returned to kneel at Maedhros’ side.
“It is winter,” he said softly. “This is your first winter free, is it not?”
“Mhm,” Maedhros agreed. But I knew winter on the cliffside... He shivered again, and Findekáno squeezed his knee comfortingly.
“We made a tradition,” Findekáno explained. “The first time the cold returned, there were some among us who fear that the Helcaraxë was encroaching upon our new lands, that it had come to devour those of us who had escaped its clutches... We were soon proven wrong—’t’was only the changing of the seasons, though much more dramatically than they did in Aman—but we lit great fires to chase away the cold. And then we took candles into our dwellings, filling them with light...”
He reached out with his mind, sharing the indemmar with Maedhros; it was a lovely sight in Findekáno’s memory, warm and bright and hopeful.
The days grew long and cold, Maedhros remembered, hesitantly sharing his own recollections of those first winters on these shores. I feared the Sun had gone out...though with the dark vapors around Angband, I barely knew what the new Lights were...
“We feared the same,” Findekáno said. “But our candles burned and did not go out, and the darkness never consumed us.” He kissed the back of Maedhros’ hand. “I want to share that tradition with you, meldanya. I want to make it ours.” Do you remember how you found me, the day we wed?
You had a candle, Maedhros said. Your light led me to you...not the candlelight, but the glow of your fëa...
Findekáno lifted a second candle, and carefully pressed the first into Maedhros’ bony hand. “Husband,” he murmured. “Would you light my candle?” As you once did, when my hope nearly burned out?
Tears pricked Maedhros’ eyes, and he nodded, pressing a clumsy kiss to Findekáno’s lips, before carefully, carefully letting the flame pass from his wick to his husband’s. The light flickered to life, and he realized he no longer felt cold: Not with Finno here. Not with his kindness and his love, and this new tradition between them.
“For us,” he whispered, his underused voice cracking.
Us, Findekáno replied, their fëar coming together like twin flames.
Findekáno took both candles, placing them on the windowsill, lighting the darkness of this winter night. Then he curled back into bed with Maedhros, his husband.
Pressed near to him, skin to skin, Maedhros relaxed. They did not make love, not physically, but Finno’s closeness was all the intimacy he needed. He felt warm again, and knew his husband felt the same.
“Let’s do this every year,” Finno whispered. “Every Long Night—and every anniversary.” You and I, lighting each other’s candles. So we will always remember our bonding. So we will always remember there is light in every darkness.
“You light my heart,” Maedhros rasped. I love you. This time, there was no resistance at all.
Findekáno smiled. I love you, too.