Part 2: there are limits to love
Feb. 14th, 2025 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
atlantablackRating: T+
Relationship: Fëanor & Maedhros • Maedhros/Fingon
Word Count: 5,437
Content Warnings:
Summary:
Following Maedhros averting the burning of the ships, Fingon worries, Maedhros finds a new reason to live, and Fëanor begins to wonder if he has made some mistakes. And underneath it all is enough love that they're all hoping, maybe just this once, it won't end in tragedy.
I wanted to put
my mouth on you
and draw out whatever toxin…
—but I understand. There are
limits
to love.
You with the crack running through you | Kim Addonizio
☀︎
Findekáno
Findekáno is…not quite sure how to feel about everything that is happening. Is, in many ways, incredibly grateful. The knowledge of who they would have lost if they’d crossed the Helcaraxë sits heavy in the back of his mind. The knowledge of what would have been waiting for him when they had reached Beleriand just as heavy.
But, it feels wrong, in a way, to be thankful when Maitimo is so clearly miserable. It’s an aching, ocean of emotion under every memory, every thought that he passes to Findekáno. And he does not doubt that Maitimo loves him and is pleased to see him, but he can feel Maitimo’s desire for it to all end regardless. It leaves a chill in his heart. Makes him wish that Maitimo had returned to a time of peace so that he could have had years to help him recover before they had to deal with all of this.
He is uneasy with how easily Maitimo had offered up his own life to save the ships. Uneasy with how casually he thinks of dying. Of how there’s a yearning hiding in the word when he thinks it. Findekáno cannot bear the idea that Maitimo has been given a second chance and is so eager to die that he will simply embrace death with open arms at the first opportunity.
He will, he decides after Maitimo explains everything to him, simply have to teach Maitimo to love life again. A daunting task considering everything that is happening and will happen soon according to Maitimo’s memories. But it is the only option he can see.
In truth, he rather wants to have a good screaming match with Maitimo about Doriath and Sirion, but considering how much guilt and misery he is already drowning in, Findekáno feels that may not be a good idea. Something to save for a later date when he no longer feels that Maitimo is simply waiting for a convenient excuse to try dying again.
He feels almost guilty for how eagerly he had pushed for marriage. Would not have suggested it at all if not for how readily Maitimo was ready to throw out the secrecy he’d so carefully guarded for so long. Would not have brought it up in earnest to his father if not for the great, golden bubble of joy that had burst between them when he’d told Maitimo he would marry him tomorrow if he’d like. It’s a shameful thing perhaps to try and tie Maitimo to life more thoroughly through his love for Findekáno, but he has never claimed to not be selfish in such things as love.
And is it selfish when Maitimo seems to take such joy from their love? He is strange and wild now in a way that Findekáno is not yet accustomed to, but he cannot help but take joy in how readily Maitimo indulges in the joy of loving him. If that's all he has to work with then he will work with it. He had meant it when he said that he did not love Maitimo any less than he was loved. Had cradled the memory Maitimo had offered of Findekáno rescuing him from Thangorodrim and thought, of course I came for you, did I not say I love you as much as you love me?
They leave the ship to obtain food, and after the fifth person does a double take at their joined hands, Maitimo thinks, well, if they’re going to stare, perhaps we should give them something to stare at. It is such a bold thing to say and Findekáno marvels at it. Pulls him down into a kiss in the middle of camp and feels like laughing, like crying, like he wants to take Maitimo back to bed and kiss him until all he can think is Findekáno’s name, no thoughts of death left to haunt him. He has wanted to flaunt their love since the first time they kissed and it is so terribly bittersweet that this is what has brought that want to fruition.
“Finno, Finno, Finno,” Maitimo murmurs when they pull apart. He presses his mouth to Findekáno’s wrist and for a moment there’s nothing in his eyes but love tinged with wonder. Then the exhaustion and grief begins creeping back in. Findekáno resists the urge to just keep kissing him and instead continues their hunt for food.
☀︎
His father, when he inevitably pulls Findekáno aside to speak, spends a long moment simply studying him. Findekáno stands straight and meets his gaze evenly.
"You truly intend to marry him then?" his father asks. He looks tired and like he already knows the answer.
"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," he replies. "I know it may seem as if we are rushing, but we have been together for a long time."
"Elaborate. How long is a 'long time'?"
"Ah, a few years before Uncle Fëanáro made the Silmarils." He winces a bit at the disapproving face that follows.
"Have I truly been so remiss in my duties as a father that you didn't feel you could share this with me?" His father looks genuinely concerned.
"No! We were worried but truly, we were less worried about you than about…" he trails off, waves a hand in the direction of the boats, of the opposite shore and who awaits them.
His father nods in acknowledgement. Says, "But you were worried about my reaction. No matter if it was lesser."
He opens his mouth and then closes it. What is he meant to say? Of course they'd been worried. They'd have been fools to not be. Even if one were to ignore that they were half-cousins there was still the matter of their father's constant feud. How he's never been entirely sure of how his father felt about his friendship with Maitimo. And if he could not even be sure of that, then how was he to anticipate his reaction to a relationship. "Was I wrong to?"
The hesitation before his father speaks is answer enough. He sighs. "Truthfully, if Nelyafinwë had not just performed a truly appalling act of hubris to bring the boats back, I may still be opposed. But I do not know how I am meant to object when he has very clearly demonstrated both his care for you and his character."
"It was not hubris," he says before he can think. Does not want his father to think that Maitimo had been bluffing. Needs him to understand the gravity of what was done. "Appalling, yes. But it was not hubris. He meant everything he said."
"You do understand that only makes it worse? And gives me even less room to object to him." His father looks deeply troubled. Clasps his hands in front of him, says, "He would not truly have…"
"Maitimo doesn't bluff," he says, instead of yes, he would have killed himself to prove a point and been glad for it.
His father is quiet for a moment, deep in thought as he stares at the tent wall. "He mentioned the Helcaraxë," his father turns his stare to Findekáno once more, gaze piercing. "I had only just begun to consider it when we saw the boats returning. He sounded very confident that we would have crossed." Findekáno stares back, says nothing. "He opposed Fëanáro all to return the boats to us. The boats that he had only just helped sail away in the middle of the night. He intends to marry you. A move that Fëanáro will surely take as more defiance. Do you see the shape of the problem here?"
"I see it."
"And do you wish to share the answer with me?"
"You're very sure that I know the answer."
"I am not a fool Findekáno," his father says sternly. "I know he told you. You would not have agreed to marry him so easily if he were keeping secrets from you."
"He agreed to marry me actually! I was the one who asked." He grins at the flat look that earns him.
"Findekáno."
"I am sorry, Atar. I have no answers for you." He truly is sorry, his father looks genuinely worried, but he will absolutely not betray Maitimo in such a way.
"But you do have answers?" His father knows the answer. He stares back and says nothing. He thinks for a moment that his father may start yelling but he swallows down whatever it is he wants to say. Only sighs and asks, "Tell me this at least. Is he well?"
Findekáno grimaces. "I'm handling it," he says. Would dearly love to ask for advice on this matter but cannot without divulging everything else as well.
"Eru help me," his father mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is a no then."
When it becomes clear Findekáno won’t be saying more on the matter he’s waved out of the tent. He runs into Arakáno on his way back to Maitimo and impulsively pulls him into a hug. I was so close to losing you, he thinks. Feels so intensely grateful that he will not. The knowledge of how his entire family dies, with the exception of Artanis, hangs heavy over his head. He does not regret his decision to help Maitimo carry the weight, but Eru, what a weight it is.
Later, lying in his tent with Maitimo curled around him, he wonders if any of it will matter. For all that he is stubbornly trying to press hope into Maitimo’s heart, Findekáno isn’t sure if he even believes it. How do you avert that much blood and death? What is love in the face of an army that wishes you and everyone you love dead? Still, he does his best to banish those thoughts from his heart. Refuses to give the enemy the satisfaction of destroying his hope before he’s even had a chance to fight.
He listens to Maitimo’s slow, steady breaths and thinks, I’ll make the love matter. Maybe it wasn’t enough last time and maybe it won’t be enough this time, but I’ll make it matter.
Maedhros
Celegorm takes one look at Fingon's hand clasped in his when they finally emerge from his room and scoffs. "I should have fucking known," he mutters. "Are you going to stop acting like you've lost your mind now that you've got him back?"
Maedhros does not really know how to answer that. He has no doubt that he will end up doing something else that makes people question his sanity. It is only a question of what and when. "I haven't lost my mind," is what he ends up saying. He's half-sure it's true. But it is no matter and now Fingon can tell him if he is truly doing something mad.
Celegorm snorts, mutters something to himself as he stalks off. Maedhros has no doubt that it was something unflattering about himself.
Fingon grins brightly at everyone who stares at them, all teeth as he dares someone to say something, but no one does. By the end of the day he's sure every single elf will know that they were holding hands. He has perhaps gone a bit mad because after yet another person does a double take to stare at them he thinks at Fingon, well, if they're going to stare…perhaps we should give them something to stare at.
Fingon looks up at him, a real smile blooming on his face. You do have some of the best ideas. And in the middle of Fingolfin's camp, he cradles Fingon's face in his hands and kisses him. It's as good as a marriage declaration and all those possessive, jealous feelings he'd sternly locked away the first time around squeeze at his heart, and he is so viciously glad that this time everyone will know where their hearts lay.
Maybe, this time around, he can be remembered for how loud his love is. He doesn't think that's a good enough reason to make him relive all these tragedies, but if he is to get no choice in the matter, then let it be his love that is remembered. Let it be enough. Let this one thing be enough.
☀︎
It will take Maedhros many years to realize that the stares are only in part because of his relationship with Fingon. That their relationship is far less shocking to people than the idea that Maedhros had defied his father so completely and thoroughly. Doesn't learn till later that his brothers are not the only ones murmuring in uncertain tones about the state of his mind.
He will laugh when he's told and kiss Fingon. Mad he may be, but he had gotten results, and that is all he had wanted.
☀︎
They get married two days before they're to depart for Beleriand.
There are no resources to throw a true celebration but his uncle insists on there still being a gathering to mark the occasion. It is the merriest they have all been since they left Aman. Fingolfin and Finarfin’s people, despite the confusion and general state of uncertainty, do not seem to begrudge them their marriage. Or if they do, they are being very quiet about it.
He spends most of it waiting to wake up. Surely this is where the illusion will finally break. It will give him a taste of what it is he wants and then rip it away from him. This is real, he tells himself. Kisses the inside of Fingon's wrist, feels his cheeks flush from the cold, and thinks, this is real. It all still feels half-dream half-fantasy despite the logical portion of his mind insisting it must be real.
“Will Fëanáro take this well?” Fingolfin asks him at one point while Fingon is distracted by his siblings.
Maedhros shrugs. “Does it matter? Even if he does not even he cannot break another’s marriage bond.”
Fingolfin pins him with a serious look, eyes very sharp in the torchlight. “It is interesting to me, how easily you have come to throw aside his opinion.”
He chews on that for a moment. Watches Fingon throw his head back in laughter and feels a part of himself light up in response. “I am not throwing it aside,” he settles on. “But my life is my own is it not? I hear his opinion and consider it. Just as I hear everyone’s opinions and consider them. That does not mean I must listen.”
“And what changed when you reached Beleriand that you should suddenly feel so?” Fingolfin asks, his eyes having not once left Maedhros’ face.
“Hm. Depending on how you view it, I suppose nothing at all or everything all at once.” He smiles at the clear exasperation that falls on Fingolfin’s face. “I would thank you for not opposing our marriage though,” he says, grateful that Fingon had not been put into an uncomfortable spot.
Fingolfin gives him a wry smile. “I do not know how on Arda I could after such a display of your character and your love for him.”
It strikes an uncomfortable chord in him to know that people are looking at his actions and seeing something other than him trying to make up for his mistakes. He already showed his character once and it was a monstrous, snarling shadow that clung to his every step. “It was the right thing to do,” he says instead of, do not thank me, do not look upon any of my deeds positively when I am only trying to clean some of the blood off my hands.
Fingolfin still does not look like he believes those words but he doesn’t press. Squeezes his shoulder and smiles when Fingon comes and pulls him away. “Come,” Fingon says, smiling up at him in a way that makes his chest tighten. “I’m tired of socializing and I could almost feel you wanting to get away from that conversation with my father.”
They go back to the room on the boat washed in golden lamp light and when Fingon closes the door and kisses him he think, oh. Thinks, maybe having this could be worth it all. Sinks down onto the bed, Fingon a long line of heat anchoring him to the moment and thinks, I could build my life around this. He knows, of course he knows, that this is an awful idea. That it will only break him worse when if he loses Fingon again. But he needs a reason to cling to life and if the foundations of this new life are built on Fingon’s love, then he will just have to be very careful to make sure that if Fingon dies, he dies as well. He tucks that thought away into the darkest corner of his mind and focuses only on the way Fingon’s mouth tastes like sunlight. Thinks, I love him. I’ve always loved him. Having a chance to show that is worth it.
Fëanáro
There is something wrong with his son. Fëanáro knows this as sure as he knows his own name. As sure as he knows that even two days ago Maitimo would never have dared done what he did on that beach with the flames lighting his face and turning it into a mad thing Fëanáro could not recognize.
Here is what else Fëanáro knows — there may be something wrong with Maitimo, but he is being forced to consider that there is also something wrong with him. He had, for a moment standing on that beach, looked at his son and looked at the boats, and thought, what does it matter, one more death on my hands, one more faithless lost. And then he had snapped back to himself and realized what exactly he had just considered doing. His son. He would not hurt his own son. He would not. And yet, he had thought to do so. Even if only for a moment.
If whatever madness has latched onto his mind is so far gone that he would even consider harming his son, then perhaps Maitimo was correct to stop him from burning the boats. How is he to know what is madness and what is only rational truth? How does he find the line when he is not even sure of how far the madness stretches, of how long it has been weaving its way through him.
But his own madness does not change the fact that he knows there is something wrong with his son. If you burn those boats I will walk out there and burn with them, Maitimo had said, voice harsh in a way Fëanáro had never once heard from him, and so deadly serious that it had sent a chill down his spine despite the heat of the fire. And that is to say nothing of the madness in his laughter or the way he’d moved toward the boats, the seriousness of what he intended to do written into every line of his body. There had been something uncomfortably wild in his eyes that had discomforted Fëanáro. Something very savage in his smile.
Findekáno would do the same for me. I know this. When was the last Maitimo had told Fëanáro no? When was the last Maitimo had mentioned Findekáno? He knows of course that they had been friends when they were young. Before Morgoth was released. Before the tension between him and his half-brother had finally broken into outright hatred. He had not thought they were still friends. But then, when was the last time his eldest had told him anything about himself at all? When was the last time Fëanáro had thought to ask? But even so, to be so assured of Findekáno pulling such a foolhardy move in return, that did not make sense.
None of what Maitimo has done since they arrived at Losgar has made sense. His mad laughter as he’d sat in the water, the darkness hiding what Fëanáro thinks might have been tears on his face. His single-minded focus on taking the boats back across the water. Him leaving with the boats. Fëanáro had not even realized he’d gone until Atarinkë had made a snide comment about it. He does not think he was meant to hear the comment, Atarinkë spitting, since Nelyo has forgotten the meaning of loyalty and left us. He had also, he’d learned when he’d confronted Atarinkë about it, taken Tyelkormo with him. Or, as Atarinkë put it, Tyelkormo had announced he was going as well and taken no counsel on the matter.
Two of his sons gone without a single word to him. The rest of his sons watching him with wary eyes they think he does not notice. He remembers that Makalaurë had made to move forward when Fëanáro had moved toward Maitimo with the torch still lit. Had been held back by Carnistir before he could even take a single step. His son, he thinks, did not trust Fëanáro not to burn the boats and Maitimo with them. He’s sure Makalaurë would never admit it but he knows.
When did it come to a point that his sons were not sure if his love for them would win out over his hatred for his half-brother? When had he come to a point that he was not sure of it? He is not sure where it all spiraled so out of control. Does not like the doubt he feels of even his own thoughts.
I would have you act as a king, Maitimo had told him and so Fëanáro squares his shoulders and resolves to do so. Will sit Maitimo down when he returns and get to the bottom of all of this. He must, for he will not harm his sons, and he needs to be able to believe himself wholly when he thinks that.
☀︎
He debates with himself on whether to stay at Losgar until the boats return or to go ahead and move his people farther inland. Does not like the idea of not being here when his sons return. Does not like how indefensible this beach is. Asks his sons for their opinions on the matter and tries to not think too hard on the surprise that had flashed over their faces.
They do, in the end, decide to wait for the boats to return. It had only taken Maitimo a week to arrange for the boats to leave Losgar and sail back, so it should take an equal amount of time for arrangements to be made on the other shore for the boats to return. The trip itself only took them five days to make. It is not so significant a time that they cannot afford to wait for the boats to return. And then, as Carnistir had begrudgingly pointed out, they would have a higher safety in numbers when traveling inland, something which could only be considered a good thing.
And so they wait. They are not precisely happy with the delay but they busy themselves planning out the formation of a city when they reach a good spot inland and with battle plans. For he may be afflicted with some madness but he knows that it is not madness to want Morgoth dead and his silmarils returned to him. He will only acknowledge that it is perhaps wise to wait until he’s had a chance to assess the madness before charging into battle. He does not want to lead his sons to their deaths because he did not catch something wrong with the plans and they were too wary to speak up.
Maitimo, he thinks wryly, at least seems to no longer have any fear of speaking up. He is going to force himself to see that as a good thing.
☀︎
When the boats pull close enough that they will have arrived within the hour, he gathers his sons and goes to wait. His people gather farther back to watch. They have been, he knows, uneasy about the events that have transpired, but they do not dare say so to his face. So now they wait to see if any more madness will occur.
He spots Ñolofinwë first, standing at the prow of the closest ship, staring at him as they approach the shore. He wonders how much Ñolofinwë was told about the events that transpired. Considers a suddenly unpredictable Maitimo and Tyelkormo’s propensity for running wild and decides that there is no way to know without asking. Based on the hard look on his half-brother’s face part of the story at least has made its way to him.
It takes him longer to spot Maitimo standing at the side of the boat with Findekáno. They are paying no attention to the shore and the people on it, heads bent together as they speak. So, whatever friendship is there has been fully rekindled he sees, if it had ever died to begin with.
He takes a deep breath when the gangplank is lowered. Shores up his determination to get through this peacefully, if only because he does not wish to find out quite yet how this new version of his son will react to fighting between him and his half-brother. He does not wish to hear that mad laughter from his son ever again. He does not like that he is being forced to re-learn his own son. Does not like that he does not know why he is being forced to. But he shoves the thoughts away, holds Ñolofinwë’s gaze as he descends from the ship.
Ñolofinwë stops in front of him and for a moment they simply consider each other. “Brother,” Ñolofinwë says coolly. “I would say well met, yet I’ve been told much that makes me think it is not so on your side.”
“I freely admit that I doubted your loyalty,” he says, seeing no reason to lie. “That I, in truth, still doubt it. But Nelyafinwë was quite adamant in his defense of why we should allow you to join us here.” It’s possibly the most diplomatic thing he’s said to his half-brother in the last century.
So, of course Ñolofinwë ruins it by letting out an ugly snort. “Truly an interesting way of phrasing it. It seems to severely understate the story Turcafinwë told.”
Well. He supposes that answers that question. “As I said, he was quite adamant,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek harshly to hold back the host of other things he would quite like to say.
Ñolofinwë opens his mouth to say something but stops as Tyelkormo comes racing down the gangplank with Huan and Írissë on his heels. “Hello atar,” Tyelkormo says cheerfully, as if he has not told the whole sordid story of what happened to Ñolofinwë and his lot. He doesn’t wait for Fëanáro to reply, just continues on his way to do Eru knows what. Well, he thinks dryly, he supposes that makes two of his sons who are not treading on eggshells around him.
Ñolofinwë is staring after them with a faint air of exasperation but does not bother trying to call his daughter back. Instead turns to the boat right as Maitimo and Findekáno appear. The first thing he notes, is the way their hands are clasped tightly together. The second, is that Findekáno seems to have woven one of his ever-present golden ribbons into Maitimo’s hair. The third, he realizes as they come to a stop in front of him, is the bright marriage bond shining from their eyes.
Well, he thinks, rapidly trying to decide on a response, that explains his ironclad faith in Findekáno I suppose. Maitimo meets his eyes defiantly, that same dare in his eyes that had been there when he’d said, try me. That same dare that Fëanáro, is learning, means he will not win this fight. At least, not in a way that he wants.
He does not get to figure out a response before Atarinkë demands, “Eru, Nelyo, did you fucking marry him?” A ripple of shock goes through their people who are too far back to have seen the marriage bond.
“Has something happened to your eyes since I last saw you?” Maitimo asks, offering Atarinkë a bland smile. “I believe it’s rather clear that I have.”
Findekáno’s gaze is distinctly unfriendly when Fëanáro looks at him. There’s a dare in his eyes as well and Fëanáro has no doubt of what it is. Ñolofinwë is watching him warily when Fëanáro looks to him. They are all quite clearly waiting for him to become angry. And he is angry, a great seething mass of fury is writhing in his chest, but he forces himself to hold his tongue until he wrestles it under control. Cannot decide which part he is angrier at, that Maitimo had gotten married without his blessing, or that it is Findekáno he has married. He thinks it is likely the second. Thinks maybe it should be the first.
He tries to think of something diplomatic to say and instead hears himself say, “I’m disappointed. You would abandon our house so easily?”
Maitimo keeps smiling that awful bland smile that Fëanáro thinks he is going to fast come to hate. “I’ve abandoned no one. But what would it matter if I did? I can fight the enemy just as well from either house.”
There’s a beat of shocked silence and then Findekáno sighs, says, “Russandol, love. I do not think that was point.”
Maitimo frowns, glancing at Findekáno. “I’m aware. But as I said, what does it matter? We need to focus on fighting the enemy. Speaking of which,” he looks back to Fëanáro, brow furrowing. “Why are you still here? Why haven’t you moved to Lake Mithrim yet? It’s a better spot to build a camp and we need to start shoring up our defense before the enemy attacks.”
“We were waiting for you to return,” he says, trying to decide how offended he is by the easy dismissal of the betrayal it would be to abandon their house. Cannot tell if Maitimo even cares about whether he has abandoned them. He does not normally have trouble making decisions and it is not improving his mood that it is Maitimo he is having trouble making decisions about.
“Why?” Maitimo asks frowning. “We could have marched there ourselves once we arrived. We know the way.”
Fëanáro does not ask how exactly they know the way. Or how Maitimo so clearly knows where it is they are to go when they have not explored inland much at all. Exploring that Maitimo had not even been here for. He will ask those questions later after he’s decided what shape his suspicion of that should be. Instead he only says, “You are my son. I wanted to make sure you arrived safely.” He realizes, with a sick lurch of his stomach, that he was right when he’d thought to himself that none of his children trusted in his love. The pure shock that pours over Maitimo’s face before he locks it away is terrible.
“Right,” Maitimo says, looking to his brothers and then back. He will not meet Fëanáro’s eyes. “Okay. Well, we should start preparing to move. I’m going to…” he makes a vague gesture towards the camp and then marches off. Findekáno looks to Ñolofinwë with wide eyes and then hurries after him.
“We should speak,” Ñolofinwë says, watching the two of them leave with worried eyes. “I have some concerns I’d like to share with you.”
Fëanáro can only nod, his throat closed up with what feels suspiciously like guilt. He looks to the rest of his sons and finds them staring at him as if they don’t recognize him. They school their expressions quickly enough but he still saw them. He misses Nerdanel suddenly, his heart twisting wretchedly. But likely, if he had heeded any of her advice, treacherous as it was, he would not be in this mess. He needs to fix this. He has no idea how.
He loves his sons though. Despite the impression he seems to have given he loves them more than anything else. He thinks he might have lost sight of that somewhere along the way. But he loves them and he will figure out how to fix this. He will not accept anything else.
☀︎
Maedhros and Fingon getting married gets the "well this may as well happen" treatment - they are just not the most shocking thing to happen in the last few weeks.
[insert the butterfly meme] Tyelkormo about Maedhros going off the rails: is this an excuse for me to also go off the rails??
ALSO: for the record, Fëanor is massively projecting his own sudden insecurities onto his sons. They're not even half-as upset with him as he seems to think they are. Confused about his random seeming about face? sure. worried about how little they can predict him and Maedhros right now? absolutely. Think he's a terrible father who doesn't care if they die? Fuck no and they'll punch anyone who thinks otherwise.
Originally posted on AO3
