Rules, Unspoken or Otherwise
Written as a @myslashyvalentine gift for @luthnethril
T, 2987 words, Maedhros/Fingon, Maedhros/Maglor, Fingon/Maglor, Maedhros/Fingon/Maglor
On Ao3
The tension in the hall was not broken by Findekáno’s late arrival but rather altered, heightened, and amplified, having shifted its focus from whatever its initial source was to the young prince’s bold appearance. Findekáno paid no attention to it and took his place with the too casual movements of one who knows he is being watched.
Whispers rose and quieted, then rose again as everyone at the feast took note of Findekáno’s attire, which would have been right at home in the Vanyarin court but looked out of place among the Noldor. Instead of intense, saturated colors and heavy fabrics that the Noldor preferred, Findekáno had opted for soft blues and creams, for flowing, light clothes that left his neck and arms bare. He had forgone large, prominent pieces of jewelry and worn only small earrings in the shape of the Trees, a simple chain and just two silver rings. He had styled his hair according to Vanyarin fashion with countless small braids instead of his usual thick ones—half of them wrapped in a knot on the top of his head, held together by a golden band, and the rest falling freely down his back. He had even abandoned face paint, which was unheard of among the Noldorin nobility during such occasions, leaving his face open and clear.
Only after the buzz of discussion resumed—more hushed and conspiratorial than before— Findekáno shot a quick glance at Maitimo, who was staring straight ahead, his shoulders strained with the effort it took not to turn and look at Findekáno. Fëanáro was looking at him instead with a derisive, contemptuous twist of lips, but deep in his eyes, Findekáno saw the rising rage.
Good, he thought, let him seethe. Let him prove once more who the greatest of the Noldor truly is.
Makalaurë turned to him, too, and gave him half a smile. Findekáno pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t answer in kind. Grandfather Finwë looked deeply troubled and concerned, but that was how he usually looked nowadays, so Findekáno could not be sure it was his fault. Indis, though, was clearly upset. She shook her head in disappointment when Findekáno caught her eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt and irritation. Out of everyone present, she should have been the one to understand; she should have been his accomplice, but Findekáno was alone in this.
Indis was dressed in purely Noldorin fashion. Her garments were deep gold and black: she had stayed away, as she always did, from Míriel’s signature reds and purples. Her braids were woven into a complicated crown over her head and adorned with a shimmering circlet. In the portraits of Míriel Findekáno had seen, her braids were always looser, though still meticulously styled. Míriel had given preference to silver jewelry while Indis loved gold, but both wore filigree necklaces and jewel-encrusted, sizable rings and earrings.
Always in comparison, Findekáno thought, even I cannot help but contrast my own grandmother with someone whose shade haunts her.
He did not dare look at his father. Even so, he could picture the deep crease between Nolofinwë’s brows, his fingers laced together in an attempt to remain calm, the sadness in his eyes. He would not reproach Findekáno in public, but they would have a conversation later.
The feast went on. Findekáno received several compliments—some sincere, most sneering. At some point, Fëanáro approached the King, and the two engaged in a quiet, serious conversation. Taking the occasion, Maitimo motioned Findekáno to the door and quickly slipped out. For a moment, Findekáno considered leaving him waiting, but he wanted to talk to Maitimo; he wanted a fight. Lately, all they did was fight. Their love was no longer a thrilling secret but a weight that got heavier with each screamed or swallowed argument.
Maitimo did not speak until they found a secluded place, then he rounded on Findekáno.
“What is the point of this?” he asked, incensed. “Are you a child?”
“I decided to explore my Vanyarin roots which so trouble your father,” Findekáno said.
“What purpose does it serve? To upset me? If so, then you succeeded, congratulations.”
“Not everything I do is for you!”
He raised his voice without meaning to. Maitimo looked around to make sure that they hadn’t been heard.
“You meant to anger my father then,” he said very quietly. “You may have succeeded in it, too. I will not congratulate you, as it is an easy feat nowadays.”
“Then why are you still here? Run to placate him! I am certain everyone here would rather not witness another tantrum of his.”
Maitimo’s jaw worked. He smoothed his perfectly arranged braids and turned his gaze away. To Findekáno’s dismay, he truly looked more wounded than angry. Findekáno had been hoping for a fight. He was prepared to parry Maitimo’s attacks with sound arguments, defend his choices, and defeat Maitimo.
“Nolofinwë has worked for his entire life to be seen as a worthy heir of Finwë,” Maitimo spoke, “to prove he is a true Noldo—”
“And he did so despite Fëanáro’s best efforts.”
“How can you not see that your choices today undermine him? You certainly scandalized my father’s supporters, infuriated my father and hurt me, but what else did you achieve? What save worsening the relations between our houses? Do you think Nolofinwë is happy with the way you showed your support? Do you think Indis is? When she married Grandfather, she immediately adopted Noldorin customs. She left behind all that was of the Vanyar, even the speech, and accepted the way of life of the Noldor.”
“Why do you think she found it necessary to do so?” Findekáno asked. “Do you believe it was what she truly desired? Do you believe it did anything to make people like you and your father accept her?”
Maitimo did not speak. The tension in the hall must have reached its breaking point because the sounds reaching them were suddenly louder, and the loudest among them was Fëanáro’s resonant voice.
“I must go,” Maitimo said, walking hurriedly to the hall.
“Of course!” Findekáno called after him. “Run away!”
Maitimo didn’t look back; perhaps he had not even heard Findekáno, preoccupied with more important matters. Dejected, Findekáno turned away and walked in the opposite direction.
---
“You were too harsh with him.”
Maitimo turned to look at his brother. They were back home after the feast had come to a premature end. Makalaurë had found refuge in Nerdanel’s abandoned workshop while Maitimo had been trying to reason with his father.
“He needed to hear it,” he said. “And I would thank you to stop eavesdropping on my conversations and commenting on my relationships.”
“Do you not fear you will lose him if you continue treating him this way?”
“Only because I let you fuck him a few times does not mean you know him better than I do,” Maitimo spat.
Makalaurë’s face fell. “Do not take your anger out on me because you cannot do it with Father,” he said.
Maitimo bowed his head, regret twisting his features. No one else except their mother could make him so ashamed of his actions.
“I am sorry, Káno,” he said. “Would you please make sure he is well? Father is in the forge. I cannot leave him in this state.”
“How was he?” Makalaurë asked quietly.
“Worse than usual. Grandfather was stern with him today.”
He was grateful for Makalaurë’s comforting touch against his cheek.
“Please do not allow him to work himself to exhaustion,” Makalaurë said and leaned forward to kiss the corner of Maitimo’s mouth.
The kiss, though chaste, lingered. Makalaurë’s lips slid slowly down, and Maitimo had to exercise his entire willpower to pull away. He looked around to make sure no one was spying on them, then with a quick squeeze of Makalaurë’s hand, sent him on his way.
---
If Makalaurë were in Findekáno’s shoes, he would have locked himself in his chamber, strumming his lyre, turning his anger or pain into music. But he knew Findekáno. Since childhood, his cousin had preferred to wander under open skies to feel his sorrows and celebrate his happiness alike. There was a place he liked to visit by a stream not too far from Fëanáro’s residence, and that was where Makalaurë found him, still in his Vanyarin attire.
Findekáno must have heard him approach because he turned abruptly to the line of trees Makalaurë emerged from, unable to hide his look of disappointment at the sight.
“I am sorry, I am not the one you expected,” Makalaurë said.
“I did not expect him.”
“The one you hoped for then․” Makalaurë sat very close to Findekáno. “I am sorry about your fight.”
“He was right,” Findekáno said. “I helped no one by doing this, and I looked like a fool.”
“I disagree.” Makalaurë shuffled so that his thigh brushed against Findekáno’s. “I thought you looked quite fetching.”
“Do not lie. You must have argued with Russandol for some reason and speak so only to be contrary.”
“Not at all.” Makalaurë pushed away the braids falling over Findekáno’s shoulder. “The moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was to kiss you.”
Findekáno turned to him. He had never looked more beautiful to Makalaurë than now—with fury and pain in his eyes. They both leaned forward. Findekáno cupped his face as they kissed, and Makalaurë’s fingers felt the pleasant texture of Findekáno’s braids between them. But too soon, Findekáno turned away.
“We must not,” he said.
“You had no objections before,” Makalaurë said. “Not even when we lay together.”
“It was with Russandol’s blessing and participation. I shall not be disloyal.”
Maitimo didn’t have the same misgivings about kissing Makalaurë without Findekáno’s blessing. He never stopped at kissing either. But it would be too cruel to tell that to Findekáno now. Besides, Makalaurë and Maitimo were brothers, so perhaps it didn’t count.
“As you wish,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “But have you not heard that many Vanyar do not follow these strict rules and dally freely with others while having a spouse?”
“It is not true, is it?”
Makalaurë smiled. “No, unfortunately. It was a rumor spread to discredit Indis when she married Grandfather. It would not include you in any case. The rumor spoke solely of Vanyarin ladies.”
He saw Findekáno’s fist close around a clump of grass.
“But I can tell you something true,” he hurried to say to lighten the mood, “that hairstyle, as gorgeous as it is, went out of fashion in the Vanyarin court decades ago.”
Findekáno grimaced. “I have not visited the Vanyar for so long,” he said. “You and your brothers must have been to Valimar more times than I.”
“I hear Turukáno travels there regularly.”
“He has his own reasons. But our father never encouraged us to befriend our Vanyarin relations.”
Findekáno’s issues with his father weren’t a subject Makalaurë wished to dwell on for long. It was not the kind of sorrow he found beautiful.
“Nelyo asked me to give you his love,” he said to change the course of the conversation in a more interesting direction.
“Yet his love was not enough for him to come to me himself,” Findekáno said.
“He could not,” Makalaruë said. “As much as he wished, he could not.”
“Yes, he could. He simply chose not to. He accused me of behaving childishly, yet it is his own father that needs a minder.”
“You cannot understand,” Makalaurë said. “Of course not. You are not the grandson of Míriel the Departed, the only Elda in the Blessed Realms to surrender her hröa willingly. You are the grandson of Indis the Fair, Indis who sings and dances, Indis who has too much life in her, Indis who usurped the rightful Queen.”
“Careful, Makalaurë!”
“Oh, please,” Makalaurë said. “You know that of all of my brothers, I am the one who has the most affection for Indis. She sang Vanyarin hymns for me when I was a child.”
“She never sang them for me.”
Rarely had Makalaurë seen his cousin in such a melancholic mood. Moved, he sat up straight and took Findekáno’s hand.
“I can teach you if you wish.”
In lieu of an answer, Findekáno looked at him with his big, sorrowful eyes and kissed Makalaurë again—a more passionate but even briefer kiss.
“I am sorry,” he said, turning away.
Makalaurë sighed and rose to his feet.
“Come,” he said, offering his hand to Findekáno. “My dear brother must be suffering in our absence. He will be glad to see us both.”
“Do you not fear your father’s response if he sees me?”
“Do you, valiant Findekáno?”
Findekáno stood, resolute.
“Let us be on our way then,” he said.
Makalaurë knew his father’s moods as well as Maitimo. Perhaps better, like someone watching from a little distance away would notice details and patterns, which the ones in the eye of the storm might have missed. He knew that he must have already left his forge and gone to wherever he usually went in such a state. He must have bid Maitimo, who would try to follow him as he always did, to stay home. They had only a brief window to catch Maitimo because he would still go after Fëanáro after a while.
Makalaurë led Findekáno to Maitimo’s chamber through paths and corridors where they were unlikely to be seen by anyone. Maitimo was already preparing to leave, but he put aside his cloak when Findekáno and Makalaurë entered.
“We tired of the babbling brook,” said Makalaurë in response to his brother’s surprised look, “and decided we would hear your babbling instead.”
His joke wasn’t appreciated. Maitimo only deemed him worthy of an irritated glance, his gaze fixed on their cousin. Findekáno didn’t look at either of them, but he did approach the bed with confident steps and reclined against the pillows.
“Only a jest, dear brother,” Makalaurë said. “Please, no spats for now. You can have your arguments another time, for all I care. Now is the time to appreciate beauty. Be honest, Nelyo, who looked lovelier at the feast than our Findekáno? Among the néri, perhaps only you could compete with him, and that is thanks to the careful way I had painted your face. He does not accept anyone else doing it for him. Did you know that, Findekáno? Only his favorite brother—”
Maitimo grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the corner of the chamber as far away from Findekáno as possible.
“Father left alone,” he said in an urgent whisper. “I must find him.”
“Oh, there is no need for it,” Makalaurë smiled. “On the way here, I heard his voice from a little away speaking to Sartorë. They appeared to be walking together. He is not alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you doubt my ears?”
Maitimo shook his head. “Did he see Findekáno?”
“Of course not. Do you see him? I truly think he looks more attractive in Vanyarin garb. If you have no intention to appreciate him, then I—”
Maitimo was already walking away. He stood before Findekáno, looked at him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little.
“I still think this,” he gestured at Findekáno, “was unnecessary and foolish, but I am amenable to forgetting our argument for a while.”
“How generous,” Findekáno said. “What if I am not? What if I have no wish to forget how you spoke to me and how you disregarded me when other matters came to your attention?”
“Then perhaps you should not have made yourself comfortable in my bed,” Maitimo snapped.
“I could leave if you find the sight so abhorrent!" Findekáno cried.
Makalaurë hurried to intervene, fearing Maitimo would reply with something equally inflaming, doubting for the first time that he had made the right choice bringing Findekáno here. Perhaps he could send him on his way and take it upon himself to wipe the unhappiness off Maitimo’s face.
But Maitimo’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped onto the bed, and Makalaurë saw the look in his eyes and knew he needed Findekáno at that moment. And if it was Findekáno his brother needed, then he should have him while he still could.
“I did not mean it,” Maitimo said. “Káno is right, I have no wish to continue this fight. He is also right about you looking exceptionally beautiful.”
He reached for Findekáno’s hand, but Findekáno pulled it away.
“I kissed Makalaurë,” he said.
It was clear his words were supposed to be a challenge, but they sounded like a confession.
“Twice,” Makalaurë supplied. “He was so worried about being disloyal to you that we had to stop at kissing.”
“Oh,” Maitimo laughed. “No need to worry about it. It is only Káno. Kiss him anytime you like. You can bed him if you wish without asking for my leave. He is my brother.”
Findekáno blinked at them, then nodded, accepting it easily as he accepted everything new and challenging. Makalaurë liked that about him.
Findekáno reached for Maitimo’s hand himself and smiled at him. Makalaurë took it as his cue to leave. Despite his words, he did not intend to interfere with their moment. Perhaps he would go to look for his father himself. Perhaps he would give form to the song that was swirling in his head. But Findekáno called for him when he approached the door.
“You promised to teach me Vanyarin hymns,” he said.
“Now?” Makalaurë laughed.
Findekáno shrugged and turned his head, so Maitimo could kiss the side of his neck.
“Perhaps in a little while,” he said.
Makalaurë looked at them in the fragile shelter of their love, their deferred argument slinking in the shadows, just out of sight; looked at them smiling, beckoning him.
“Why not?” he said and didn’t add, we have so little time left.
