A/N: I've had a lot of complaints for this story, because no one seems to know who I'm talking about when I address the sons of Fëanor. The Silmarillion gave the altered names as such: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. This is listed from oldest to youngest. Amrod and Amras were twins, though Amras was apparently born last. These are Sindarin forms of their mother-names. Their father-names, which, in a sense, are their proper titles, are as follows: Nelyafinwë (equivalent to Finwë III), Kanafinwë, Turkafinwe, Morifinwë ("dark Finwë"), Kurufinwë ("son of Finwë"), Pityafinwë ("little Finwë"), and Telufinwë ("last Finwë"). In this story, I have used neither of these forms of the brother's names, but their mother names were Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë, Ambarusso, and Ambarusso. At Fëanor's urging, Nerdanel renamed the youngest twin Umbarto, meaning "fated". Fëanor promptly took matters into his own hands and changed the name to Ambarto, meaning "exalted". In an earlier version of the tale of Fëanor's kin, the name Umbarto came back into play, because his youngest son had been asleep on his ship when Feanor burnt the ships at Losgar, burning the aptly named son along with the ship. Other Quenya names are used, as well, in an attempt to preserve Tolkien's intention for each character's many names. The Noldor use only Quenya names, even in Middle-earth. Albeit, the language was outlawed, they are in their own territory, and my do as they please (Thingol in Doriath had been the one to outlaw Quenya). Therefore, Fëanor is changed to Fëanáro, Fingolfin remains unaltered and his wife is called Anairë (she was obscure), whereas Fingon is changed to Findekáno, Turgon to Turukáno, Aredhel to Irissë, and Argon (an obscure son of Fingolfin) to Arakáno. The Noldor observe Fëanor's wish and refuse to mention the name of Melkor, rather calling him Morgoth, but characters such as Sauron obviously do not observe this. Lastly, I was questioned on a point at which Morgoth calls Maedhros (Maitimo) by the name Russandol. This was an affectionate nickname given to him in Tirion by his family, presumably his mother in particular, meaning "copper-top." (Maitimo means "well-formed", and the Sindarin Maedhros was a blending of these two names, meaning "well-formed copper.") Please note that it's been a while since I read The Silmarillion or any of the supplementary material, so please feel free to drop me a line and correct me if you find any mistakes or inconsistencies. Special thanks to Matt Massey, my saviour, who inspired this love story between two strong men.
I. My Brother's Keeper
Slowly at first Maitimo came to consciousness, and then he rose with a jolt, thinking himself to have fallen under during battle and expecting that the fighting raged still. But when he saw that all around him was quiet, his dread grew immeasurably. About his wrists and ankles were harsh iron manacles and he could not move far from the corner of the cell in which he was contained. His clothes were damp and torn and all his weapons were gone. Sharp, Elven ears caught the sound of a ravaged scream as it echoed through the cavernous dungeon and his breathing sped and he strained futilely against the chains, though his untended wounds protested violently. Just as he mastered himself, he heard footsteps drawing near. Some were stumbling and inconstant, and yet one was barely heard against the stone floor, taking longer strides than the rest.
Torchlight illuminated the bruised face of Fëanáro's son as an Orc leaned in close to remove the manacles from the wall. Maitimo stood as the Orc hauled him up, and found his knees weakening with fear as a young lieutenant approached. Despite this, he stood tall, knowing this man for Sauron, a feared Maia and a faithful and deadly servant of Morgoth. A black-gloved hand lifted his chin roughly, and cold, fiery eyes surveyed him critically. A chill passed through Maitimo's body at the touch, aching like ice amid the intense heat of the dungeons. "A son of Fëanáro, doubtless," Sauron smiled, his face seeming fair. "What a bright flame you bear, child." He motioned to the Orcs, and they withdrew their blades and prodded Maitimo forward, toward a twisted flight of stairs at the end of the narrow hallway which bore his cell. It seemed that they walked for miles, until, at last, he came before Morgoth, who flaunted the Silmarils before him, and awoke in him the anger of his father. In the following months, Maitimo was a formidable adversary to all who came near him. Soon though, burdened by unbearable physical torture and being in an evil place without light or hope, the spirit of Maitimo began to weaken at last.
Tension ran high in Hithlum. The Noldor debated heatedly in the absence of their High King, until Makalaurë, Fëanáro's second son, took up the provisional duties; and all slowly began to accept that Maitimo was lost to them. However, fate was as unkind as ever and the sons of Fëanáro were again put at unrest. An emissary from Angband reported that Maitimo's life and liberty would be willingly spared, should the Noldor forsake Beleriand and the sons of Fëanáro their oath. Makalaurë was put at odds with most of his brothers, wishing not to forsake Maitimo to torture and imprisonment. With Morgoth's fair-seeming offer in mind, they retreated to private council.
"To venture into Morgoth's stronghold is naught but folly!" Carnistir spat, unwilling to have done so much as hear the ambassadors of the Enemy.
"I must side with Carnistir," said Atarinke. "Maitimo would never have risked the lives of many for any one of us. Why should we do so for him? I shall lead no host of mine into Angband's halls for one Elf, though he be the Lord of all the Noldor!"
"And I say to the Void with the Noldor's King, for this is our brother!" Makalaurë cried, and though his words were passionate, his tone remained gentle and lyrical. "Morgoth demands reply on the morrow, and dawn is nigh at hand. We have debated this before, brothers, when he was first lost to us. Why must we be always divided? I beseech you all; if you will not think of our brother, then think of Fëanáro! Would we not have done the same for our father, and he for any of us?"
"Our father would have been mindful of his oath!" spoke Tyelkormo. "Let us not forget that he died true to the doom that he made for himself, and any of his sons should be as willing to do so. Did our brother not share in this oath, of his own will? My eyes, at least, saw his sword raised with ours that day and the eyes of all the Valar saw as well, I deem."
"Is that what we shall do, then? Shall we all lie hear in wait, and make war upon all until we are all without our lives? Shall we forsake our loved ones for our father's treasures? The theft of earthly treasure should not warrant war, but the life of a brother might well be of more value!"
Carnistir spoke again, and he raised his voice above Makalaurë's in anger. "We shall not make open war upon Morgoth...not for even our brother's life." he hissed vehemently.
"The war is already made!" Ambarto shouted suddenly, standing from his seat in outrage and turned upon Carnistir. "And our doom is made with it. Curb your tongue and learn love for your kin, Carnistir! What opposition have you ever made to battle? Were I you, I would not worry for dirtying your hands with Orc-blood, but instead staining them with the blood of yet another of our kin!"
As Ambarto's voice rose to a greater volume and passion Carnistir started violently for him, and Ambarto did not withhold his wrath, either. Ambarusso and Makalaurë stepped between their brothers protectively, holding them away from each other's throats.
"Peace, brothers! Peace!" cried Ambarusso, gaining the upper hand against his rage-stricken twin and forcing him back into his chair.
Carnistir continued, his voice quieter as Ambarusso, worn thin, stepped aside to take a few generous sips of wine. "I wish not to damn Maitimo, for I love him and am bound to him by blood. Bless him, wherever he may be; but Morgoth asks that we forsake our quarrels with him and forsake also our lands in Beleriand for his life."
"What are lands? Are they more than flesh and blood?" Makalaurë muttered. Carnistir continued as if he had not heard.
"That I might well do for love of my brother, but it is without hope! Morgoth shall betray us as ever he has and torture and slay Maitimo despite our compliance, and you all know this, for you have seen it with your own eyes. Trust that Maitimo knows this as well! We, the sons of Fëanáro, would do well also to remember our oath. For no cause, not even this one, shall we forsake our war against he who holds the Silmarils!"
Makalaurë spoke, his voice quavering. "Then we leave him to his fate. He is strong of will and body, and my heart foretells that he shall walk free from Angband, someday, though he shall pass through much anguish ere that day comes. But now, brothers, we shall be doubly cursed, for always shall we remember how we never forsook our greedy war, but rather, our brother. The sun is rising. I shall deliver this reply to Morgoth's emissaries."
Maitimo woke from a troubled sleep to the sound of harsh laughter. He sat up, hindered by the weight of the chains, and drew his knees up to his chest, for they had removed his clothing to destroy the last of his pride. Seeing him rise, a captain turned to him and smiled crookedly. He approached and crouched beside Maitimo, who did not look at him. "How do like that, little Elf? Your friends won't do nothing' to set you free. They've forgotten you."
Breathing laboured, Maitimo raised his eyes to meet those of the captain, who seemed to flinch noticeably beneath his still-bright gaze. "They are wise, then. Morgoth is a fool to dangle me as bait. I'm unpleasant to those who love me. I bring them grief, I think." Maitimo laughed a quiet, wicked laugh that spoke of ill-use and pain. "Imagine what I shall bring you, someday."
The captain took an involuntary step backward. Regaining his composure, the captain spat in Maitimo's face and struck him violently, drawing blood just below the Elf's eye. Maitimo spat back, cursing him in the tongue of the Eldar, his bloodshot eyes shining insanely, and his full lips cracked and sticky with blood. The captain rose, sneering, and as Maitimo persisted, he raised his iron boot and landed a cruel kick in the Elf's crotch. Maitimo doubled over and was overcome by a spasm of pain, but his curse turned only stronger, and he spoke it louder, so that it disquieted all the servants of Morgoth who heard it, for it was evil to their ears. He stormed away, and said to the guards in the doorway as he retreated, "Quiet him down. I don't care what you do, so long as you don't kill him. Whip him, burn him, beat him; fuck the pretty bastard for all I care. Have your fun, boys."
Findekáno woke in the early hours of the morning, sensing something amiss. His father Fingolfin lay near him, seeming to sleep deeply, wearied by all that had come to pass. That day, they had successfully driven back the forces of Angband, but, tired as they were from the crossing of Helcaraxë and the long march afterward, Fingolfin had ordered that they retreat into the shelter of the Mountains of Shadow, into Hithlum. Sitting up quietly, Findekáno ran his fingers through his long, tangled tresses, anxiously working little knots free from it, until, after a few minutes, he sighed deeply and dropped his hands into his lap. They were scarred and chapped from the cold and toil they had endured. Findekáno shivered at the memory of the ice.
Wrapping a tunic about himself, Findekáno strode across their camp to a small pavilion, for he wished to speak with Makalaurë, his kinsman. Upon entering the camp at Hithlum, he had slept straightaway, exhausted, and left his father to vent his wrath upon the sons of Fëanáro in private. He had hoped secretly that Maitimo had not taken much part in the decision to abandon his father's people to cross Helcaraxë, and that all the sons of Fëanáro had repented of the deed, for he would certainly forgive them, as would his father, in time.
Looking silently into the pavilion, he beheld a woeful sight. Makalaurë, head bowed and shoulders quivering with grief, leaned heavily on one of the pavilion's supports.
"My Lord?" he said softly. "Makalaurë?"
Makalaurë looked up, and, seeing Findekáno in the doorway his face turned from sorrow to shame. He stood, and, much to the surprise of Fingolfin's son he bowed low, and approached him, eyes downcast. "I repent of my deeds, kinsman. The sons of Fëanáro have wronged you indeed. I will not say that I simply followed my father, for I took part willingly in all the evils wrought by our oath, which I now deem ill-conceived; yet to it I remain bound. Maitimo repented also, though his spirit burnt as his father's did."
A dark fear settled in the pit of Findekáno's stomach as he realized that he had not seen the tall form of Maitimo among the company. Certainly, though there was dissension of late their ancient friendship would compel Maitimo to greet him at the least? And where was Fëanáro? "What has happened, Makalaurë?" said Findekáno, his voice near breaking.
"Fëanáro, my father...was slain. Morgoth took Maitimo shortly after." Makalaurë turned his face from Findekáno to hide his tears.
"But he lives?" Findekáno asked hopefully.
"We know not," said Makalaurë.
"He is still alive, and he has not forsaken hope," said Findekáno firmly as Makalaurë rose. My heart would feel far more empty than it does were he lost. In Aman I loved him, and he returned my love, and few oaths can sunder such a thing."
"Findekáno, they have held him there for days unnumbered!" cried Makalaurë, finally in a state of abandon. "They have held him nearly since the death of his father, perhaps before your host had found Middle-earth. None here can conceive the tortures that Morgoth and his servants have devised. None! Not even you, who have braved Helcaraxë. Morgoth offered his life for our removal from Beleriand and even Middle-earth, leaving with him the Silmarils. Now though, since I have no word over the will of my brothers, there he shall remain, though I loathe to think it." He stopped for a moment, forcefully holding back the tears that threatened to spill forth from his eyes. "They do what they think to be right."
"The spirit of Maitimo burns yet, Makalaurë. I know it," Findekáno said, without feeling the words to be as hopeful as he made them sound.
Makalaurë went slowly from the pavilion, turning quickly away from Findekáno, but he stopped before leaving, and nodded his heavy head. "And I hope it always shall. But the fate of Fëanáro's sons, and all those who will stand with them is now marred. This you know, son of Fingolfin. And this I know, as well."
Only hours later, Findekáno began a deed of which many songs would tell in later years. He gathered together only such supplies as he would need, and set forth in secret to seek his kinsmen. Fearless, he strode through the hills without tire, even though he would come at length into the darkness of Angband. He would not leave Maitimo to suffer as Maitimo had left him.