Findekáno - Findírë
Nelyafinwë /Maitimo -Maedhros
Story Summary: Written in honor of Halloween/ Day of the Dead/ Samhain and other such practices that grew out of the Harvest feasts, and/or marked the beginning of winter, the earth's slumber. Some say it is a time when the veil between worlds is thinned, and so it is in Aman. But our favorite elf finds himself put out by his growing responsibilities as a Noldorin Prince, so much so he wishes himself a lady. Ask and ye shall receive it is said, but be wary for wishes that come to pass may not be all that is desired.
The origins of this story was from a blog that requested either Maedhros or Fingon as females. This is my attempt. I hope it is entertaining.
Chapter 1: Be careful what you wish for
He was over it, over the responsibility that came with being a first-born son: a Prince of the Noldor. Findekáno could not help but pout. He'd yet to loose this childish trait or so his father always reminded him when he pursed his lips to pout. He wished it all away, all the responsibilities, his ever-growing duties, and the whole lot of them, those insufferable elves!
Findekáno was not yet of age, but the demands on his time were increasing and his churlishness was growing in equal measure. He did not desire to be so contrarian, but some of the Noble men of Finwë's court were entirely detestable. As a prince not come of age it was common for young elf of his station to apprentice with Noble men and women. If one were lucky one could apprentice for those Lords and Ladies that gave their service to Oromë. But no! Findekáno was apprenticed to one dreadful Atanalacar, a follower of Manwë, a so-called Valadur.
Findekáno grumbled as he walked to Atanalacar's home. The thought of it made his insides churn, knowing he would have to prostrate himself in prayer upon entering the Noble man's home, so he turned his thoughts to his usual subject matter as he made his way to fulfill his duties, considering the intricacies of elven politics, the divide that grew between them, and what that meant for him. Of all the types Findekáno least liked the Valadurs, those that devoted themselves to the Valar and held their value system as Law. Findekáno knew his atto, his uncles and the King himself had no love for such types, but they were put up with as their numbers amongst the Noldor increased as their time in Aman stretched on. The Vanya were, for the most part, Valadurs. It was why they up and left Tirion to be closer to the Valar in Taniquetil. This Findekáno could never understand. Certainly he'd spent time in the Vanyarin lands, accompanying his grandmother to visit family and serving on short apprenticeships in the High King's court. The High King was his uncle after all, but all that was for not. Findekáno had to put up with a Noldo Valadur. In his mind these were the worst, simply because, Findekáno believed, they were seeking favor for power.
Fewer were those devoted to the ways of Awakening, the community of knowledge that the Unbegotten elves and their kin shaped and cultivated before crossing the borders to Aman. Those that maintained these beliefs in the Blessed Lands did so in increased secrecy as greater distrust was thrown their way, so much so that they took the name Halda to describe their beliefs-that which was veiled, hidden, existing in shadow. Nolofinwë and Anairë were of the Halda, though Nolofinwë also studied Nolmë, as did many of the Noldor. Thus, in greater number amongst the Noldor were those committed to Nolmë, the endeavors of science and observation.* Uncle Arafinwë was considered one the finest of those committed to pursuing Nolmë. But Arafinwë's rationalism was tempered by Eärwen of the Falmari, daughter of Olwë, the Falmari King on this side of the divide. The Falmari were not lovers of Nolmë, at least not Nolmë as a philosophy. They were of Halda, but for them, being kin of the sea, the veil was less onerous, less of a weight. The Falmari threw out their thoughts and beliefs like a net into the sea gathering tidings from afar, from Endórë, bathing in the light of the distant stars they refused to be sundered from.
Uncle Fëanáro on the other hand, he was a swirling whirlwind of Halda and Nolmë. Nolofinwë liked to remind Findekáno that this was why Fëanáro's creations were unmatched. Findekáno's nana would quietly whisper to him that this also came at great cost to Fëanáro, having to break through the veil, the sundering cast by the Valar between Aman and Endórë. Findekáno remembered the times he would spend in the company of his cousins and witness Fëanáro emerging from his forge, his eyes paling, if such could be said of eyes, but that is what would happen: the grey would fade from Fëanáro's eyes until it seemed all that was left was a pale green light. Nerdanel would rush Fëanáro to the creek that ran through their property, immerse his Uncle in the cold waters, singing old melodies. They were songs sung at the beginnings, at Awakening. She was strengthening his ties, the waters a direct source to Endórë. Though the Valar built borders between here and there, they could not hold back the mingling of waters. In this way she would soothe him, make him whole. Fëanáro without Nerdanel, Nolofinwë liked to say, would simply be an elf. But then Findekáno reasoned so too his father was simply an elf, without his mother. It seemed that was the way of things: one elf alone was not enough to build and create.
It was what set the Haldanur apart the most: their stubborn clannishness. And this, this was his father's and Lalwen's gift. Findekáno was proud of the way men and women loved his atto and aunt, came to them for the most troubling of circumstances. Nolofinwë and Lalwen were trusted. Their keen blue-grey eyes, a mix of Finwë's Noldorin grey and Indis' Vanyarin blue, shining as they laughed and made merry with the folks of Tirion. It was true camaraderie, not solely a show of politics. Certainly, Findekáno noted, Fëanáro was loved, but he needed his words-and strong and magnetic they were-to soothe people. Indeed Findekáno had deep love and respect for his uncles and aunts. And this is why he was so doggedly angry!
Knowing all this, all the intricacies that existed between the peoples, Findekáno was apprenticed to Atanalacar, the most vile, self-serving elf Findekáno had ever met! And apprenticeship? Ha, Findekáno scoffed, Atanalacar used Findekáno as an errand boy, having him do menial tasks. But Findekáno would at least get something out of it, for Atanalacar was certainly not careful with his words. He scarcely acknowledged Findekáno's presence, so much so that he spoke openly in front of the young elf, often disparaging Findekáno's family and others he greatly respected. Findekáno committed every word to memory. Findekáno suspected this was what his father intended, but he did not expect to be kept in Atanalcar's apprenticeship for so long. The elf had become entirely insufferable, verbally abusing Findekáno, knowing Nolofinwë's eldest could not reproach him.
And there it was, Atanalcar's home. Findekáno often wished his thoughts could steal him away on a breeze, where he could fly to the shores of Alqualondë, and there play in the waves, swim and be content. So caught up in his thoughts was Findekáno, he took little notice of the homes and shops he passed making ready for Nuruhuinë [death-shadow], the time when the wall between the living and the dead was made thin, like a sheer veil where one could glimpse those that had perished on the other side, the Journeyless. Those dead were not reborn, not remade in Aman. Their threads bound them to Endórë and they dwelt in a silver realm of shadow where they became known to the living on the other side as thúlë, the spirit breath, the elemental spirits of Endórë. And only during Nuruhuinë was the border between the living and dead rendered porous. No matter what the belief, the elves of Aman all looked forward to the time when those who perished in the early times, before the Journey was completed, would return. It was a time of reunion. Yet it was unlike any reunion of the living for the thúlë were no longer elvish. They were another thing entirely: like fire, air, earth, and water, with a mischievous yet strangely melancholic song. Thúlë needed to be coaxed, shown the way, reminded of those things they loved in life. And this is what the thúlë also desired, to be reunited with loved ones long sundered. Theirs was an intense yearning and love to their kin, manifested in the strangest of ways-goose bumps on the flesh, a breeze where there is no wind, whispers from afar when one is alone, and a buzzing warmth, like an embrace from the stars.
This was the one time the Haldanurs practiced openly in Tirion for they kept the ritual of Nuruhuinë, helping those who'd forgotten its ways build the altars, sing the songs, and raise smoke and scent to the thúlë, opening the doors between realms. It was a time of great peace amongst the elves, where rivalries were set aside, and folks came together to reminisce and make ready. But not for Findekáno. Atanalcar was fury bent on making his life miserable. Atanalcar made no peace, continued his scheming.
So lost was Findekáno in his thoughts he failed to see an elf carrying a large bundle of bright golden flowers recently harvested for Nuruhuinë who was likewise distracted with her large load, heading in his direction. Findekáno felt himself crash into someone or something. It was certainly someone as he heard a yell. Too late, Findekáno thought, as he reached his hand out to the elf maiden tumbling to the ground her golden flowers raining down upon them.
"My apologies, my lady," Findekáno sheepishly replied, as he checked over the woman who was sitting on the floor, the surprise of her fall leaving her a bit dazed.
"I think I am whole my lord," the maiden replied, taking a moment to recover her wits. She eyed the flowers strewn all over the cobblestone street. "If you will help me, my lord, I can make haste and save these flowers from being trampled on."
"Certainly, my lady," Findekáno answered, after assuring himself the woman was uninjured. He and the maiden set themselves to collect the flowers, Findekáno placing the flowers in the basket in the manner he saw the woman perform her delicate task.
"You are Prince Nolofinwë's eldest, are you not?" the elf maiden inquired, stealing a glance here and there to confirm her suspicions. She did not live in Tirion. She lived out in the farmlands so she was not as familiar with the faces of those that belonged to the Royal houses.
"I am my lady," Findekáno nodded, "Findekáno Nolofinwion at your service." He bowed his head and then moved around to help her strap the large basket to her back. "I forget it is the beginning of Nuruhuinë," Findekáno shared, offering an apologetic smile.
"Tis indeed my lord and I must apologize that I must be on my way for I do not want to be late in my delivery," the elf maiden replied.
"No need, my lady. May I escort you?" Findekáno inquired, surprised by his own impetuousness.
"Of course, my lord," the elf maiden replied, also surprised by Findekáno's unexpected offer. She'd heard many stories of the King's grandchildren, though it seemed that most were male, which was a boon for all the unattached elf maidens of all the clans. The most eligible was one Nelyafinwë, son of Prince Fëanáro, Finwë's eldest and appointed heir. She blushed at the thought of the handsome prince, his long deep reddish hair and deep grey eyes. She had occasion to see him as he frequented the fertile growing lands as Finwë's representative, helping adjudicate issues that arose around water use.
Findekáno was, like her, near his majority, the glow of youth stubbornly clinging to him. He was tall, a bit lanky, the weight of age not yet filling the contours of childhood. He was unlike Nelyafinwë. Findekáno's hair raven black, his eyes the deepest dark blue, like his grandmother Indis of the Vanyar the elf maiden mused. His full lips and high cheekbones gave him a bit of a feminine beauty, but the square of his jaw belied the vigor of the House of Finwë that would soon render his beauty into something more bold and vigorous. She liked him this way, in this moment, as he walked silently next to her, but not in shyness. He was studying her like she him.
"What thoughts preoccupy my lord?" the elf maiden asked, not hindered by the awe that Tirion born elves held the Royal family in.
"Your life, my lady," Findekáno answered honestly. "I ask myself and I guess now I ask you aloud what duties move you? Is your life circumscribed, beset by rules and expectations?" Findekáno paused, a frown appearing as he turned to stare directly at the elf maiden, "And what you must think of my rudeness for I have no asked your name."
The elf maiden laughed, "Lávariel, my lord, and my duties are to help my House with our collective work. And no, I would not say my life is circumscribed by rules; my life is guided by my will and desire to aid my family and know that they wish me joy and happiness."
Findekáno's face now reflected back the warmth and generous smile that Lávariel gifted him. "Lávariel," Findekáno replied, "A name appropriate for a maiden who bears the golden flowers that guide and reunite the living and the dead."
Lávariel inclined her head, "Tis true, I was named for the flowers we grow and nurture from seed. In fact the lot of us are thus named," the elf maiden smiled as she spoke to Findekáno. "I am arrived my lord Findekáno," she spoke, for the first time using his name as she paused in front of the home awaiting her delivery.
"Then I take my leave Lady Lávariel," Findekáno held his hand to his heart, offering his new found friend a farewell.
"And I of you Lord Findekáno. Do come out to visit my home."
"But how do I find you?" Findekáno asked, motivated by honest curiosity.
"Seek the gardens of Vána. There at the entrance you shall find the lands we care for."
"I shall Lávariel," Findekáno answered less formally, more warmly, sensing this elf could be someone he came to value as a friend.
"And I shall look forward to it Findekáno," Lávariel responded, likewise dropping any semblance of formality. With that she turned towards the door and was let in, disappearing within the home.
Findekáno sighed, though his mood was lightened. He turned and made his way to Atanalcar's, though this time he was determined he was not going to let the elf spoil his mood.
)()()()(
Findekáno stood over the elf, his hands in fists, his breathing heavy. The elf on the floor was moaning, wiping away the blood that trickled from his mouth with a handkerchief. He was too stunned to look up at the aggressor who towered over Atanalacar. Atanalacar's house attendant, Mancarion, stood off to the side, his hand over his mouth in shock. Just moments earlier Atanalcar was refusing Mancarion's request to leave early to make it home in time for Nuruhuinë. Atanalcar insisted he needed Mancarion to stay and finish polishing the silverware for a dinner he was hosting. Mancarion never believed his request would be denied. It was only a formality after all for all understood the importance of Nuruhuinë; thus when Atanalcar refused him Mancarion had uncharacteristically questioned his lord, which earned him the wrath of Atanalcar. But what followed was unexpected…
moments earlier
"Stand down Atanalcar!" a voice from behind Mancarion boomed. It was the young Lord Findekáno, though youthful he did not sound.
Atanalacar retorted, "Mind your business liegeman," emphasizing the last word with contempt and scorn.
"You make it my business Atanalacar," Findekáno replied steadily but with a fire growing in his eyes. If Atanalacar had taken time to observe Findekáno he would have seen this fire, his hands clenching at his side, his nostrils flaring every so subtly, but Atanalcar was arrogant. Careful observation was lost to him for it fell outside the purview of his self-centeredness.
"I am not your liegeman now Atanalcar," Findekáno addressed the elder elf directly, dropping any semblance of his serving role.
Atanalcar dropped Mancarion's arm and turned his wrath towards Findekáno. "You, little lord, will not address me thusly in my own home. Mind your place." Atanalcar stepped towards Findekáno, attempting to threaten the young elf.
Findekáno was not intimidated. "No Atanalcar," Findekáno replied, his voice not yet betraying his ire, "When you break the codes of conduct, it IS my place to reprimand you for no longer am I your apprentice. I am your Lord and you will apologize to your attendant for your violence, or-"
"-Or what little Lord," Atanalcar refusing to let down, continuing to belittle Findekáno not yet formally come of age. Atanalcar put his hand on Findekáno's chest to push him back, though try he might, he could not make Findekáno budge.
Findekáno gifted him a feral smile. "Remove your hand or I will respond in like," Findekáno replied.
Mancarion stood back, not sure what to do or say.
Atanalcar was too arrogant to stand aside, opting for using his full strength to push Findekáno back against a wall. Instead, when Atanalcar pushed Findekáno, Findekáno responded by grabbing the elder elf and throwing him back. Atanalcar landed with a thud against a wall, sending decorative plates crashing to the floor. Atanalacar recovered himself, righting himself, his eyes for a moment betraying arrogance that was turning to dread. Unthinking, he stepped towards Findekáno, not intending to threaten the young elf, but so unused to such physical confrontation, Atanalcar did not know how to react.
Findekáno, on the other hand was used to such confrontations as he and his cousins often engaged in sparring that sometimes became heated, saw Atanalcar's steps toward him as continued engagement, and landed a punch on the elder elf's jaw sending him spiraling back and onto the floor…
Mancarion finally broke his stunned silence. "My lord, it is done," Mancarion addressed Findekáno who stood over Atanalcar's prone body. "It is done my lord," he repeated, trying to soothe Findekáno.
Findekáno gathered his wits, stepping back, taking in the scene before him.
Mancarion helped Atanalcar up. Atanalcar slowly stood, still reeling in pain from his altercation with Findekáno. "You!" he pointed accusatorily at Findekáno, "out of my home." Findekáno opened his mouth to speak, but thought the better for it, though before he left Atanalcar's home he turned and spoke to the elder elf. "If I find out that Mancarion was not released to spend Nuruhuinë with his family, you will answer to me."
Atanalcar, gathering his wits, replied, "And your father and King will hear of this affront. You shall be punished Nolofinwion."
Findekáno slammed the door behind him and left before his temper got the better of him. He was in no mood to return and speak to his father. If he could not assert his power as a Prince to address a wrong, what good was his station? He thought if his aunt Lalwen's daughters, the twins. Enelyë and Lindórië certainly did not have to negotiate the terrain he did, that all firstborn sons had to traverse. He should have been born a maiden and all the training, all the machinations of his family would be solely focused on Turukáno!
He was certainly going to hear from his father, about his temper and comporting himself as a proper Prince. No, Nolofinwë would not deny Atanalacar's wrong, but he certainly would hold Findekáno responsible for the final punch that sent the worm to the ground. "Too much of an insult for worms," Findekáno thought aloud. "Worms have worth," Findekáno grumbled as he rushed ahead, not thinking of where he was going, what direction he was headed in. Findekáno offered a silent apology to worms, industrious little beings that made soils rich, provided food for birds, and were certainly necessary little creatures. This lightened his mood as he remembered lessons with tutors about the use and worth of worms. He remembered those times Maitimo would let Findekáno, Tyelkormo and Makalaurë accompany him out to the fertile lands where the earthworms were large and plentiful, making the soil rich. Maitimo would stop and point out some fact, explaining the hows and whys of many a thing. Findekáno enjoyed these outings the most. He wished at times, his parents had not waited as long to have Turukáno so he could have a companion like Fëanáro's sons had one another, but such things that were could not be changed.
Findekáno slowed, the pungent but sweet smell of burning resin wafted into the air. The special resin was taken from the singular trees that dotted the hillsides of Tirion and were carefully tended for each stripping of the bark to produce resin lessened the flowering season.* The resin was placed on a latticed metal coin size dish, under which a candle was kept burning to raise the smoke. The smell of it was strong here, but where was here? Findekáno looked around him, realizing he had left the dense cityscape of Tirion and was now out on the lower lying hills that rolled along less steeply.
He was before a large farmhouse and behind it the Lonesome trees, as they were called, stood like sentries. He was surprised to see so many in one location. They were notoriously impossible to cultivate, but here they were in large numbers. This must be the residence of one, or many strong in Halda for only those that came from Endórë tended the lonely trees, so valued for the resin that was burned on Nuruhuinë, guiding thúlë, the dead from the beyond to the homes of their loved ones. Why this particular smoke was used, Findekáno could not say, though to him, it reminded him of death, of this time that came not frequently even for Elvish reckoning of time. Curiously it had come three times in the span of Findekáno's short life. Elves did not question why, as Nuruhuinë- fickle at times while other times a frequent visitor -nonetheless came to pass during harvest season but was never a seasonal constant.
The notion that Nuruhuinë reminded him of death was not lost on Findekáno. He was lucky to not know death personally, nevertheless those that had made the Journey knew it well. He knew the names of his ancestors that were left on the other side, both living and dead. It saddened him knowing that they were sundered, some more permanently. It also angered him, though he dared not ask why it was so or share his thoughts on the matter. He knew they were rebellious thoughts and rebellion was not a favored topic.
Findekáno startled as he heard a voice from behind him. "You seem lost young one," a woman's voice announced.
Findekáno spun around to face the woman, ageless as is typical of elves. She was tall and pale, her dark her unbound hanging well beneath her waste. In her hands she had a bundle of flowers, freshly cut. She was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. She was old, very old. Her eyes were like those of his grandfather. "You are those we call Unbegotten," Findekáno declared without hesitation.
"I am young one," the elder elf answered, her head cocked to the side, studying the young elf. "What brings you out this way?" the woman asked.
"I am not sure," Findekáno stuttered, looking at his surroundings. The fields were yellowing and the trees that lined the road wore leaf crowns of golds and reds, marking the turning of the season, the turning of the earth to slumber. How he had made it this far out was lost on him. "I was upset about something and I just walked and walked, though I cannot say I made my way here purposefully."
The maiden watched him, her piercing grey eyes following Findekáno's gaze as he took in his surroundings. "Perhaps," she spoke after a long pause, "perhaps you were meant to find your way here. What troubles you?"
Findekáno looked up and down the road, well worn by the wagons that bore the loads of goods in and out of Tirion. He turned to face the road as it meandered away from Tirion to other parts of Aman, "and beyond," he muttered to himself. "I've been here before," he mumbled, "it has no end." The last revelation surprised him. He looked at the woman who was watching him, listening to him.
She shook her head in understanding. "It is the smoke, the smell of it. It is peeling away the layers and layers of thought and land that separate us from our kin on the other side."
"You mean the dead," Findekáno clarified, peering down the road through his fingers shaped like a circle, which he used as a scope trying to locate the ephemeral end of the road.
"Yes and no," the elf answered.
Findekáno stopped his searching of the road, returning his attention to the elf maiden. He recognized her for what she was, a Haldanur, a keeper of the veil.
The elf maiden laughed, a breezy sound that lifted with the smoke to the beyond, and where that beyond was, Findekáno did now know. "Nuruhuinë opens more than the doors between the world of the living here and the dead over there," she pointed to lands beyond her fingers, across the sundering seas. "There are doors of perception, doors that open allowing the energies, the songs of the two worlds, split by imperfect gods, mingle. If you listen you can hear the melody."*
"But Arda marred," Findekáno replied, thinking of the taint and darkness that had fallen upon them.
"Arda marred," the elder elf laughed. "Listen young one, listen and you will hear the Song, the Songs are unmarred, complete, harmonious. It is only when the borders are shut that the melody is marred, only then," she reminded Findekáno, speaking words that were hushed over, secreted, locked in boxes of memory, to never be spoken for they were named heresy.
Findekáno leaned towards the endless road, listening, the sounds growing, the music like an enchantment. The melody was like darkness and light, all encompassing and transient, bold and delicate. It was whole and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Findekáno closed his eyes, and his breath caught as he understood he lived half a life.
"I feel riven, split in two, incomplete," he whispered, eyes again peering down the enchanted road.
The elf maiden did not speak. There was no need. This was the young elf's time, time to explore the merging of the worlds and attempt to make sense of the revelations he would receive.
"I think," he spoke, "that had I been born a maiden that maybe my life would be easier."
"Do you now?" the elf maiden asked, a smile appearing on her ageless and beautiful face. This was certainly an unexpected answer. "But what of your loves, of your commitments? Indeed your valor?"
"My valor," Findekáno retorted. "My valor is nothing more than my hot-headedness…" Findekáno's voice trailed off. The road beyond him beckoned. The smoke wafted in the direction of it. "And my loves, my loves are unrequited and impossible," he whispered.
"Young one," the elder elf cautioned, "wariness should guard your soul against such requests, especially on these occasions that time and space slip between our fingers." But it was too late, the young elf was headed down the road. She could follow. She knew better. She'd seen it before. He would find his way back, but it would take some doing on his part.
)()()()(
Findekáno felt something in his back, like a stabbing pain. There was a cold wetness seeping into him. Slowly he opened his eyes, finding himself looking at the expansive sky above, the golden light of Laurelin beginning to warm the lands of Aman. "Oh," he groaned, lifting his hand to his head. He had a terrible headache. He tasted dirt in his mouth. He sat up trying to spit out the offending clumps of grass and earth. How, what had happened? The last thing he remembered he was walking down a road.
"Where am I?" he asked aloud or so he thought. Turning around him he looked to see who had spoken for him, but there was no elf maiden near by. He called out, "hello-" but there it was again a maiden's voice, but it was coming from him!
Carefully standing up, his body sore and covered in mud, he looked around. There was not a single building or home within elven sight. He tested his voice once more, "Hello." There it was again, not his voice, but that of a maiden. Something must have happened to his voice, he thought. Findekáno reasoned he needed to make his way back to Tirion. He felt unwell, not like himself. Whatever was wrong with his voice was also affecting his stride. His balance was different. He must be dizzy with sickness. So he gathered himself as best he could and made his way back in the direction of Tirion on Tuna. The Mindon appeared on the horizon, jutting out from beyond the hills that rolled down to where he found himself.
He looked around and recognized the road. He was on the road to Formenos, at the bend in the road where vision was most limited. Findekáno considered heading to Formenos but decided against it knowing that his uncle and cousins were in Tirion. Maitimo was the only one not in Tirion. He was spending time in the service of Aulë, a last effort to appease his father, knowing that the making of things-while he was skilled at it-was not a first love; not like it was for Fëanáro. Findekáno frowned. It had been too long since he had seen Maitimo. Better that he not see him now as it seemed Findekáno had fallen or rolled into a ditch as a result of whatever ailed him. He hoped it wasn't too serious. And then he remembered, his altercation with Atanalacar. Well whatever ailed him was not the worst of it.
It dawned on Findekáno that his father could not be as severe with Findekáno so sick. He counted himself blessed for his sickness. Then he heard it, the sound of horses, or rather a horse, coming around the bend from Tirion. Findekáno made haste to meet up with the rider. Maybe fortune was at last on his side. As the rider came into the open, Findekáno was taken aback, it was Maitimo. He was at once joyous and nervous. Maitimo would certainly only see a tall lanky youth covered in mud and grass. He would not see that though youthful Findekáno was growing into himself, no longer as awkward and strange looking as when last Maitimo had seen Findekáno.
Maitimo spotted him raising his hand in greeting, spurring his horse on to hasten their meeting. Maitimo pulled up in front of Findekáno, his horse cantering and dancing from side to side in excitement.
"There you are," Maitimo called out. His dark red hair was bound in a long braid and he wore riding clothes, clothes that had journeyed longer than the road from Tirion to where he found himself in front of Findekáno.
Findekáno raised his hand in awkward greeting, unwilling to speak and betray his womanly voice to Maitimo.
Maitimo jumped off his steed and swept Findekáno up into a tight embrace. "You had the whole of Tirion looking for you. I am so relieved I have found you." Maitimo looked over his cousin tenderly, checking the scrapes on Findekáno's arms. "You took quite a tumble," Maitimo spoke as he carefully looked over his cousin.
"I am well," Findekáno whispered, not wanting to worry his cousin more than he already was with his feminine voice.
"Are you sure?" Maitimo asked, doubt clouding his eyes. Findekáno did not reply. "Very well then," Maitimo continued, lifting Findekáno onto the horse. Findekáno made to protest. He certainly was able to get onto the horse without Maitimo's help. He was no child. But Maitimo kept fussing over him. Findekáno had enough.
"I can climb on a horse on my own with no need of your help," Findekáno replied, though his voice betrayed the feminine tone it had taken on.
Maitimo stepped back, a grin warming his fair face. "That you can," he replied, a teasing tone to his voice.
"And say nothing of my voice," Findekáno retorted.
Maitimo held his hands up as if in defeat.
Findekáno settled onto the horse and turned to offer his arm to Maitimo who looked up at him with much amusement. Maitimo took Findekáno's outstretched hand and jumped on his horse, behind Findekáno. He wrapped one arm around Findekáno's waste and with the other grabbed the light reigns. Findekáno was going to protest Maitimo's over protectiveness. He was no longer a child, though clearly Maitimo still perceived Findekáno that way. Yet the feel of Maitimo's strong arm gathering him into his body felt good. He could not protest that.
They made their way back to Tirion at a leisurely pace so as not to jostle Findekáno in case his injuries were more than they appeared. Maitimo was the first to break the silence. "So tell me, what happened with Atanalcar."
Findekáno's face paled. He would have to face up to it sooner than later. Muttering, he replied, "I punched him. I landed a good hit straight on his jaw, sending him sprawling back."
Maitimo laughed. Findekáno could feel the rolling of his laughter reverberate in Maitimo's chest and into him, causing him to shiver. "I heard!" Maitimo chuckled. "He deserved more than that." Maitimo's voice grew serious, causing Findekáno to turn back and look at Maitimo in that typical way of Findekáno's, bold and direct, not hiding that he was searching another's eyes.
Maitimo stiffened as Findekáno searched him. Shaking his head and turning away, he added, "What he did to you shall not go unpunished Findírë. I will hang him by his-" Maitimo cut himself short.
"Did you just call me Findírë?" Findekáno asked, unsure if he heard Maitimo correctly.
Maitimo was now clearly confused. "Cousin, I did."
"And why would you call me that?" Findekáno demanded, his anger starting to rise.
"Because that is your name. Findírë are you well?" Maitimo replied, his brows furrowed in growing concern.
"You did it again, called me Findírë! I know my voice is sounding feminine but there is no need to torment me for it." Findekáno was growing more agitated, deciding he needed to turn away from Maitimo, to prevent himself from socking Maitimo in the face as well.
"Findírë!" Maitimo cried out, then as if speaking to himself, added, "You must have taken a really hard hit to the head if you do not remember your name."
Findekáno spun around to face Maitimo directly, almost bringing the two off the horse.
"Steady now," Maitimo whispered, as he repositioned the two elves more securely on the horse.
Instead of mirth, Findekáno found Maitimo was gazing back at him, his anxious face reflecting only concern. Maitimo reached for and took hold of Findekáno's hands. "I would not have recognized you had I seen you in Tirion so much have you changed. Why would you recriminate your voice that betrays its womanhood?" Maitimo was being earnest.
Findekáno was now alarmed looking down at his hands held in Maitimo's hands. They were much smaller than he knew them to be, more delicate, and very feminine! What in Eru was happening? He felt his body, finding it, like his hands, feminine in form. Without thinking he grabbed his chest and there found his breasts, not just swollen but large and rounded. Findekáno's face reflected utter terror.
Maitimo was spooked. Normally a maiden grabbing her breasts in such a manner would have amused Maitimo, but the look on Findírë's face betrayed that something was terribly and utterly wrong. "Let us make haste and get you help," Maitimo breathed urging his steed to gallop.
Findekáno curled himself against Maitimo who eclipsed him with his size. He must be hallucinating, stuck in some feverish dream, but then the words of the elf maiden he encountered before his memory loss came to him: "wariness should guard your soul against such requests, especially on these occasions that time and space slip between our fingers." And what requests were those that she warned him against? Findekáno remembered. He wished he was a maiden. It could not be!
)()()()()(
atto-father
Endórë- middle earth
* Nolmë- knowledge, philosophy (including science), here used more akin to rationalism. Here it is used interchangeably as a type of knowledge and as a descriptor for a belief system.
Halda- veiled, hidden, shadowed, shady. Halda is used interchangeably to refer to elves that made the Journey and crossed what is referred to as the Veil, coming from lands cast in shadow to Eldamar and the light of the Two Trees and to the belief system brought and practiced by those who Journeyed from the Outer Lands. Thus Halda is used to refer to a group of a people or a belief system and/or its related practices. When referring to the people I use the phrase, the Halda. When referring to the practices or belief system I use the word Halda.
*Akin to frankincense resin
*Many a great fanfiction author has written descriptions of how Elves interact with the Song of creation. In my early works I explored this in Creation Song of Iluvutar, though I must say here I am influenced by the manner in which Ziggy, Alpha Ori, and others I am not remembering here use the concept of Song and elves. Please