It was a bright and windy morning, warm and enjoyable along the shoreline. Many Elves, mostly Teleri, went about their day's work in a leisurely manner, chatting and laughing with one another. It was the sort of day without any rush and little details seemed to simply manage themselves.
No one marked the grey-hooded figure that moved haltingly along the shadowy bases of the Pelóri that rose so sharply beside the coast.
"Are you still asleep, lazy Elf?"
"Yes," came the muttered reply.
"Ah, then you talk in your sleep! Perhaps now all your passionate declarations make sense."
A muffled groan, then, "Stop talking and come back to bed!"
"No! I'm wide awake and already dressed. Come now, it is time to eat."
"'m not hungry. 'M sleepy."
"Timo, you cannot -"
"I cannot sleep without you in my arms, Káno. Please?"
A deep sigh. "Well, I suppose…."
"There, see? Isn't that better?"
"For you, maybe. I've never liked lying abed whiles dressed."
"You could very simply alter your state of dress."
"Ah, now we have it. This was your plan all along, wasn't it?"
"It might have been," Maedhros murmured against Fingon's cheek.
Fingon shook his head. "I should have known," he said, dropping a kiss upon Maedhros's lips.
Maedhros quickly wrapped his arms around Fingon and deepened the kiss. "Ai, meldanya…. Your lips are like wine to me."
Fingon grinned. "And yours, my beautiful Maitimo, are like salt to me."
Maedhros pouted deeply. "Salt?!" he cried indignantly.
Fingon just laughed affectionately. "Aye. They preserve me, and bring out the full flavor of everything."
"Oh…," Maedhros murmured. "Well, you have always been more the poet than I."
"That is true. But I can make no poetry or music when hungry. You may choose to lie here all the day, but I am going to eat," Fingon said, pulling himself firmly out of Maedhros's hold.
Maedhros pouted. "Alright. I shall rise, if only because I'd rather be beside…."
Fingon turned halfway to the door when his husband trailed off. Maedhros had sat up in bed, but was wearing an expression somewhere been confusion and pain and looking distant.
"Timo?" Fingon said quietly, "What troubles you, beloved?"
Maedhros pressed his hand to his eyes and shook his head. Whether to indicate "nothing" or "I know not" Fingon couldn't tell.
"Maitimo?" Fingon said again, growing worried. Not now, he thought… Valar, not now! It hadn't even been two years since Maedhros had been rehoused, only months since their wedding – how could something be wrong now?
"Káno, I feel…." Maedhros clenched his eyes shut in concentration, then sighed in frustration. "It is like feeling someone beloved is in despair…. But, you are here and well. All I love dwell here, in peace."
Fingon moved to sit beside Maedhros on the bed. He took Maedhros's hand in his. "Perhaps it is but a memory?"
"Perhaps," Maedhros said, though his frown remained. He pulled Fingon close and nuzzled his shoulder, seeking the comfort and assurance he'd always found there.
As the cloaked figure rounded the shoulder of the last peak before the passage of the Calacirya, a forest spread out to the left, enrobing the way up to bright Tirion. There, the traveller fell, unable to go another step.
"I shall hardly have strength to beat hot steel all day now," Celebrimbor murmured, rolling aside.
Erestor followed to recapture Celebrimbor's lips and to settle himself in his lover's arms. "Why not join me in the library instead?" Erestor suggested with a languid smirk.
"It hasn't come to that, my dear," Celebrimbor laughed, stroking Erestor's long, glossy hair.
"All I know is that I have never been done out of so much energy that I could not catalogue and annotate books and scrolls," Erestor said haughtily.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think that a challenge," Celebrimbor grinned wolfishly.
"And, lo! Your strength is regained!" Erestor teased.
"That is your doing, herven-nin," Celebrimbor said, his lips ghosting along Erestor's neck. "Ever have you kindled a forge-fire within me…."
"Has the world about you ever made sense in terms not of fire or metal or jewels?" Erestor laughed.
"I fear not," Celebrimbor admitted.
"I thought as much," Erestor sighed. "Well, come then, bring your hammer to me once again. But douse me in cold water afterward and I shall never speak to you again!"
Celebrimbor laughed as he bore Erestor upon his back again, flicking his tongue at Erestor's ear-point and being rewarded with long legs immediately wrapping about his waist.
"I trust you have not forgotten your appointment this afternoon?" Fingon said, passing the butter. "Perhaps you should send a message and delay -"
"That's not necessary," Maedhros said, shaking his head as he buttered the toasted bread on his plate. "A memory, as you said, nothing more." Maedhros set down the butter knife and reached for the little pot of cinnamon, sprinkling it liberally over the toast before offering it to Fingon.
"You eat like these Halflings," Fingon laughed, declining to sweeten his morning meal further.
"Aye, and happily! They are the only creatures I've ever met who know the first thing about eating. I wished I'd lived amongst them always."
"You could never have even entered one of their homes! You would tower over their little hills," Fingon cackled.
"Then I should construct a great, towering hill for myself and invite them to dwell there with me," Maedhros said as if any sensible person would have come to the same conclusion.
Fingon smiled fondly, then took his napkin and rubbed it across Maedhros's left arm. "Butter on your wrist, darling," he said softly.
"Thank you," Maedhros said. "I love you, Káno," he murmured.
"And I you, Timo. Forever."
"Have fun in your forge," Erestor murmured, kissing Celebrimbor's cheek.
"And you in your library, beautiful. Do try not to exhaust my poor old uncle overmuch; I expect his husband might like him to have some strength left at days' end… or beginning."
"You are all the same in that way," Erestor accused with a grin. "Whoever said that Elves are continent never met one of Finwë's line."
"Now, aren't you glad of that!" Celebrimbor said, pulling Erestor in for a proper kiss while slipping a hand inside his morning coat to stroke down his hip.
"Be away with you!" Erestor chided. "You keep your Lord waiting. And twice is enough for one morning. Even for you. Furthermore, I have no wish to be discovered in the heat of passion by your uncle."
"Then stop being so irresistible," Celebrimbor purred before giving Erestor one more kiss and departing for his forge-house further along the valley toward the western edge of the mountains.
Some while after Celebrimbor set out, Erestor put aside his catalogue of scrolls and changed his morning coat for a lighter cotehardie that would better serve for working in the garden. He went out to meet Maedhros beyond the garden gate, but as he walked out, his attention was caught by something in the grass far up toward the mountainside, before the edge of the forest. Surely some hunter wouldn't have left a catch to lie there, he thought, going that way to see if some creature had been injured.
The closer he came, the clearer it became that it was a person lying there, wrapped in a heavily-worn cloak. Erestor approached slowly and cautiously and was startled half out of his mind when Maedhros, emerging from the road through the forest called out, "Where do you go, Garden Master?"
Erestor turned and silently pointed ahead. Maedhros was by his side within moments and peering toward the hooded figure. "What's happened here?" Maedhros asked in the faintest whisper.
Erestor shook his head. "I cannot say, I've only just spotted… who- or whatever it is."
"Stay here a moment," Maedhros said, stepped forward.
Before Erestor could say anything, Maedhros had knelt down close to the fallen wanderer, checking for signs of life and drawing back the deep hood. Then Maedhros stilled and stayed still for the longest time. Erestor was half afraid he'd been bewitched somehow and didn't know whether he ought to approach or flee for help until he heard the elder Elf murmur "It cannot be…."
"What is it?" Erestor ventured warily.
"It is my brother," Maedhros said, as if in shock. Then Maedhros turned in a flash. "He needs help, at once! Run ahead for Elrond – I will bear him there directly."
For a fraction of a moment, Erestor hesitated. Then he took off at a sprint toward Tirion, refusing to permit himself question which other son of Fëanor this might be.