A/N: Whee...just reposted this chapter, with several corrections on names. I made the mistake of addressing Curufinwë as Atarinkë, somehow forgetting that he always went by his father name. Several other corrections should have been made for the sake of consistency, but since all the other chapters have featured the characters in question, I've deemed it too late to make a change, unless anyone really cares. Morgoth should have been Moringotto, and Fingolfin should have been Nolofinwë. My A/N in the first chapter said, "I believe that Fingolfin was the mother-name he went by, though I may be mistaken." Well, I was mistaken. It would seem that Fingolfin was indeed his name in Sindarin, and he went by his father-name in Valinor, Nolofinwë. Sorry for the confusion and inconsistency.

Chapter Four: Findekáno's Oath

When Findekáno found his cousins, Fëanáro's sons, they had all gathered about the bed in which Maitimo lay. Every face looked tense; even the stony features of Tyelkormo, Carnistir, and Curufinwë seemed marred with worry. All turned to look at him as he entered, the rescuer of their brother. For a moment as they beheld him, Findekáno stood defensive, wondering if any of the fiery brothers would be angered with him for risking capture and betrayal of their positions. Then, in a strange happening often told of in years after, Carnistir, heir to all his father's darker attributes, stepped forward first of all the brothers and verily embraced Findekáno Fingolfin's son, and thanked him with tears in his obsidian eyes. All the brothers did this in like fashion, and then led Findekáno to his friend's side. Maitimo seemed to be dozing only lightly, and he opened his eyes when Findekáno sat on the coverlet beside him.

While before Maitimo's body had been ice cold, he now burnt with raging fever, and though it clouded his eyes nothing was done to lower it, for should the wounds he bore fester he would die far faster than by the fever. Then, Findekáno looked up, and in the entrance stood Fingolfin, his father, astounded. Immediately, he distanced himself from Maitimo, remembering how his father had chastised him for still loving a son of Fëanáro.

Quietly, he exited and went to speak with his father. Fingolfin clasped his son's now gaunt face in his hands and kissed his brow. "I thought you dead, Findekáno," he exclaimed. "Why did you not tell me where you thought to go?"

"You would never have allowed me to leave Hithlum. I had no choice."

Fingolfin turned away and was silent. At length, he sighed. "Yes, my son, you did have a choice. Instead of risking yourself you might have left Fëanáro's son in Morgoth's hands. But...you chose rightly." Fingolfin did not look upon his son's face, but felt that he must be staring agape to hear his words. "It would seem that I judged you both wrongly. In Aman I punished you, when you so willingly, so innocently explained to me that you loved him. Now, I see that you love him indeed, and I will not seek to part you from him. Do what you will with him, if he will have you." Then, Fingolfin caught Findekáno's eyes and held them, his stern features suddenly hardened. "However, if I hear so much as rumour that others may know of your affairs with that son of Fëanáro, your cousin, you shall no longer have my favour in this matter, nor my blessing."

Findekáno nodded. It would be better now that he did not have to deny that he loved Maitimo, though he much doubted he would ever tell Maitimo of his thoughts, and the thought of him bequeathing to any other his attractions was simply absurd. "As you wish, my Lord." He smiled and bowed slightly, and his father embraced him once more before ushering him back through the entryway.

In minutes only, two healers hastened into the tent, supplies readied, and the brothers clasped Maitimo's remaining hand and left, but Maitimo, to the astonishment of all, asked that Findekáno remain if he was to be examined. Findekáno complied, though he did so uncomfortably. He turned his back to the healers as they assessed the horrific marring of Maitimo's body. He did not listen to their words as they discussed what had been done, but he could not help but hear Maitimo's quiet, clinical explanation of the tortures he had suffered. They placed a poultice between his thighs, and then covered him with a cloth. Should he have any modesty left to preserve, thought Findekáno bitterly. The healers called him over, then, and he aided them as he was able, mostly in holding Maitimo when the pain became too much and he began to struggle unwittingly under the fever's influence. Maitimo had managed to be still as they broke one of his shins and set it correctly that he might walk once it healed, as it had healed from an earlier fracture without success, but Findekáno was of much help as they laid brand to the stump of his wrist to stop the bleeding. Findekáno had given him a strip of leather to bite down upon, but afterward a darkness had started around Maitimo's eyes of broken blood vessels and he seemed faint and weary. The healers bandaged the rest of his wounds, set the maimed arm in a sling, changed the sheets, and then, bowing, took their leave.

Findekáno rose as they exited and found a cloth and cool water, and cleaned away the sweat from his friend's brow, blowing upon it to lower the fever now that there was salve upon Maitimo's wounds.

"That stings," Maitimo sighed, brow creasing.

Findekáno smiled. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I think," Maitimo said through a strained whisper, "that there will be no sleep for me this night. Every time my heart beats a hammer falls upon some hurt."

"Well, let us hope that pain will continue, then," Findekáno said, but his humour was lost in the midst of Maitimo's groan as the pain flared up.

Minutes later, when he had calmed, Maitimo opened his eyes. "Thank you, cousin."

Findekáno shook his head. "You would have done the same for me, Maitimo. There are no debts between friends. There was no harm done," he said unthinkingly.

"There is no measure to the harm I have done," Maitimo spat bitterly.

"And yet it could not come between us." He took Maitimo's left hand in his and kissed it gently. "Our friendship was made in Aman, and the Valar were witness to it a thousand times over, and no misfortune can harm that."

"Do not lie to me!" Maitimo ground out savagely, and the suddenness of his anger surprised Findekáno. "Helcaraxë's cold is not so easily forgotten as that, Findekáno. You are blind and a fool if you cannot see how I have betrayed you!"

Findekáno stood, and his grew face stony and his eyes narrowed wrathfully. "Did you lead the Noldor, Maitimo? Were you a greater King already than you father? Did you find yourself with more power than he? I think not!" Findekáno's voice grew quiet, yet Maitimo heard him ever more clearly. "Do not be arrogant, son of Fëanáro, for that is what the nobility of your father's house became. This crime does not belong to you, alone. If I did not know what a feat it would be for you to live through this night, I would strike you, Maitimo." He laughed harshly as his anger built to new heights, fuelled by months of wondering through the ice, watching the women and children die and the men wither with hunger and sorrow. "I would curse your family if your father had not done so already."

"Strike me, then, Findekáno!" Maitimo urged vehemently. "Slay me, shun me, but speak not an ill word of my father. His folly has already brought him to death, but my evils still live with me!"

Findekáno laughed again, almost cruelly. "You think you might speak of death? You have not seen death! I have fostered children whose mothers starved, only to watch their hearts freeze within them! And then we could do no more than leave them on the ground to mark our trail. That, son of Fëanáro, is death.

"You are the blind fool if you do not see that these are days when kin may slay kin and be called heroes. No, Maitimo, I can see." He held out his hands, showing Maitimo the deep raw cracks in his skin that lingered from the merciless passage through Helcaraxë. "I can see this betrayal plainly, and I can feel it as well as you can, though I feel the injury...and you the guilt. And now, you have suffered more than I, and Eru knows that your heart should bear no guilty burden." Then, he fell silent as he looked upon his stricken cousin. Maitimo, who had been tense in his frustration before had slumped back against the pallet, tears flowing swiftly down his cheeks, and Findekáno was suddenly overcome with a wave of pity. He knelt and gathered Maitimo to him as a sob welled up and escaped his cousin in remorseful words.

"Oh, Findekáno, I have paid! I have paid!" He wept for long minutes, as Findekáno had never thought any born in the bliss of Aman, and of such a brave, steeled heart, could weep. His shoulders shook as he cried, as if he was no more than a hurt child. "Yet I can never pay enough. You should have left me, Findekáno. Not even Morgoth's damnation could punish this traitor! This is not enough for dead women and children."

"Forget, then, Maitimo," Findekáno whispered soothingly. "And let our feuds be healed before they are put beyond repair by shame and silence." He sighed heavily. "Forgive me, cousin. I should not have spoken thus. Not now...not here." Findekáno held Maitimo tighter as his cousin leaned more heavily upon him, and sleep took them both soon after.

The morning came at last, grey and sullen, yet, in the gloom of the day, the camp was buzzing with activity. The sons of Fëanáro had wholeheartedly repented of the Kinslaying and the burning of the ships at Losgar, and Fingolfin and his people wholeheartedly forgave them in return. Although dealings between Fingolfin's people and Fëanáro's sons would remain tense for some time after, Findekáno and Maitimo became an exception to this mood. Findekáno could hardly be removed from his cousin's side. He cared for him if the fever rose and busied himself with changing bandages and sheets, unashamed to aid him in personal matters. Maitimo was thankful, and yet his pride did not allow him to submit entirely to the care of another. As the weeks passed, the colour began to return to Maitimo's cheeks. He still looked as if he lingered on death door, but no longer as if he had long since passed through it. Food began to stay in him, and he sat up for longer each day, talking with his cousin when he could.

"Maitimo," Findekáno whispered. It was only minutes after dawn, but Maitimo was already awake and shifting uncomfortably amidst the soiled bandages. "Maitimo, take my hand. I'll help you sit up." Findekáno pulled his cousin into an awkward, upright pose, and held him there as the usual fit of dizziness passed, then arranged the pillows to support him. He took a small wooden cup from the bedside table and helped his cousin to remove the sheets from his waist downward. "Can you manage with your left hand?" he asked, turning his face away as Maitimo struggled to stay up without the use of either arm.

"Of course," he responded, but then gasped and cursed aloud.

Findekáno winced at the sound, remembering the pain of a slight infection of such a nature he'd endured as a child. "I had guessed that would sting," he sighed as Maitimo continued to curse. "The medics said it looked as if it becomes infected."

"Then why did you not warn me?" Maitimo panted as he drew the covers back to his chest. "I might have held that until I was better."

Findekáno laughed as he emptied the cup and wiped it out. "Believe it or not, it helped more than it hurt -"

"I doubt it -"

"It makes a fair disinfectant," Findekáno finished as he washed his hands.

"Not fair enough, I'm afraid," said the younger of the two medics, a straight, slender elf with a fair warm face. He had coated a rather long sound in a thin solution that smelled strongly of alcohol. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brandishing this almost wicked looking tool, and pulled the covers down yet again. As the physician turned to speak to Findekáno, Maitimo, who had been watching the sound uncomfortably, rolled his eyes back, lolled his head to the side, and let his tongue hang limply from the corner of his mouth, feigning a very comic expression of death. Findekáno buried his face in his sleeve, coughing loudly to hide a burst of laughter. "My lord Findekáno," said the healer with a brusque sort of respect. "I must beseech you to go to the next tent and ask for feverfew. My supply is low."

Seeing then that Findekáno's coughing fit was quite renewed as he chanced a glance out of his sleeve, he looked over his shoulder suspiciously to Maitimo, who straightened his face without a moment to spare, but that he was still wiping the corner of his lips. This amused Findekáno so much that he simply chuckled a nearly unidentifiable, "Of course," and exited, leaving his suddenly dejected friend in the able hands of the healer.

Outside the tent, a young page bowed to Findekáno and addressed him. "Lord Curufinwë sent me from the Southern camp. He wishes to know how his brother fares."

Findekáno smiled, wondering how he could possibly tell of the progress his cousin had made. "Tell him...tell Curufinwë that his brother's sense of humour has returned."

It chanced that Findekáno looked up to behold Makalaurë's approach. Maitimo's brother laughed merrily. "That is strange," he said. "The Maitimo I knew had no sense of humour." He and Findekáno greeted one another warmly as the page bowed and departed. Makalaurë

It took longer than expected to retrieve the feverfew that was needed, and when Findekáno returned the healer had left and Maitimo had fallen into a fitful sleep, shifting as if he was uncomfortable on the soft cot. Findekáno sat at his side, wondering at how light-hearted Maitimo seemed outwardly, even when dreams haunted his sleep. Maitimo, he decided would be dead already were it not for the amazing wealth of will within him. As it had in his father, the fire of Serindë burnt hot within Maitimo, and would not allow him to pass to Mandos, or wherever his father's curse would take him.

Very cautiously, Findekáno leant over and kissed his cousin's brow reverently. Then, pausing with bated breath, tipped his head and kissed the cracked, bleeding lips, carefully, gently tasting Maitimo for the first time, and only then did he realise how fervently he had longed to do so since he was young. He became so lost in the feeling that he did not notice Maitimo waking.

"What are you doing?" Maitimo gasped, his jade eyes wide with astonishment.

"I'm fulfilling my oath," Findekáno responded, refusing to be ashamed any longer, no matter what Maitimo did. Findekáno could not see how, after braving the ice of Helcaraxë and the tortures of Angband respectively, either of them could possibly care that they were cousins, and even less that their fathers had been at odds. Thankfully, he was correct in this assumption, for Maitimo willingly parted his lips as the kiss deepened.

Outside the pavilion, hidden from the occupants, Fingolfin stood in silence, watching his eldest son vow love to Fëanáro's heir, who was again the High King of the Noldor, and amidst his foresighted sadness, he smiled. He would trust the design of the Valar above all else, and leave Maitimo and Findekáno to one another as they recalled what was left to them of Aman's bliss.