By the end of the day, Findekáno felt strong enough to try getting up on his own. The pain in his extremities had faded to a dull ache, and Amdis had promised him that if he did not overtax himself, he would be able to make as full of a recovery as could be hoped for.

"You damaged your joints in ways we are unfamiliar with, and they did not take to Endanáro's Song," she told him when she came with yet another mug of tea. "So I couldn't tell you how likely it is that you will be always free of any kind of hindrance. But you will walk again, and be more or less free of pain, and that is something, is it not?"

"It is," he agreed, smiling faintly at her and taking a sip of the steaming brew she had brought him. "Thank you, by the way. I am told you were more or less my constant companion."

"Don't thank me, I'm only an apprentice," she replied, but she was smiling back at him. "And it - you are our prince, our heir, we could not just let you waste away and fade."

"Was that a risk?" he asked, frowning and somewhat taken aback. "It was only pain and exhaustion from the journey, was it not?"

"So far as we can tell," Amdis said, shrugging. "But you were near Angamando, and Moringotto. And you were insensate in your sleep, as one dead."

Findekáno shivered, not wanting to think on how close he might have come to perishing; instead he fixed a grin to his lips and hoped it stuck, and took another sip of his tea.

"My father was here briefly," he said, and immediately regretted it, for thinking on his earlier conversation meant thinking on the fact that he might have betrayed his and Russandol's secret; still, as of now, he was not being lectured, and so it was easy to ignore that, too.

"I know," Amdis answered. "He is the one who told me to keep an eye on you."

"Did he say anything else?" Findekáno asked, and then made a face and bit down hard on his tongue to keep from muttering curses under his breath. Oh, that was stupid. Now she will be wondering why I asked.

But the apprentice healer seemed to think he was asking another sort of question entirely, for her answer came easily.

"He wished for me to find out if you would be strong enough to attend the feast tomorrow evening," she said.

"Feast?" he asked, shocked. "What feast?"

"The one that has been scheduled for a week now, to commemorate your return from the north and your great deeds."

"Oh, damn it," he groaned. "I remember now. Írissë was saying something about that, or else Lalwendë was. Or both." He shifted the mug he held into one hand and passed the other over his eyes. "Damn, damn, damn. I do not wish to feast."

"Is it because you are still feeling poorly?" Amdis asked intently. Findekáno sighed, and shook his head, letting his hand drop again.

"No," he told her, and took yet another sip of tea. "I only - why? What did I do that was so impressive? All I have done is act the fool!"

"You went to Angamando alone and returned," Amdis said quietly. Findekáno winced, and looked over his shoulder at her; she was looking down at her hands as she spoke. "You - you went there alone, with no aid and nothing but a faint hope, and you triumphed, you stole Moringotto's prize from right under his nose."

"... oh," he said, swallowing the last of his tea.

"The whole camp knows the tale of your departure from this place under cover of darkness," Amdis continued, looking up at him. He focused on the bridge of her nose, dodging eye contact. "How you fled from here with no food and no weapons and no gear, and how you scavenged to survive in the woods, and how you returned alive and successful. How - how can we not feast? You are a hero of the sort that has not been seen since the Great Journey!"

"I…" Findekáno began, but found that his words had deserted him. Me? he thought, and wanted to laugh, but looking at her face he couldn't bring himself to scorn Amdis's insistent declaration. I am - I'm no hero, am I? Heroes are - well, they are heroic, aren't they? They are courageous, they are selfless, they endanger themselves for the sake of saving others' lives, they do bold deeds without thought to the risks they take on, they -

- ai, ercamando, ércalamando, I suppose I must be a hero.

Valar damn it all.

"Haryon-nînya?" Amdis asked, and Findekáno realized he had been staring at her nose for half a minute at least. He shook himself and sighed, blinking several times before dropping his gaze back to his tea and taking yet another drink.

"I did not mean to become a hero," he told the healer, and his voice was almost mournful. "I only - I just - !"

"You wanted to do what was right?" Amdis guessed, and a wan smile spread over his lips, more from effort than genuine emotion.

"We'll call it that," he said. "It… no one, even if he is a Kinslayer and an apostate and a traitor to his family, deserves to suffer so keenly." Especially if you love him, and even more especially if you have married him.

Which I have. And I hope he wakes soon, that we might discuss what to do about said marriage. I do not wish to live in secrecy forever. I do not even know if I can. And if I cannot, and my people do not accept us -

Findekáno winced, and finished off his tea. Well. The less said about that the better, I think.

He looked back up at Amdis, finding her eyebrow this time, and when he smiled again it was more heartfelt.

"Tell my father that I will feel like attending," he said, "provided I can find something to wear, and provided I can decide what to do with my hair. It cannot stay like this forever." He tossed his head, feeling a few curls spill past his shoulders. "It will get knots and mats, and I refuse to cut it off, and there are no mirrors here large enough for me to do it alone, so…" He shrugged, and his grin widened into something genuine. "I am at an impasse. I would ask my brother, or my sister, but…"

His voice trailed off, and he found himself suddenly blinking back hot tears. The last time his hair had been rebraided, it had been in Valannor, just after the Darkening. He had managed to slip away from his family for a day under the premise of needing to grieve, and he and Russandol had stolen a handful of glorious hours. Fëanáro and Istarnië had moved into the great house that had been Finwë's alone, in an attempt to prepare for the assumption of the throne; the home that his husband had grown up in was deserted, and so it was easy enough to hide in old rooms and mourn what had been lost. Eventually, they had adjourned to the baths, lying side by side in the twin tubs that had belonged to the lord and lady of the house, and they had even managed to make a few jests at said lord and lady's expense. But when the water was drained, and the soaps were rinsed from hair and body, and the last of the argan oil had been worked into his hair, it had needed to be fixed back into place, and Russandol had done it. They had spent the hours sitting on his husband's childhood bed, pretending as if the world was not ending and this was any other day, and when it was over he was left with elegant twists of hair that resisted the wear and tear of daily life admirably.

He had kept those braids until the very night that he had come back to Mithrim.

It was very likely that without a right hand, Russandol would never touch him thusly again.

Damn it, Findekáno thought. I thought I was done weeping, and it seems I was wrong yet again. His next breath was almost a sniffle, and he sighed and wiped his eyes.

"But you don't want to trouble them," Amdis said as gently as she could, "not with this. I understand."

That is not the problem, Findekáno thought with uncharacteristic venom, but what else can I say? He nodded, still looking at the apprentice healer's brow, and when she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder he flinched.

"I'll find someone who can braid your hair again, haryon-nînya," she told him. The confidence and warmth in her voice was almost enough to make him weep yet once more.

"Thank you," he told her, rather than snapping at her to leave him alone so he could mourn the loss of yet one more private joy. I must be kind, he told himself. I must be kind, they do not know, they cannot know until I have talked to him, if I ever do talk to him, only -

- only what good does any of this do? The hiding, and the constant fear of discovery, and all for what? The fact that I cannot even grieve the loss of something I barely had? Who - who will he be when he wakes, if he wakes at all? Will he love me? Will he loathe me for not slaying him as he begged me to? Will he - will he even want me?

Findekáno had lost his battle with his tears, and he wondered what Amdis was thinking as she sat with him, or if she was thinking of anything at all.

I - I was an idiot, wasn't I? he thought furiously. I - I abandoned my people, I abandoned my place, I should have killed him, he asked me to kill him, and I was selfish, I spared his life, I could not bear to think of him so badly hurt and so greatly debased, and I do not know if he loves me still, and even if he does, nothing will ever be the same again! I thought - I thought all I had to do was - I thought saving him would be enough, and we could go on as we were, and - oh, Eru, he may not even walk, what sort of a life have I given him? I am - he is - ai, ercanyë - !

He did not know how long he wept for, only that when it was over, Amdis was half-embracing him.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Are you in pain?"

Findekáno drew away from her, sitting up again, and he took a deep breath as he prepared for yet another falsehood. Her face was kind, and her eyes were bright and warm like the tide pools about his cousins' home in Alqualondë far away.

"Damn it," he groaned. "I cannot lie to you. Yes, I am in pain, but it is a matter of the heart."

"I guessed as much," Amdis said to him. "You - you love him, don't you."

He let his gaze drop to his hands, which twisted themselves up in his shirt without much thought.

"Yes," he said. "I do. Very much."

"Oh," the nís beside him said softly, and there were years of gentleness in her voice. "Oh."

This time, when he broke down and wept, both her arms went about him.

"I won't tell a soul," she promised. "I won't. You have my word as a healer."

"It - that isn't - "

"I know," Amdis said, "but I wanted to let you know your secret is safe with me."

That is not my secret, not exactly, Findekáno answered her silently, but he said nothing save "I wish I would cease weeping. I - I know there is no shame in it, but when will I finally have no more tears to shed over this?"

"When enough time has passed that the wounds you have been dealt have scarred over," the nís told him sagely.

"What?" Findekáno asked, extricating himself from her very careful embrace. "What do you mean?"

"This has clearly left a mark on your mind and your heart," she continued. "And we still know very little about such injuries - we only know they last, and last, and must be cared for and treated like any other malady - but I can say with confidence that you ought not loathe yourself for the rise and fall of your moods."

"I ought to be able to control this," Findekáno answered, more than a little annoyed.

"But we are not merely hröar, or fëar," Amdis said. "We are both. If the one can be injured, why not the other?"

Findekáno found he had nothing to say to that, and so he only shrugged and looked thoughtful.

"I ought to go report to your father," she finished, and moved back to the edge of the bed. "But - I will find someone to do your hair, haryon-nînya. Someone who is not a sibling or an aunt."

"Thank you," he said. His gratitude was genuine - he had far too much hair to comb it out on his own with no mirror.

Amdis bowed at the waist before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. Findekáno stretched more fully, once he was alone, and then moved to the opposite edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side. Looking down at himself, he was shocked - he had known, through the evidence of loosening clothes, that he had lost a significant amount of weight, but still he was shocked to find that he could see bones and tendons move beneath his skin. Neither Amdis nor Lalwendë said anything, when I took that bath, he thought. Perhaps they were frightened and assumed I had already realized how thin I have grown? Or perhaps I am disgusting to look upon, and they did not wish to alert me?

His crutch was beside the bed, propped against the wall. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm and carefully rose up onto unsteady feet. Beneath the oversized shirt he wore - it was almost certainly one of Arakáno's, saved from being lost with his brother by virtue of being carried by someone else - he was naked, and so when he looked down through the deep V of the garment's neckline he realized he could see every bone in his body standing out stark against brown skin.

"I look like an anatomical model," he said aloud, "or like - "

Like Russandol, he finished silently, but before he could be sick from the memory of the cliffside, there was a knock at the door.

"Haryon Findekáno?" an unfamiliar voice called. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Findekáno answered, ceasing his self-examination and pivoting on his good ankle to face the door as it opened. He was greeted by a young nér who looked to be perhaps near to Artaresto in age, with pale skin and long straight dark hair. His eyes were bright and clear, and his expression was quietly respectful; one look at him, though, and it was clear that beneath the demure exterior was determination and tenacity.

"Hello," he said, bowing at the waist and shutting the door again. "I was asked to come here by Amdis, to assist with your hair."

"Oh, thank you," Findekáno answered. "I think my family are all otherwise occupied; this is a great help." And my husband may never aid me again, so…

"I'm glad to help," the nér answered brightly, moving closer into the room. "Anything is to be preferred to the kitchens, and I am quite good with braiding and twisting."

"Hm. Do I know you?" Findekáno asked, frowning as he made his way around the bed. The nér came to meet him; he was wearing a plain robe of pale blue over black breeches and scuffed boots.

"We have met, haryon-nînya," he said, "only - !"

"Wait," Findekáno interrupted. He recalled a tall, willow-thin elda who had favored blue and black, and whose hair was just as straight and just as dark - a ropemaker, from a family of ropemakers, whose eyes were the same. "Súliwendë, isn't it?"

"Súlwë, actually," the nér corrected. "When last you saw me, I had a different hröa; I had been thinking of changing it for some time but the Ice was no place for such an expenditure of will." He shrugged easily. "I did it while you were away in the north."

"I do apologize," Findekáno told him, extending his hand that was not encumbered by a crutch. "I only knew you by your amilessë."

"We spoke only the once, lord," Súlwë said, "but thank you. Now. What would you like done with your hair?"

"Something simple," Findekáno answered, crossing the room to his closet. "Seeing as the feast is in a few hours. Perhaps if you don't find my company entirely tiresome, you would help me someday to rebraid it properly?" He had moved into the small space, and was looking through his too-small collection of tunics and breeches. His elaborate robes had either been left behind, given away to those in need of another layer of insulation against the cold, or had been packed onto the ships, and so he was left with only a few bright colors to choose from. "Oh, what in Arda am I going to wear? This is dreadful."

"Dreadful?" Súlwë asked. "Why so?"

"Because my best tunic was the one I wore north, and I think it is probably unsalvageable." He sighed, and shook his head. "It had silver embroidery on the sleeves, even."

Súlwë laughed, and then coughed. "My apologies, haryon-nînya," he said. "It is only… look how far we have fallen."

"Hah," Findekáno answered, and held up a long-sleeved shirt in forest green. "This is a dreadful color but it is the only thing I have that does not scream 'family dinner'; it seems I have little choice." Súlwë was right, and it was more than a little funny - only sixty years ago he would have been looking over hundreds of richly embroidered silks and velvets, not desperately choosing between six different colors of plain linen. But this was the reality of his life now, and complaining would do nothing.

"If you wore all black with the shirt," the other nér volunteered, "and if I braided your hair through with a green ribbon, perhaps?"

"Hm," Findekáno said, considering. The shirt was wide-sleeved until the cuffs, which buttoned tight about his wrists, and if he unlaced the neckline it would be a deep V that fell off his shoulders, held in place by a drawstring that ran through the uppermost part of the laces all through the top of the garment. He could see where it fastened at his back; he could not help but imagine Russandol undoing the knot and the light linen falling down about his shoulders to elbow and waist, and the warmth of lips at the nape of his neck. The thought made him shiver, and then sigh, for one hand meant even that pleasantry might be denied to him. You are being ridiculous, he told himself. Doubtless he can do anything that you wish for him to do.

Except braid my hair.

"Heru-nînya?" Súlwë asked; Findekáno flinched.

"Sorry," he said. "Yes. If you can find me a green ribbon, and I wear that pair of breeches I got from my brother that button up to my waist, so I can tuck this shapeless thing in? Yes, I think that will do nicely."

"As do I," Súlwë added, "though I don't know if you will take the word of a ropemaker."

"A ropemaker? No," Findekáno said, tossing the shirt onto the nearby couch. "But the nér who suggested I pair green with black? Yes, I will take his word for anything."

Súlwë started back, surprised, but when he saw Findekáno's grin he returned it.

"Oh," he said, almost blushing. "That - that was a joke."

"Yes," Findekáno answered, tossing out a pair of high-waisted black pants with gold buttons to join the green shirt. "It was. Now, to find my boots - well, boot, as I doubt I can wear any shoe over this." He gestured to the plaster and gauze wrapping his ankle and foot. "But I can roll the pant leg up, or - oh, damn, these are very well tailored, and there's no way it will fit over the cast." He sighed. "I'll have to rip out the seams on the left side, I think, and then ask Turvo to restitch them. Can you find me a small enough knife to do that?"

"Are you sure?" Súlwë asked, looking at him with a somewhat dubious expression.

"My other option is to attend dinner with no pants."

The other nér let out a sharp bark of laughter, and shook his head. "You certainly can't do that; someone will have my head, probably Endanáro."

"The chief healer?"

"He's been doing double duty as your father's valet, ever since Rúsëalón perished on the Ice."

"Really?" Findekáno asked, wincing. No wonder it was Atya who came to see me when I woke...

"Yes, really," Súlwë said. "Rumor has it he's looking for someone to apprentice in especial, that they might take over his role as head healer."

"For the sake of being my father's valet?"

"For the sake of a change of pace. He is very old, and he has been a healer since before the Great Journey, I am told."

"I've heard the same thing," Findekáno said. "But still, healer to valet?"

"Who am I to judge?" Súlwë asked. "I was a ropemaker, and then I was a cook, and now? Who knows?"

"Who knows indeed," Findekáno said with a shrug. "Can you find me that knife? And then I'll dress, and then we can fix my hair."

"Of course, haryon-nînya," Súlwë said, bowing slightly. "I will be back directly."

"Thank you," Findekáno replied, sitting down on the couch beside his clothes. "Truly." He glanced over at the other nér and smiled at him. "You are a lifesaver."

"Hardly," Súlwë answered, moving back toward the closed door. "That is only you."

"And now it is you who have made a joke."

Súlwë looked back at Findekáno as he opened the door, and he seemed more than a little flustered.

"You are - you are quite different from how I expected a prince to be," he said, and it felt like a compliment; before he could be answered, though, he was gone.

It took the better part of three hours, but eventually, Findekáno was able to say he was ready to face the world again. Thanks to Súlwë, he was both dressed and groomed, with his hair in a neat Telerin braid down his back and a green ribbon bound through it. The breeches that had been Arakáno's had the seams of the left leg cut up to the knee, to fit over his cast; there was a single black boot on his other foot. The gold buttons had been polished until they gleamed, and the green shirt looked almost dashing by his reckoning, when it lay over his arms and bared his chest in a deep V.

It is a great tragedy that the only one I wish to admire me when I am dressed thusly is still asleep, Findekáno thought as he assessed himself to the best of his ability and Súlwë put the finishing touches on his braid. But I used to dazzle at parties. It would be a shame to disappoint now.

"All done, I think," the other nér said, and stepped back from his prince's shoulders where he had been brushing dust from the fabric.

"Thank you," Findekáno said. "Truly. I…" His voice trailed off, and he forced himself to smile rather than cry yet another time. Russandol, please, wake up soon.

"You are welcome," Súlwë said. "I think you will cut a presentable figure at the feast, and I will not be a laughingstock behind closed doors."

"I am in need of a valet, you know," Findekáno said, positioning his crutch under his arm. "I did not have one before, but as crown prince, I suppose it is time I assumed my station among our people."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he answered, turning to face the other nér. "I need a valet, and I do not have a valet, and you have both good taste and nimble fingers."

"I - oh," Súlwë replied, blushing slightly. "I suppose… I mean, I haven't - "

"Would you like to think on it?" Findekáno asked, hobbling across the floor toward the door.

"Yes," Súlwë answered gratefully. "Thank you, haryon-nînya."

"You are most welcome," he said, fumbling with the latch on the door. "Now. Shall we face the dreadful torture that is a Noldorin feast?"

"With pleasure," Súlwë said, flanking him to the right. "It has been too long since I ran that gauntlet of terror."

"At least you will not be alone," Findekáno told him, opening the door. "And I am told I am an excellent companion at even the most unfriendly of occasions."

They were very nearly arm in arm as they left the room and stepped into the hall.