It was the middle of the morning when Findekáno at last managed to tear himself away from Russandol's side. His husband had fallen asleep again, frightened and frustrated and angry, and all the tension he had been clinging to bled out into their bond; it had taken quite a lot of effort to unwind it from their intertwined fëar. But finally, when Findekáno supposed he had done all he could - and despite being unsure he had done anything at all - he kissed the other nér on his temple, feeling the echo of his lips on his own skull, and slid out from the bed onto the floor again. This time, walking was somewhat easier, though he knew he still lurched from leg to leg like a drunken Teler aboard a raft in a storm. What an apt comparison, he thought as he stumbled toward the door. I, like a drunken Teler, have not lost my footing yet.

When he reached the door, and began to fumble at the latch with half his hands, he turned to look back at Russandol. It was frightfully obvious how changed he was, now that the light was streaming in through the windows - he was still far too thin, and bleeding through his bandages in at least six places, and his hand shook when he raised it. But he was here, he was safe, and he would almost certainly recover now that his wounds were healing and no one was trying to murder him. That was far better than things had been before, and it was enough, for now.

It must be enough, he thought, for it is all I have, really. His stomach growled again before he could sink too deeply into that thought, however, and he shrugged and managed to smile in a manner that almost felt natural.

"Onward to breakfast," he said, and turned the latch, and opened the door.

The first few moments afterward seemed very nearly normal. He pivoted and shuffled completely out of Russandol's room, and nodded to Aegthel, who was seated across the hall with his sword on his knees while he ate what looked like a meat pasty of some sort.

"Did you sleep well, haryon-nînya?" the guard asked.

"Well enough," Findekáno answered, and then started in surprise. "Wait - you - you were there all night?"

"I haven't left my post since relieving Alcarinquar shortly after noon yesterday," the nér told him, and his smile was warm and secure. "You are quite safe, don't worry. As is condo-nînya Maitimo."

"Noon?!" Findekáno cried, and he nearly lost his grip on his crutch and fell over. He - ai, muk, ércala muk, he was there for all of it, and these walls are not thick!

"I will sleep as soon as I'm relieved, don't worry," Aegthel said cheerfully. "My charge is ensuring that no one enters that room from this door, and keeping an ear out for any sounds of a struggle or forced entry from the window. And I take it rather seriously."

Findekáno was blushing scarlet, and he knew it. He knows, he thought, and now it was his turn to panic. Oh, he knows, I am ruined!

"You needn't worry, you know," Aegthel said, startling him again.

"I - what?"

"You needn't worry about what I might have overheard," the guard repeated. "Truly. I like you, haryon-nînya, and I have no desire to go mucking about in your personal business. Yes, I must be aware of what passes behind closed doors, but that is my duty as laid down by your father and my King." He smiled more brightly. "As far as I could tell you, you spent the night in conversation with your much-missed cousin and dear friend condo Nelyafinwë. At one point early this morning, I think you tried to retrieve your crutch from where it had fallen, and had a bit of difficulty with it. That is all I know, and all I will say when asked."

Findekáno stared at him, openmouthed, as the blush spread down to shoulders and collarbones. He… he likes me? People like me?! As a whole? I mean - well, evidently they do, or else I would not be in this position - oh, say something, you idiot! Accept this gift and say something!

"You…" he managed at last, still gaping. "I - thank you."

"Of course," Aegthel answered, smiling. "Now, if you hurry, you will just catch the end of breakfast. There will be scones and tea after, of course, but the cooks have managed something delicious with eggs, or so I am told."

"Eggs do sound good," he admitted, and turned as best he could to face towards the end of the hallway and the door that led into the house proper. "Thank you, Aegthel."

"You're welcome, haryon-nînya," the guard said, and returned his attention to his own breakfast.

Findekáno found out very quickly that while he had mastered the fine art of staying upright while his fëa was tethered to another, he was not yet even a little proficient in walking in such a state. Gone were the great galloping near-leaps of his time in Russandol's bedroom, but he was still lunging back and forth, his whole hröa thrown into each step forward. I really do look like a drunken Teler, he thought miserably, but I do not know how to stop. The end of the hall loomed before him, growing closer and closer in unsteady surges, and it occurred to him that he had no real idea of what he would be doing once he reached that door and the rooms beyond. My family might be all waiting there, eating breakfast together, and I will come stumbling into their midst like a dog chasing porocelli! And then I shall have to explain myself, and it will all come out.

Well, I cannot go without breakfast. I will simply have to perfect my stride before leaving this hallway.

Findekáno was so focused on this that he failed to notice the door in front of him opening, or the tall, green-clad figure who stepped through it. But suddenly, when he tore his gaze up from the floorboards and the placement of each careful step, he found himself staring at the bewildered face of his atarnésa Lalwendë, who was holding a scone in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. She had shut the door behind her, and she looked as if she was about to burst into fits of laughter.

"I can explain - !" Findekáno began, but before he could finish, she had shoved her scone into her mouth and seized him firmly with her newly-freed hand. He barely managed to cry out in protest before she had dragged him from the hall into a room he had never been in before and shut the door firmly behind them both.

"Mana?" he demanded; she took hold of her scone again and bit through it, chewing and swallowing.

"You need to go lay down again," she informed him once her mouth was empty. Her eyes were alight with mirth. "Unless you want the whole household to be gossipping about your mystery spouse."

Findekáno winced. "Is it that obvious?"

"You looked like a colt newly introduced to stone-paved streets," Lalwendë said, and finally gave herself over to a fit of giggles.

"It isn't funny!" he protested, but she shook her head.

"You looked so like your father after his own wedding that I could not help but laugh."

"I don't understand," Findekáno told her. "It was never this bad on the Ice, or just after our true marriage!"

"Were you really open with one another?" she asked him. "Did you give your bond time to grow, and settle in?"

"No," he admitted, looking down at the floor. "I shoved everything that I felt deep inside myself. And then I think something happened in Angamando, to Russ - to Maitimo. Because it was all in shreds when I found him again on the cliff, and it wasn't truly itself again until - well, until just now, honestly."

"I am unmarried and therefore am no true expert on marriage-bonds," his atarnésa said, "but I would guess that it has something to do with willingness to feel. Ósanwë is a tricky thing, and demands openness of heart and mind. I doubt a bond is much different."

"Hm," Findekáno said. He tried for a moment to separate himself out from his husband, and perhaps gain some measure of solitude again; it was a pointless quest, however, and left him only feeling dizzy. "That would make sense."

"What in Arda possessed you to get out of bed in the first place?" Lalwendë asked. "You cannot walk!"

"I had little choice!" Findekáno protested. "Endanáro will have my head if I miss yet another meal, and Russ - Maitimo cannot rise and serve himself."

"Do you or don't you have a valet?"

Findekáno froze mid-reply, and felt himself blush again. In all the excitement of Russandol's awakening, he had quite forgotten about poor Súlwë.

"I do," he said, wincing. "I very much do."

"Then go back to bed, and I will ask him to come to you," Lalwendë instructed firmly. "No, don't argue with me."

"But - !"

"No buts," Lalwendë said firmly. "None." She waved him off with the hand that still held a mug of tea. "Get out of my room and let me eat my scone in peace."

"This is your room?" Findekáno asked, glancing about to see how his atarnésa had decorated. It was simple, and mostly unadorned, but there were bunches of leaves arranged into bouquets on the windowsill and the dresser, and a few embroidered pieces of canvas hanging from the walls that he recognized as Itarillë's stitchwork exercises.

"Did you get permission to snoop?" Lalwendë asked in response, and made a dismissive motion punctuated by her tea. "No, you did not, and so I'm telling you again. Get out, and go lay down, and I will send Súlwë to you with something to eat."

"But what about - ?"

"For both of you."

Defeated, Findekáno nodded, and awkwardly maneuvered himself back to her door.

"I was doing quite well on my own, you know," he said, and Lalwendë chuckled. The sound was shrill, and sharp, and gave the impression that she had barely curtailed a peal of true laughter.

"You were walking upright," she said; when he looked over his shoulder at her, her eyes were bright and mirthful. "That does not mean you were doing well."

"Hush," Findekáno said. "I have to find a way to open your door with only two of my hands."

This only made her laugh harder, but he shook off her glee and fumbled with the latch until it opened up.

"I'll make your excuses to your father," she said. "Though Írissë may come see you later."

"The both of us?"

"I don't see why not. He's her cousin too."

Findekáno had to admit that she was right. And it is not as if she doesn't know…

"Tell her - well, tell everyone, actually - that I think Rus - Maitimo might be ready to actually greet everyone," he said. "He won't be getting out of bed, but he's lucid, and clear-headed, and it… I think it would be good."

"I will," Lalwendë replied as he opened the door. "I think I may come see the two of you sooner rather than later, actually."

"All right," he said, and made his way back into the hall.

Russandol was awake when Findekáno came back into the room, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He turned his head just enough to see his husband, and then returned to puzzling over the imperfections in the plaster.

"Súlwë is bringing breakfast for the both of us," Findekáno said, shutting the door again. Aegthel was still outside, at least for a while longer, and so he was less cautious than he might have been.

"Súlwë?" Russandol asked.

"Ah. Right. Do you remember Súliwendë?"

Russandol frowned, twisting his bandages up as his face moved and shutting his eyes, but at last he nodded. "The… the rope-maker? I think, at least."

"You are right," Findekáno said. "Well, it is Súlwë now - he changed his kilmessë and his hröa while I was away, and as we have no immediate need for rope-makers, he has become my valet, and taken over duties that otherwise I would be doing for myself."

"Such as?"

"Helping me to dress, while I am thusly encumbered," he answered, gesturing at his leg. "And fixing my hair, though I need to teach him what I like."

Russandol flinched, pain flaring up in his eyes for a moment.

Oh, Findekáno thought, wincing. He had been avoiding the memories of his husband's hands in his hair, of deft fingers twisting and braiding; suddenly he could think of nothing else, and he knew that Russandol was much the same.

"I'm sorry," he said, but it was too late, and they were both brimming with hurt and simmering anger.

"It's all right," Russandol muttered, but it wasn't, and they knew it.

"I hope Moringotto sits on one of those tacks your father used to use to pin up his blueprints," Findekáno muttered, clambering across the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. He propped his crutch up against the mattress and slid further back, nearer to Russandol.

"He only has a body when it is convenient for him," his husband muttered. "I doubt your curse will hit home."

"I can try, at least," Findekáno said, leaning back on the headboard of the bed. For perhaps half a minute, they were silent, and then Russandol spoke again.

"What are we going to do, Finno?"

"Do?" he asked. "About what?"

"About - about this," his husband said, lifting his right arm up to gesture at the both of them. "About us."

"Ah," Findekáno replied. "Well, I - I mean, I had assumed that we could speak to my father, sooner rather than later, and -"

"You told him?!" Russandol cried, pushing himself up on his elbows and staring up at the other nér, horrified.

"No!" Findekáno answered, and then raised one hand to signal for quiet. "And these walls are quite thin, and I can't speak to the discretion of every guard in this house. We need to be calm."

"Calm," Russandol scoffed, but he nodded, and when he continued, his voice was low. "I - no. No. We cannot tell him. We cannot tell a soul."

It is rather late for that, Findekáno thought, but said nothing, and then realized frantically that Russandol would be able to hear that. He seized at his words, and shoved them down deep into himself, and hoped it was good enough. His husband did not seem to respond; he guessed he had succeeded.

"Why not?" he asked. "What - what is so very dangerous about this?"

The other nér looked up at him with an expression that indicated he thought his husband was quite an idiot.

"My father stranded your whole host on the western shores," he said. "I tried to stop him, and I stood aside when they all set to burning the ships, but it happened. Do you really think our people will be so forgiving as to say we can marry with no trouble?"

"But - but surely, if your father had known, he wouldn't have - !"

"He did know," Russandol said, and his voice was heavy with anger and grief, and Findekáno froze. "I - I did not tell him, but when I tried to turn his thought back from his fears of treachery, he called me a traitor, and accused me of sleeping with our enemies, and set fire to the damned things anyway."

"I… what?!"

"I don't know how he guessed it," his husband said. "But he knew. And he looked as though he wished to run me through with his sword. He - he was well and truly mad, before the end. He would have turned on any of us, for anything." Russandol took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking. "He let Pityo burn, and forbade us to rescue him, and said he would slay anyone who tried, for it was a treasonous act."

"Treasonous, to save an innocent life?"

"He assumed rightly that my brother wished to go home, and he guessed that some of us might have taken a ship back to return him to plead for mercy."

Findekáno was aghast. "I - I knew Ambarto had died, but I thought - !"

"You thought it was a dreadful accident? So do most of my people." Russandol's eyes were grim, and dulled by fury; he looked impossibly weary, as if this conversation was stretching him thin to the breaking point. "But you see now why we must keep this a secret. It may not be only us who suffer if it becomes public knowledge."

"My father is not your father," Findekáno said, but even as he answered, a cold dread was rising up in his heart. He remembered Súlwë waking him after the feast, and the plot against Russandol, and his dismay and fear at the thought of such resentment festering in the hearts of his own people, and his father's insistence that they ought to have peace. I cannot guarantee his safety, he realized, not bothering to stifle the thought. Not yet.

And so you understand, Russandol told him in the same fashion. His left hand seized Findekáno's, pale and dark skin intermingling. We must be careful. For now, and possibly for forever.

I understand, Findekáno answered, though he found himself dizzy with shock and fear, and then started back against the bed as Russandol sagged down against him.

I am spent, his husband said silently. I think all my strength went into recounting that dreadful night.

Then rest, Findekáno said. When Súlwë arrives, I will wake you.

Thank you, Russandol said, and went to sleep.

When Súlwë arrived, Russandol was still dozing. He had not dragged his husband after him into darkness this time, and so Findekáno was able to sit up and arrange himself into some semblance of normalcy when the knock at the door came.

"Come in," he called, settling Russandol beside him.

"I brought some help," Súlwë answered as the door opened. He was bearing a heavily-laden tray in his free hand, and beside him was Itarillë, who carried a large and steaming mug in both her hands and had a determined expression on her face.

"Hello!" Findekáno told her, smiling.

She frowned up at him. "Why are you in the same bed as he is?" she asked, looking up from her burden for long enough to decide her atarháno confused her.

"Because he is cold," Findekáno laughed, "and I am warm, and can keep him from shivering. And because he sometimes doesn't know where he is when he wakes, but he recognizes me."

"Hm," Itarillë said. "I brought him lunch."

"Lunch?" Findekáno asked, glancing at Súlwë. "What about breakfast?"

"It is too late to be truly called breakfast," his valet said, and then laughed. "It's also too early for lunch."

"But it's nearly lunch," Itarillë said, and then leaned up onto her toes to try and look at Russandol. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes," Findekáno said.

"No," Russandol groaned, shifting and opening his eyes. "Let me guess. It is time for more broth."

Itarillë started back, and then had to make a lot of awkward movements with her arms to keep from spilling broth everywhere. Súlwë winced as well, and Findekáno realized that his husband's voice was harsh and grating, far from the fair lunguomëa it had once been. Russandol realized it too, and they were both blushing; he looked down at the blankets and composed himself quickly.

"Yes," said Findekáno, as if everything were perfectly normal and it were any other morning in his memory. "Can you sit up?"

"I can," Russandol told him, using his elbows to position himself both against the headboard and against his husband. Findekáno was acutely aware of each awkward, jerky movement; he could feel Súlwë and Itarillë watching in uneasy silence. What are you staring at? he thought venomously, doing his best to keep his sudden anger from the nér at the other end of his bond. He has been imprisoned, he is not some kind of comic entertainment!

It's all right, Russandol answered him, meeting his sharp-edged anger with warmth. I have been maimed, and tortured, and it is something they have never seen before. They are not mocking me, or jeering, or watching for weakness, and I will not have to decide if either of them live or die based upon how well I sit up. Let them stare. I truly am not bothered by it.

But I am, Findekáno shot back, keeping his eyes downcast to prevent either his friend or his hánoanel from noticing the fury in his expression. They ought to treat you like they would anyone else!

And they will, I think - I hope, anyway, Russandol answered, at last resting against his side and shoulder. He was trembling, and clearly still exhausted. You must give them time to get used to me. Now. Feed me, and then I will go back to sleep. This is enough, for today.

Findekáno didn't know what his husband meant by "enough", but he nodded, and when he looked back at the other two eldar his face was far calmer.

"If you could put my own food on the end table," he said, "and hand me the broth, that would be lovely."

"Why are you getting the broth?" Itarillë asked, but she gave it to him anyway as Súlwë obeyed his lord's order.

"Because," Findekáno said, "Maitimo cannot feed himself yet. I must help him."

"Oh," the wendë answered, though he could tell she did not truly understand. "Will you be at dinner?"

"I will see what happens," he told her. "I should like to eat dinner with you, but it will depend upon how I am feeling, and how Maitimo is feeling."

"Can't someone else take care of him?" she asked, and Findekáno could barely stop the blazing protective No! that roared up out into his throat. Too much has happened to him, too much might happen to him, no, no, I cannot, I will not - !

"Atarháno?" Itarillë said. He realized he had been staring very intently at her while his right hand found Russandol's left and gripped it tight.

"No one else can," he said, forcing his breathing to slow. "We… we all have our duties to attend to, and this is mine."

"Oh," she said again, stepping back a little from the bed. I hope I didn't frighten her too badly, Findekáno thought, and he tried to smile weakly and feared it looked ridiculous.

"I will see you later," he said. "All of you. And it will not be very long, I promise."

"It had better not be long," Itarillë informed him. "I miss you, and we have to go looking for flowers for the house soon!"

"Oh, we do?" he asked, and realized with a pang of guilt that he would have to bow out of the same outing they had taken last year to decorate their home. Russandol needs me; I cannot spare a minute for anything else.

"We do," she said. "No one else has as good of an eye for colors as you."

"That's a high compliment indeed, considering who I am living with," he said. "We will talk about it later, though." And I will explain to you that I cannot, and beg Írissë to go in my stead, and probably hurt your feelings quite deeply, but it cannot be helped.

To her credit, Itarillë did not look convinced, but it was clear that now was not the time to press the issue, and so she sighed and stepped back from the bed.

"You have scones, and tea, and a slice of egg pie," Súlwë informed him. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No," Findekáno said, and this time his smile was genuine. "Thank you. You've been wonderful."

"I've done very little, haryon-nînya," Súlwë replied as Itarillë giggled.

"All he did was bring breakfast!" she said.

"Oh, so now it is breakfast? What happened to lunch?" Findekáno teased, and she laughed louder.

"You know what I mean," she told him, and he felt himself grin.

"I do. Now, I have to feed my poor invalid cousin," he said. "And I don't need an audience for that."

Súlwë bowed at the waist, bringing his right arm across his chest.

"That would be my cue to leave," he said, looking down at Itarillë. "I will escort aranel-nînya back to her father, and then I have some business to finish up with regard to your wardrobe."

"My wardrobe?" Findekáno asked, as Itarillë giggled over being referred to so formally.

"I'm going to undo the seams on your trousers, and then fix their hems so the edges aren't raw," Súlwë explained. "On the left legs, I mean. So that you have things to wear, until your ankle is healed."

Findekáno almost scoffed. "I hardly think that's necessary," he said.

"It will be, if you don't listen to Endanáro and you keep walking on your ankle when you ought to be in bed," his valet said, and there was an air of sardonic criticism in his voice.

"Oh, hush," Findekáno retorted, and Itarillë giggled even more when Súlwë raised an eyebrow in an almost perfect imitation of Nolofinwë when he was feeling smug.

"Can we have this conversation elsewhere, so that I might sleep?" Russandol murmured. Fatigue had made his voice even more harsh, and Itarillë jumped again despite herself.

"Yes," Findekáno said. "They are leaving, and then I will feed you, and you can go back to bed, and I will find my valet and have this conversation with him at a significantly better time."

"Of course, haryon-nînya," Súlwë said, still smiling. He offered Itarillë his hand; she took it, and they made their way to the door.

When at last Findekáno and Russandol were alone again, the former let out a deep sigh.

"That went well," he said.

"I suppose," Russandol said. "Can I eat, so I can go back to sleep?"

"Of course," Findekáno said. "Sit up for me?"

His husband obeyed, and then it was simple to lift the mug to his lips, and help him take a few small sips of the cooling broth.

"You can swallow well enough, can't you?" Findekáno asked, and when Russandol nodded he pressed a kiss to his husband's forehead.

"Good," he said. "I… I'd like this to be easy for you, and not miserable."

It isn't ever miserable, Russandol told him, and the sudden relieved warmth that poured into his head brought tears to his eyes. Not with you here.

"I… I'm so glad," Findekáno murmured, and kissed his forehead again.

The rest of the broth was relatively quick to be consumed, and then Findekáno sat back and ate his own meal and found himself talking at his husband about more or less anything that popped into his mind. Russandol shut his eyes and listened but did not join in the conversation, leaning on his side once more and clinging to his right arm. By the time he had finished the dregs of his tea, he found himself rousing the other nér yet again, helping him to sit up so that he could use a bedpan and then settling him back under the blankets when that was over. He'd needed to stand up for this, and he was relieved to find that the floor was a little more steady under his feet.

"Will you be all right if I go see Súlwë about my trousers?" he asked, and Russandol shrugged sleepily.

"So long as you come back," he said. "I sleep better when you're here."

Findekáno smiled, and then bent down and kissed his husband's forehead a third time. Both his hands found Russandol's, and he smiled as best he could despite the ocean of warmth that threatened to drown him.

"I won't leave you for long," he promised. "You can kick me out of bed if I do."

"I will certainly take you up on that offer," his husband answered, and then sighed. "But first, sleep. I'm exhausted."

"I'll be back," Findekáno said again, and then limped around the bed to pick up his crutch again. There was no answer, and he slipped out of the room as quietly as he could and shut the door behind him.

Aegthel was gone; in his place was a guard whose name Findekáno did not recall. "I will be back soon, I hope," he said. "Please come find me if he wakes."

"I will," the nís told him, and bowed slightly at the waist as he hobbled down the hall a second time. He still felt like a drunken Teler, but he had to admit that if he focused hard enough, he could make his steps approximate their normal size, and he could minimize the lurching from side to side that had characterized his earliest attempts at walking. He hoped that he was not as obvious now as he had been that morning, for this guard was one who he did not know, but he decided to blame it all upon a particularly bad day for his ankle if he was asked.

Thankfully, his room was the opposite direction from the rest of the house, very near to the end of the wing, and when he reached it, he felt nearly normal again. The door was open, and Súlwë was seated on his bed, examining the pair of leather trousers that had been Russandol's and that he had so grievously mistreated on his journey north.

"These are much too big for you," his valet said as he walked through the door. "Where did you get them?"

"I inherited them," Findekáno said. "I wore them on the Ice."

"Do you want me to hem them properly, and take them to fit you?" Súlwë asked. "As it is, they will fall off of you, and trail behind you on the floor when you walk."

"No!" Findekáno said, and then winced at how forcefully he had spoken. The other nér raised an eyebrow at him, this time curious rather than gently condescending.

"No," he repeated. "I - they have - they're very sentimental to me."

"Sentimental enough that you would willingly trip over them?"

He sighed, and his face turned to a pained expression. "I… yes?"

"Are you asking me if that is the case, haryon-nînya?"

"I don't know," Findekáno groaned, walking over to the bed and sitting down out of reach of the piles of clothes. "I just don't want them altered, all right?"

Súlwë glanced at them for a while longer, and then nodded. "They're his, aren't they? Condo-nînya Nelyafinwë's."

"... perhaps," he said, and winced, waiting for the inevitable question. But Súlwë only nodded again, and folded them up and handed them to him.

"Then they won't be changed," he said, utterly serious. "I can see they mean quite a lot to you."

"They do," Findekáno said gratefully. "I… thank you."

The two of them stayed that way for some time, sitting side by side in companionable silence, as the Sun began to sink lower in the sky. For once, Findekáno found he could breathe easily.

I have allies, he thought, still holding fast to Russandol's trousers. I… I have friends, even.

Perhaps this will all work out in the end.