"Do you need anything?"

The voice was anchoring, firm, unmoving, calm. Maitimo shuddered, taking a breath and feeling every rib in his chest groan in protest as it shifted. He did not know how long he had wept for, and more to the point, it had made him feel worse rather than better. I'm safe, he tried to tell himself, and failed, and the fear that had been building vanished in a fog of frightened determination. I'm safe, this is safe -

I have no way of knowing that, do I?

The question went unanswered as what was left of his terror folded itself down into some deep place within him, and vigilance took its place. He could feel the instant the last of his uncertainty had faded - the whole of his attention was on his senses, on what he could feel, and hear, and smell. Linen, he thought, tensing the fingers of his left hand against the bedclothes. Lavender, from the washing. Straw and feathers. Some sort of flowers on the air, and the breeze off the lake. And Nolofinwë at the end of the bed - his breathing, and the way the bed creaks under him when he moves. No glass in the window - I could roll onto my feet and dive out of it if I had to. He's between me and the door. The bandages will give if I move quickly enough.

That's my plan, then.

"Nelyafinwë?" his atarháno asked, and instantly he was focused on that voice. He opened his eyes; he was lying on his right side, with his left arm draped over his chest, and when he shifted the blankets he could see the other nér sitting up again and looking at him. Somehow he had twisted away from the hand on his shoulder. "Maitimo?"

Both names left his mouth tasting of ash and rot, but that could not be helped.

"What?" he asked.

"I asked if you needed anything."

"I - no," he answered, suddenly embarrassed. There was a blush creeping down to his neck and shoulders. "No, thank you, I'm alright."

Nolofinwë gave him an unconvinced look; he winced.

"Nearly alright," he amended, hesitant, almost asking the other nér if it was true. This only made his atarháno's eyebrow raise even higher.

"I don't know how I am," Maitimo admitted with a groan, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling again. "So don't ask me."

"I think you're frightened," Nolofinwë replied calmly, looking at him, "and uncertain, and worried, and bored."

"I'm not - !"

"You've been in the same room for several weeks. How can you not be bored?"

When you spend most days only half-sure that you're not seeing things, nothing is ever boring, Maitimo shot back silently, hoping that his atarháno couldn't hear him.

"What I want is to be left alone," he answered aloud. "Truly. Really. I - I mean it." I want to be alone, and I want Findekáno beside me, and that is all. This was a contradiction, and he knew it, and yet both things at once were true.

"Mm," Nolofinwë said, noncommittal and yet uncannily aware. "I will leave you be, then. Aegthel is on guard outside; if you need anything, then - "

"Guard?" Maitimo asked sharply, pushing himself upright onto his elbows and testing the muscles in his legs. "I'm guarded?"

"Yes."

So it is false, then, he thought, forcing the ice-cold terror that shot up through his limbs into something resembling resolve. All of this, every bit of it, how could I be so foolish, how could I be so thoughtless - !

"You're a prince of the royal house, in an encampment with several people who your family badly inconvenienced," Nolofinwë - or the thing in his shape - said. "I thought it best to keep out anyone who might do you harm."

"Hah," Maitimo said. It was a mirthless laugh, sharp and bitter, betraying none of the turmoil within. I can't run with my leg like this. And where would I run to? This is an illusion, the whole of it, and any step outside this room might be into a pit, or off a precipice, or -

All at once, everything stopped, save for his breathing. There was warmth in his mind, gentle and soothing and real, silver and blue burning through the misery and the fog and the fragments of thought, and it wound itself about his terror until he could not tell where it ended and he began.

Findekáno, he realized, joy and relief mingling and rising to meet the anchor that tethered him to certainty. Is - he must be thinking of me?

There was no answer - his husband was probably too far for ósanwë - but there was a shift in their bond, and something surged through it that felt very much like love.

Real, Maitimo thought. This is real.

He sagged into the mattress again, shivering, and then remembered that Nolofinwë was there, and blushed even more deeply.

"I - I am very nearly always like this, now," he said. It was a sad, futile, insufficient explanation, but it was all he could offer.

"And you think I'm upset by that?" his atarháno asked him.

"Oh," Maitimo said, blinking several times and puzzling over the question. "I don't know."

"I'm not," Nolofinwë said. "At all."

"You - why?" Distrust still buzzed at the edges of his mind, and this was an unexpected twist in the conversation.

"You've been through a miserable, horrible thing, that none of us here can truly understand," the other nér explained. "Of course you're changed by it. I am changed by what has been lost, and what has been suffered. The same is true for you."

"You make it sound awfully straightforward," Maitimo murmured, musing over an imperfection in the plaster directly over his head.

"It seems more or less obvious to me."

Well, you have not been to Angamando, Maitimo thought, and then wondered why he was annoyed. He was silent for perhaps half a minute, and then Nolofinwë sighed and straightened up.

"If you truly would rather be alone," he said, "I will leave you to it, but I can't promise you solitude for the whole day."

"And why not?"

"Because," his atarháno said, "my son made Findaráto promise to look in on you."

"Findaráto? He's here?"

"Along with all his siblings, and his hánoyon."

"Oh," Maitimo said, almost laughing. "Are all five of them going to look in on me, then?"

"I couldn't say, but I wouldn't be surprised."

Damn, Maitimo thought, and felt his lips twist up into a self-deprecating half-smile. I am not looking forward to this.

"I promise to behave," he said, sarcasm edging his words. "Or at least I will try."

Nolofinwë got up from the bed, his book in his hand again, and crossed the distance to the door. He pushed the latch down, and pulled the door open, and paused, looking back at where Maitimo lay.

"We know you didn't burn the ships," he said, and then turned and stepped into the hall as his hánoyon started up onto his elbows yet again, mouth falling open in shock.

"Wait - !" Maitimo began, but the door closed before he could say more. He was left alone, as he had asked, only not as he had anticipated.

They… they know?! But - I - well, I suppose that explains why I have not been interrogated about it, only - how? Findekáno - did I tell him? Could I have? I don't - those first days are -

- how?!

Maitimo groaned, and curled up onto his side again. If I am going to have to put up with my perfect cousins, I might as well sleep first. I will need it to face their insufferable arrogance.

For all his worry, Findekáno found he couldn't help himself. He was having an absolutely lovely day. The Sun was bright, and shining, and there was a warm breeze blowing out of the West and pushing the clouds across the sky, and he and Itarillë had made their way up into the low rolling hills between the eastern edge of their encampment and the forest. There had not been much luck in gathering true wildflowers, but ránelet and campilossë and hímanehtë covered the ground in between the grass, and his hánoanel had braided their small blossoms and stems into crowns for the two of them. Their baskets were full of leaves and roots, to be taken back and dried for tea.

Russo would love it out here, he thought, turning his mind back toward the camp, and feeling echoes of his husband through their bond. He let himself cling to them, threading himself through them, hoping he was felt in return. I will bring him, as soon as I can. It's almost like home, when it is this bright and gold. And with the hills running down to the lake -

He stopped himself; he could feel the tears coming, and he didn't want to cry in front of Itarillë. Each time he blinked he was suddenly back in Valannor, in the Treelight, looking down at the small lake that he and Russandol had discovered on one of their many rides outside the confines of Tirion and its politics.

That was long ago, he tried to tell himself, and sighed. This is now. And now, I have my hánoanel with me, and not my husband, and I must be happy for her.

"Findekáno!" Itarillë called from somewhere behind him, as if in answer to his thoughts. He smiled in spite of his grief and turned to see her, crouched on her knees and staring at something in a dip in the earth. When he was standing over her, he could see that it was a small purple flower of a type he'd never seen before.

"That's new," he said, bending down to better examine it. "It's lovely, too."

"Do you think we could use it?" Itarillë asked him. "For dyes, and other things."

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" he answered. "Are there any more? I don't want to pick it if we'll kill the only one."

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "I'll get up and look."

"Good," Findekáno said. Itarillë scrambled to her feet and went up onto the hill behind them, and he bent even closer to the dirt to examine the little plant. We need dye, he thought, from somewhere, even if it's not from this - it's worth a try, at least.

"There's more!" his hánoanel cried from the other side of the hill, her voice carried away by the wind. "Lots more, going back into the woods!"

"We'll need a lot to try for dyeing anything!" Findekáno called back. "I'll leave this one and come help you gather them!"

He got to his feet, surprised at how easy it was in the unusual Telerin shoes, and went after Itarillë. As he crested the hill, he could see that she was right - the grass was dotted with the same blossoms, and they grew closer and closer until they almost carpeted the ground. His hánoanel was on her knees in their midst, carefully picking each one and placing it in her basket, and he joined her eagerly. Together, they made their way through the grass, and before they knew it, they were in the shadow of the woods.

"There probably won't be any flowers further in," he said, remembering the undergrowth that he had come to know so well during his stay under the hawthorn. "And our baskets are full. If you want to gather more, we'll have to go back and give over what we've picked."

"Let's go on into the woods," Itarillë answered earnestly. "Please? If we go back home, Atya will think of a reason to keep me there, and I… I don't really…"

Her voice trailed off, and she turned her gaze down at her lap and the pile of purple blossoms gathered up in her skirts. Findekáno knew she was right. Turvo, as soon as he saw she was returned to him, would not let her go again for another fortnight at least. And I was just mourning the fact that she didn't have any friends her own age. It's not fair to her to demand that she give up an afternoon of freedom just because I'm worried about my husband.

And besides, I've been in these woods, and the most dangerous thing in them is my cousin.

"I like that idea," he told her, and smiled, feeling his gifted flower crown shift on his head. "It's not near to sundown yet. I think we can stay out a while longer, if we're careful not to lose our baskets and we keep watch on the time."

Itarillë grinned back at him, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to shout for joy. When I was her age, and I was done with lessons, my mother turned me out of doors to do as I please, unless I had chores or I needed to watch the others. What sort of a girlhood is she turning out to have? All lonely afternoons and embroidery practice. He watched her practically leap to her feet after putting as much of her skirt's contents into her basket as she could, and resolved to have a talk with his father that evening.

Turukáno has every right to raise her as he sees fit, but this can't be healthy. We'll stay out as late as we can, and I'll take the blame if he's angry, and I'll make sure she has another day like this very, very soon.

His hánoanel was in the forest proper now, darting in between the trees and climbing on fallen logs. He stood up himself, and tucked his basket under one arm, and followed after her.

I'm glad I did this, he realized. I needed to have more in my life than endless fretting over my husband's pain and misery. And indeed, for once, as he entered into the shadow of the trees, Russandol was nowhere in his thoughts.

Maitimo had been expecting the knock on the door, but its sharp unnatural sound still made him flinch. Súlwë, the few times that he had visited, always knocked softly, and Findekáno did not bother to knock at all, so he was left nervous and trembling at a perfectly normal thing for what felt like the thousandth time. Still, he managed to compose himself and scrub the fear from his expression, or so he hoped. He had still not seen his face in a mirror, even now that the bandages had been taken from it almost entirely, and while he could feel it sitting differently over healed bones and renewed muscle, he had no idea what that difference looked like, or how good his control had become.

The door did not open; he sighed and called "Come in," wincing yet again at how harsh his voice had become. It will be a miracle if they know it is me, he thought, but he knew Findekáno would sigh at him if such thoughts were known beyond the confines of his own head.

This time, the door did open, and Findaráto was behind it; he was wearing a pale green tunic that contrasted against his hair, and his blue eyes were soft and concerned.

"Nelyafinwë?" he asked, peering around the edge of the door. "We came to - to see you…"

His voice trailed off, and his already pale face grew paler. Maitimo could tell that he was making a valiant effort not to look as if he'd seen anything unusual, though it wasn't a successful attempt.

"Come in, then, if you're here to see me," he said, and sat up and leaned back against the headboard of his bed. The bedclothes were gathered up to his hips, shielding the fact that he was clad only in one of Arakáno's old shirts and several yards of bandages; he was suddenly, sharply, intensely self-conscious as his four cousins filed in. Súlwë and Itarillë and his husband had all dressed simply when he'd seen them, and Nolofinwë was dignified but subdued in his plain robes, but the Arafinwëans seemed to actively be making an effort to look good, and that unnerved him.

What he had thought was Findaráto's pale green tunic was actually a long robe, folded and hitched up on itself to create the illusion of many layers of fabric between the world and his pale white undershirt, and it hung down in uneven cascades over his equally pale leggings. A brown belt studded with brass embellishments held it close about his waist, and there was a silver ring on the third finger of his right hand in addition to the gold band he already bore there in memory of his betrothed. Angaráto and Aikanáro were just as quietly ostentatious, wearing silver and sky-blue tunics cut in a matching but unfamiliar style that hung down to mid-thigh in front but had high cuts on the sides arching up to their hips and well-tailored cloth trousers underneath; they bore no jewelry, but Maitimo was certain the embroidery at the cuffs of their sleeves was real gold. Artanís was the last to enter, shutting the door behind her; she wore a thin, astonishingly white gown that clung to every one of her curves and trailed behind her as she walked. He supposed that she was quite an attractive nís, all things considered, and she was definitely making an effort to show it - the neckline plunged low enough to be truly scandalous by Tirion standards, and the fabric was cut so closely that it almost seemed to be painted onto her. Together, the four of them were almost intimidating - their raiment was quite plain compared to what he was used to seeing, and yet compared to the rough simplicity of Findekáno and his family, the contrast was stark.

He shrugged, and glanced at Findaráto again. For his part, Findaráto shrugged in return, and he and his siblings circled the bed, leaning on walls and windowsills and the corners of the mattress. No one spoke, instead glancing back and forth at one another. Maitimo was reminded that these were the family members he knew the least well - he had met all of them at one point or another in Valannor, but never spoken to them privately.

"You look well," Findaráto said, trying to be chipper. To his credit, he seemed genuinely glad to see his cousin.

"Hah," Maitimo answered, and then grimaced when Angaráto winced at the sound of his voice. "You look better."

"The clothes?" Findaráto asked, and laughed a little nervously. "They're gifts, from the king of the Sindar. He is kin to our grandfather Olwë, and when he heard we were here, he sent us a formal invitation to come to his court."

"We needed an excuse to wear them," Angaráto added, "and to see if anything fit properly, but all of it did. It's eerie, he's never seen us."

"I've heard rumors about their queen," Aikanáro said. "She's apparently some sort of witch."

"I heard she was a Maia," Artanís interjected. She was leaning on the windowsill, her white gown pooling around her while her hair hung loosely down her back. "Wedded to Elwë, and living with him as his wife."

Maitimo shuddered, clinging to the bed and willing himself not to retch violently. The urge passed in a moment, but he was left feeling as if he'd been struck.

"Are you all right?" Findaráto asked.

No, he thought, wanting to glare at his cousin, obviously not, but instead he only said "Yes."

The room fell silent again, eyes turning to the floor, or to the other eldar; Maitimo looked down at the bedclothes covering his legs. Aikanáro cleared his throat awkwardly.

"The weather is - " he began, only for Maitimo to interrupt.

"Am I hideous?" he asked, before he could stop himself. As soon as the words had left his lips, he groaned; he had not meant for the question to come out at all, but now it was too late.

"You're - !" Aikanáro began, only for Findaráto to interrupt yet again.

"Nobody answer that."

"And why not?" Artanís asked. "We aren't going to lie to him."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"We don't hate you," Angaráto supplied, and his older brother groaned and sank his face into one hand.

"Thank you, Angamaitë."

"What?" the broad-shouldered nér asked. "What did I do?"

"I wasn't going to bring up the question of whether or not we hated him, for one thing."

"Well, we don't," Artanís said, "so why dither about rather than striking right to the point?"

"Because politeness dictates - !"

"Hang politeness," Aikanáro said, shoving his way into the conversation. He looked at Maitimo, who dodged his gaze and instead watched his hands. "You're not hideous. You've got healing cuts all over your face, and a few bandages. I don't know what you look like."

"That makes me feel better," Maitimo answered sardonically.

"Look at it this way," Angaráto interjected, trying his best to sound friendly and gentle and instead sounding uncomfortably paternal. "At least we're not trying to flatter you."

"You'd gain nothing by flattering me," Maitimo pointed out.

"We wouldn't gain anything by lying to you, either," Findaráto said. He had evidently given up trying to corral his siblings. "So you can at least trust us to be honest."

"That requires trusting you at all," Maitimo answered, "and you'll forgive me if I'm slow to do that."

"Hm," Artanís said. "What exactly have we done to you, that you would react thusly?"

"Well," Maitimo told her, his gaze skirting over the white fabric of her gown, "you've crowded into my room, and you're staring at me like I'm some kind of fascinating oddity, and you're trying to make conversation as if everything is completely normal and we are sitting in some courtyard in the Treelight in Tirion."

"Of course we're acting as if everything is completely normal," she answered. "We aren't in Tirion any longer, but that's no excuse for us to completely abandon ourselves. We are still Noldor, after all." She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her chin up proudly.

Ah, Maitimo thought, sighing and trying not to roll his eyes. So that's how it is.

"We are still Noldor, but more to the point, I at least am not trying to stare at you," Findaráto said. He looked decidedly out of place amid the others, and Maitimo felt a sharp pang of sympathy for him. It is no small feat to get your siblings to behave, he mused, and suddenly all his will was bent on not thinking of what his own brothers would be doing across the lake. What were we talking about? Oh. Right. Whether or not I am ugly.

"Findekáno insists I look the same as I ever did, I think," he said aloud, "but I can feel my face twisting up in ways it didn't before, and I've seen Súlwë and Itarillë flinch back from me."

"Súlwë?" Aikanáro asked.

"Findekáno's valet," Angaráto replied.

"Ah."

"You'd think he'd be more polite than that," Angaráto said, and then he and Aikanáro launched into a quiet debate over the qualifications of their cousin's latest servant while Maitimo wondered if it was possible to will himself to the Halls out of nothing but the desire to escape this room.

"Please," he said finally. "I - I know you all meant well, but… "

"We've taken up enough of your time," Findaráto said, shooting Maitimo what was probably meant to be a meaningful glance. "All right, you lot, clear out."

"Fine," Aikanáro said, shrugging and making his way toward the door. "It's good to see you, Nelyafinwë."

"It's good to see you as well," Maitimo said, and he wondered if he meant it.

"I hope you continue to recover," Angaráto told him, following after his brother.

"So do we all," Findaráto said, inclining his head toward the door and the hall. Artanís slid off the windowsill, landing easily on her feet, and soon she and her eldest brother were the only visitors left in the room. She turned back to look at Maitimo, one hand holding the door open, and her eyes were sharp and observant and left him scrambling to find something to stare at. He settled on her fingers as she spoke.

"You're less ugly than you think you are," she said, "and uglier than you were before." With that, she was gone, almost sliding into the hall and letting the door shut behind her.

Findaráto sighed, almost crumpling in on himself. "May I stay here a while?" he asked.

"What?" Maitimo asked in return. "I - oh. I suppose so." That's not what I'd intended, but I can't exactly stop you, can I?

"Thank you," his cousin said, and sank down onto the bed with a groan, falling back and staring up at the ceiling. He sighed again, expelling every last bit of air from his lungs.

"So that was a disaster," he said at last, and there was a hint of repressed laughter in his voice.

"It went well enough," Maitimo answered. "At least, if it were my brothers, I would consider that a success." He wasn't sure why he was more at ease with Findaráto now than he had been ten minutes ago, though he supposed witnessing his cousin's embarrassment at his siblings' conduct was probably reason enough.

"Oh?" Findaráto asked. "Why's that?"

"No arguments," Maitimo said, "and no one was threatened with a stabbing, and I didn't have to shut down five versions of the same argument between Tyelko and Curvo."

"I really don't know your family very well," his cousin said, "and it's comments like that one that make me think it's probably a good thing."

"We have our moments," Maitimo agreed. "But it's not all misery and sniping back and forth."

"Honestly?" Findaráto said, sitting up and looking at the other nér, "I just wanted a little space from them. That's why I stayed behind."

"Space?"

"We're - you wouldn't know this, of course - we're essentially inseparable," he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "It's just the five of us - me, and my brothers, and Artanís, and Artaresto - and we're more or less alone, all the time."

"How can you be alone, with all these people around you?" Maitimo asked, though as he spoke he realized the same was true of him.

"We don't really talk to anyone except our cousins," Findaráto said, "and even they are - well, not us."

"Now that I understand too well," Maitimo admitted, watching as the other nér fiddled with his tunic and adjusted it. "My own family is much the same."

"I know," Findaráto told him. "Perhaps we aren't so different after all."

The thought was an unexpected source of comfort for Maitimo, who found himself completely unsure of what to do with the sudden bloom of warmth in his chest.

"Perhaps we aren't," he agreed, gazing down at his left hand as Findaráto got back to his feet and stretched.

"I should be getting back," his cousin sighed. "But - but this was nice. Thank you."

"I suppose it was nice," Maitimo said, feeling what might have been a smile tug at his lips. He looked up from his lap as Findaráto moved around the bed, and opened the door, and then turned back to look at him in a perfect mirror of his youngest sister.

"I ought to get to know you better, Nelyafinwë," he said. "You're a decent sort of elda."

Before Maitimo could answer, he was gone, and the latch on the door clicked shut behind him, leaving only silence in his wake.

Findekáno had no real notion of how long he and Itarillë had wandered through the woods. They had followed the trail of blossoms until they could fit no more into their baskets, and then his hánoanel had caught sight of a bird with fine plumage that led them on a merry chase deeper into the trees, and then they had found a little stream with a pool deep enough for wading in, and had set their flowers down for a while so they might refresh themselves in the cold water. Now, he sat on a log, listening to the birds sing and watching as Itarillë soaked herself and overturned rocks and watched the occasional fish go swimming past where she stood. The Sun was slowly sinking in the sky, turning the light that came down through the trees from pale white to gold, and it cast a warm glow over his hands when he stretched them out in front of him. It had been the nearest thing to a perfect afternoon that he'd experienced on these hither shores, and he was sorry to see it go.

"We should go back," he said aloud, and Itarillë groaned.

"Do we have to?"

"Yes," Findekáno said, "unless you want to explain to your father why you were out until midnight."

Itarillë made a face as she climbed up out of the pool. "No thank you," she said. "Let's go home."

"I'll be your eager escort, aranel-nînya," he told her, offering his free arm once he'd picked up his basket. His hánoanel giggled, much as she had when Súlwë had addressed her in a similar fashion, and took his arm as primly as she could.

"I depend upon you to guide me home," she told him, pitching her voice down to imitate Lalwendë and Írissë.

"You couldn't have picked a better elda to put your faith in," Findekáno said. "We'll be home by sundown. No one knows these trees like me - no one else was lost in them for so long."

He had meant to jest, and make Itarillë laugh, but he soon discovered that perhaps referring to himself as one who was long-lost was perhaps a poor choice. After only a few minutes, he realized two things: first, that he had no real familiarity with the part of the forest that they had wandered into, and second, that he had no idea how to get out.

I don't need to say anything yet, he thought, glancing around to see if something, anything, looked familiar. I just need to keep going, maybe follow the sunlight, and we'll stumble out into -

"You're lost, aren't you?" Itarillë asked him, shocking him into a stop in a dimly-lit clearing. The Sun had almost set completely, and the forest was growing darker by the moment.

"Muk," he swore quietly, and then realized that he'd done that in front of his brother's daughter. "I - ah - don't tell your father I said that in front of you."

"It's all right," she said, laughing a little but sobering quickly. "Are we going to find our way out?"

"Yes," he said, genuinely confident. "Worst comes to worst, I'll find a tree to climb, and I'll be able to see our way out, and we'll - !"

He was cut off abruptly by a low rumble of thunder, at once far-off and too close.

Itarillë pressed herself against his hip, clinging to her basket with her free arm, as he sighed.

"That storm Artanís predicted," he said, glancing overhead as the wind changed and the air turned cold. "It's come early."

"Are we going to die?" his hánoanel asked him. Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and by her own fear.

"No," Findekáno said, sliding away from her so he could kneel down and face her properly. "No." His hand went out to rest on her shoulder, and he looked her in the face, his eyes fixed on the bridge of her nose. "I promise you we aren't. I lived through storms that were ten times what this could be. We will live, Itarillë, and we will get home safe. I promise - I swear it, by all the stars."

We just have to find a place to spend the night, he thought, forcing a gentle but determined look onto his face, and in the morning, it will all be well.