Chapter XXIV

The noon was coming. The day was typical for Autumn, cloudy, yet fortunately dry, but no one really cared about the weather. When they were planning the ceremony, it was safer to assume it would be raining, A month earlier and they would have brought the tables outside, but now they had to empty one of the storage houses to have the feast indoors. Theoretically, they could have built a new pavilion, had it not been for the lack of space in the settlement and the lack of seasoned timber. The storage, freshly limed and decorated, would have to suffice.

Fingon and Finrod waited by the gates to greet the guests. Their cousins came with their banners and a small, but orderly escort. The star of the House of Feanor flew proudly above their heads. The incoming Noldor were dressed elegantly; many of them bore the star of Feanor on their tunics or cloaks, but none of them lacked sword, aside from Alcarino. Fingon raised his eyebrows at how ostensibly close the younger brothers kept to the eldest. Their gazes were proud and defiant, but their postures scram of distrust towards their family. The eldest son of Fingolfin glanced questioningly at Maedhros, but his friend acted as if he didn't notice it. He stopped briefly to greet his cousins, then followed them into the settlement, leaving his brothers no place for discussion.

They rode in silence up to the place where the main ceremony was about to begin. Maedhros dismounted graciously and briefly adjusted his cloak. Unlike his younger brothers, clad in dark blue, black and dark green, the eldest son of Feanor was wearing scarlet, accented with black and gold. He seemed to be burning and Fingon had to admit his cousins knew what they were doing, if the silence that met their appearance was any indicator.

The guests dismounted and there was little commotion concerning leading the horses away from the place. Fingolfin's elves took the mounts, regarding them with interest, especially those bred from Valinorean and Middle-Earth horses.

Maedhros made huge impression on everybody, decided Fingon as he glanced at his brother. He noticed his astonishment, as well as Maglor's proud gaze. So when in response Turgon left their father and sister and approached them, Fingon was mentally ready for the first disaster.

"Turukano," Maedhros greeted him pleasantly before anyone had a chance to say something.

"Nelyafinwe." For a moment Turgon stared at his older cousin, but then he smiled suddenly and bowed. "I am glad I was wrong." Although he spoke to Maedhros, he glanced at his younger brother.

Now it was Maglor's turn to be surprised, as he, like Fingon, expected a catastrophe. He composed himself quickly and the eldest son of Fingolfin sighed in relief as Turgon did not intend to make trouble from the very start. He smiled to himself; it was a strange experience to see someone towering over his younger brother again. If only Arakano was here as well...

His smile disappeared. For a moment Fingon saw only his fallen brother, the way he had seen him last; drowned in his own blood after his daring attack that bought them victory. Arakano should have been here today. Arakano, Ambarussa and all those who had not survived the way through Helcaraxe.

"Findekano?" Turgon's voice called him back and Fingon felt his cousins' intrigued glances. He shook his head and smiled.

"It gladdens our hearts, every victory over the Enemy who has taken our brother and so many others," he replied officially, but from the depth of his heart. Maedhros standing among them was a living proof that the spirit of Noldor could not be broken.

"We all miss someone," admitted Maedhros and he subconsciously glanced over his shoulder at Amras, who went to lead Rimpalote from the crowd. "And that is why we are here today; to face our enemy together." Fingon couldn't help the feeling that this last remark was meant as a reminder for the younger sons of Feanor.

"Together we stand a better chance," he admitted. Proud stares of his cousins was all the answer he got.

Finrod disappeared somewhere among the elves and next time Fingon noticed him he was standing beside his siblings. Amras came back and stood between Curufin and Maglor. Maedhros glanced back and, noticing that his escort had gathered again into an orderly squad, he spoke firmly.

"Go back to your father, Findekano."

The bustle quieted. Fingon and Turgon took their places at Fingolfin's side and for a moment the two groups stood facing each other. Two camps, divided by so many grudges; suspicions and rashness from one part, grief and resentment from the other. Colourful emblems flew above Fingolfin and his children and the children of Finarfin; they opposed the emblems with Feanorian star. 'No, not opposed,' Fingon corrected himself silently, angry at himself that he still subconsciously regarded it that way. Not opposed. They were one family and they remained so, just like there was one Enemy who still shadowed their hearts.

And in all of this, between the two branches of the House of Finwe, was Maedhros; one step away from uniting them again or causing a storm that would end in nothing but death. He stepped forward, stopped in front of his brothers, tall, upright, then he dropped on one knee and spoke, surprising many with the power of his voice.

"I, Nelyafinwe Maitimo, the eldest son of Curufinwe Fёanaro, in presence of all gathered today, hereby renounce the title of the High King of Noldor in favor of Nolofinwe Arakano, the eldest descendant of Finwe in Middle-Earth. I declare also that neither I, nor any of my brothers and their heirs would ever claim the title that was our birthright. I pledge my weapon and accept you as the High King." With those words, he drew the sword and gave it to his uncle. "May our swords turn together towards our common enemy, may your leadership bring us victory."

Fingon watched as his father bowed his head and took the weapon. Next moment Fingolfin grabbed Maedhros by the arms and helped him up; a gesture of acceptance, but also a practical one. Fingon was amazed how well his cousin was coping after the long journey, during his first public appearance after the long weeks of convalescence among his brothers and friends, in peace and quiet. Had he not visited and not known Maedhros's daily struggles, he would have been fooled today.

Fingolfin didn't speak long. As Maedhros hardly said anything, he spoke of reuniting the two houses that originated from one, and about seeing Feanor's deeds as amended. He also accepted the title of the High King of Noldor and fortunately he didn't dare to say that he would see Feanor's sons as his own, just like he unofficially regarded the children of Finarfin. No matter how this whole ceremony was humbling to the sons of Feanor, none of them would have suffered such concept, even the eldest.

"In the Light of the Trees we lived and dwelled until the Darkness tore us apart. But today is new day and the light coming from the Trees brightens our paths once again. We come from one House and we are one folk, so let us forget about feud and grudges, for our quarrels only please the Enemy. In the name of those who have fallen, we have a common enemy to fight. Let us feast tonight, bring back friendships long forgotten and unite families," finished Fingolfin.

The elves mingled. The escort of the sons of Feanor glanced around, looking for familiar faces. Fingon could see the similar interest among their elves and he hoped it was a good start. Many eyes fell on the eldest son of Feanor and followed his every move; many of them had seen Maedhros during Summer, and he had been close to living corpse then. Right now Maedhros was far from being dead and his scarlet silhouette was hard to miss.

Fingolfin led the guests to the building where the feast was prepared. Fingon saw Celegorm leaning over to Curufin to share a comment, but whatever they talked about, it remained between just the two of them.

The decorations inside were modest, as they had limited possibilities, but the storage was clean and the tables were set in squares on at the free space. The farthest away from the entrance was meant for their House, the representatives of the host of Fingolfin and the escort of the sons of Feanor were to be seated by the other tables. While the first one was carefully planned as to who would sit next to whom, the rest could sit how they pleased. Fingon watched closely if that would cause any troubles, but both groups were aware how important it was to renew the cooperation; those present here today had been chosen carefully.

Hot dishes were served as soon as they sat. Both guests and hosts reached eagerly for aromatic meat and fresh bread. The silence, at first thick and uncomfortable, was soon broken by the murmurs of conversations, at first quiet and careful, but also occasional bursts of laughter. Someone said something, someone responded with a witty remark and the stiff, official mood was broken.

Fingon observed his family and felt surreal seeing them all by one table. The last time they met like that... he realised he had no idea what was it they had celebrated with Finwe. But it had been so different then, he remembered a group of younger and older children, impatiently waiting when they would be allowed to go and play. He, along with Maedhros and Maglor, or Nerdanel and Indis would check later from time to time if the playing had not evolved into an argument. Paradoxically, he had the same feeling now, though there were only adults around him, aside from Idril at her father's side and young Celebrimbor.

He glanced at Maedhros, curious if he too had similar feelings, but his friend was engaged in a pleasant chat with Fingolfin. He did not touch his plate, though Maglor took care to offer him several dishes. The singer took part in that loose conversation, but just like Fingon, he watched their family. The eldest son of Fingolfin realised that this cousin shared his feelings; Maedhros behaved as if all the tension did not concern him, as if they had not been wondering a few days earlier what might go wrong.

To their right, Finrod was surprisingly silent, adding only a few words now and then. Apparently his attempt to hold a conversation with Caranthir must have failed.

The other corner of the table was definitely interesting and after the first glance Fingon silently congratulated Finrod his idea. Curufin and Galadriel took the seats on the corner, which provided excellent ground for conversation. The latter was sitting stiffly, proud and unreachable, but her eyes sent thunders to her brother and cousins responsible for the whole arrangement as she replied Curufin politely. Unlike her, their cousin seemed at ease and he bore ostensible mask as if he was the host here, but he did not forget his manners. As Fingon noticed with amusement, his son was staring dumbstruck at Galadriel, totally unaware of the silent duel.

The other visibly displeased person was Turgon, who despised the fact that Aredhel was chatting with Celegorm and allowed little Idril to join them. He didn't forbid his daughter to talk, though, knowing that otherwise she would soon be bored. Fingon decided they had made the right choice in that matter. Finrod's youngest siblings seemed to get on well with Amras, so there was no trouble so far.

Fingon turned his attention back to his father, intending to join the conversation which went to the dull and safe topic of the weather in Middle-Earth, at least in the grounds they inhabited. Fingolfin was just talking about the rain that bothered them last year much more than this year's Autumn. It was hard to find more general topic.

Or not.

"I don't know what the last Autumn looked like," said Maedhros indifferently, cutting something on his plate with a fork. "It was always cold and windy there, though the sun was shining. But what time of year it was..." he dropped the thought and calmly tried his meal.

Fingon could see that his father froze with his own fork half way to his mouth, when he realised what his nephew had said. Fingolfin had not had the opportunity to get used to Maedhros's remarks, thrown sometimes emotionlessly in least expected moments.

Maglor was the first one to react, glancing into his brother's goblet and refilling it with wine. Maedhros followed his hands with his gaze, but then he must have noticed the silence that fell after his words. He looked openly at his uncle, still quite shaken, and a mask of mocking smile appeared on his lips.

"But the weather our Enemy has does not interest us today," he commented freely, trying to break the heavy silence. "Not today. You were saying...?"

Fingon eagerly stepped in, giving his father a moment to recollect his thoughts. He mentioned the problems the lake had caused when the level of the water had risen, Maglor joined in and corrected him in something. Before they could notice, the incident was forgotten and the conversation went on smoothly.

xxx

The tables did not oblige anyone to sit stiffly. After the main court some of the elves spread. From the sons of Feanor Celegorm was most at ease and he never left Aredhel, who seemed equally pleased with his company. Curufin was more surprising, as he found himself a better companion after the painfully stiff dinner and as far as Fingon got it, they were discussing the solutions they had come up with in their forges in the still poor conditions they had in both camps.

Finrod went to the musicians and the music, up till now providing a quiet background, changed into louder, more livid one. First pairs started to leave the small groups to dance on the free floor; they could not have a feast without dancing. Celegorm and Aredhel were among those pairs, but they never ceased their vivid discussion, which made them look most amusing. Celebrimbor left his father's side and disappeared among the elves and when Fingon saw him again, he was trying to ask Galadriel for a dance, red up to his ears. His cousin declined and gracefully went away from the dancing floor, leaving the poor boy, who ran away and disappeared from Fingon's sight.

Maedhros was one of the few who remained seated; he probably didn't want to risk his strength to fail him at some point. For that reason Fingolfin didn't move as well to keep his nephew company. Many elves came to them to exchange a few words with their new king, so Fingon moved from his seat to make them some room; Maglor did not leave his brother's side and it didn't look like he was going to.

At some point Caranthir must have changed his mind, for he rose energetically and left the table. It seemed he would easily find someone to talk with about the trade, Turgon even made an effort to ask him about something, but his cousin dismissed him politely and went outside; it was plain he was looking for someone. He came back before Fingon finished the piece of cake he had on his plate. The flush on his cheeks had nothing to do with the wine he had already drunk; everybody watched themselves not to drink too much. Caranthir sat back down on his place, a few seats from his eldest brother, and refilled his goblet. But before Fingon had a chance to go and ask him what happened, Finrod called from the other side of the building.

"Would you not join us, Makalaure?"

Maglor seemed ill at ease, but his cousin left him no place for pretending he didn't hear. Fingon suspected he didn't want to leave Maedhros as he had not done earlier, even though most of the elves had already mingled. The eldest of the brothers solved the problem, turning to the singer.

"Don't make Findarato repeat himself, we all know you don't need to be asked twice to sing." Most of the gathered would see Maedhros's smile as free and playful.

At such an obvious suggestion Maglor returned the smile, bowed to Fingolfin and left to fetch his harp. From his seat next to Lalwende Fingon could see Maedhros exchanging some remarks with Fingolfin, probably using the rare moment when they were alone. His friend relaxed and seemed not to care about the fact that he had no brother at his side.

Finrod surprised them, starting to sing just as Maglor returned. With his clear voice he sang a song from Valinor, light and pure, full of goodness and light. The last one Fingon ever wished to hear again, the one reminding him of his helplessness and despair, as he had lost hope to find his friend in those mountains hidden in fumes, reminding of the terrible harm he had done to free him.

Fingon shook his head and glanced uneasily at his cousin. Maedhros froze and he seemed not to breathe. His eyes were closed and his left hand disappeared under the table. Fingolfin's eldest son glanced fervently at Maglor and caught his nervous look; they were both thinking hard how to interrupt Finrod without making fuss.

Before any of them did anything, Maedhros exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. He exchanged glances with Fingon and nodded slightly, as if to reassure him everything was alright. Then he turned to the singer with mild interest and asked Fingolfin to repeat his question.

Caranthir reacted as soon as Maglor sent him a silent warning from the other side of the room. He calmly refilled his goblet again and sat on the chair left free by the singer. Then he freely grabbed his brother's hand hidden under the table, surprising him completely.

"If you need anything, tell me and I will bring it discreetly from Alcarino," he offered quietly, feeling that his brother tried to draw back his hand.

Maedhros shook his head and after freeing his hand, he reluctantly placed it back on the table.

"I'm fine, Moryo, thank you."

Finrod finished the song and only now did he sense his cousins' tension, for his eyes were full of questions as he glanced from Fingon to Maedhros.

"Powerful are words of the song that brought me back to life and freed me from my misery," said the eldest son of Feanor, surprising his family. "Just like it took great courage and friendship to dare to do what Findekano has done. Makalaure, if I am not mistaken, you do have something to present us in that matter," he turned to his brother.

Maglor didn't expect that, realised Caranthir. He watched his brother change seats with Finrod and glance one more time at Maedhros, as if to make sure he really wished that. And then the song went on, glorious, yet so different from the sons Kanafinwe Makalaure had composed in Tirion or later, on their exile in Formenos. In beautiful words, smooth and full of praise, Maglor folded the deeds that had left Maedhros a cripple. Caranthir realised also how long he had not seen his brother performing like he was now, with his harp in his hands and his eyes shining, so lost in his song and so much younger, unburdened with the struggles of regency that had fallen so suddenly on him and bereft him of singing and composing. During those years Maglor did not create anything, and if he found time to take his instrument, he just tuned and cleaned it; sometimes he would play one of his old songs. If Caranthir heard a new composition, it usually broke after a few tacts and then Maglor was silent for a long time. Only Amras's pleas would make him sometimes play bit longer when they gathered for dinner.

This Maglor now was like the old, much younger brother giving the performance of his abilities at his grandfather's court, bringing tears with his playing and enchanting with his voice. Maedhros must have noticed that too, for a peaceful smile appeared on his face, as if he didn't hear what was it Maglor was singing about. Caranthir purposely did not look at Fingon; there was no need to foul his mood more. Fortunately, his brother had more than one song and once asked to perform, he wasn't going to end soon. Finrod joined him and Maglor's golden voice, subtle yet powerful and able to crush the stone, mixed with another, gentler one.

"Could you untie the sling?" Maedhros leaned over to his brother.

Surprised with this request, Caranthir freed the maimed arm from the sling. Maedhros carefully straightened his elbow and placed the stump on his knees. He didn't retreat when his brother ran his fingers down his bony arm, but he declined the offer to refill his goblet.

"I've had enough, Moryo. You too, I'd say," remarked Maedhros calmly, covering his goblet with his hand. "Would you be as kind as to walk with me to get some air, brother?"

Caranthir didn't need to be asked twice. He rose and even if anyone was looking at them, they would think he leaned to put his goblet on the table when he helped his brother rise from the chair. Maedhros bowed ceremonially in front of Fingolfin and left the table in even, calm pace; his right arm was hanging freely, half covered with his cloak, but he did nothing to hide it on purpose, indifferent to the curious glances.

It took them a while to get outside, for it was impossible for Maedhros to walk by unnoticed and not stop to exchange a few words. Caranthir remained a silent shadow of his brother, adding something only if asked directly.

Maedhros seemed at ease among the Noldor, both his and Fingolfin's, but his relief was plain once they were left more or less alone.

"You were right not to risk the feast outside," commented Caranthir, glancing up at the rain; the Autumn weather returned again.

"Wait here for me, I'll be right back."

Maedhros disappeared between the buildings, leaving Caranthir under the short overhang that gave little protection. Caranthir stepped from under it as soon as he realised the roof was not protecting him at all and the water was dripping right under his collar. He waited a bit, but his brother's absence seemed to be too long and he went after him.

"Nelyo?" He asked quietly, swallowing the raising panic, furious at himself for letting his brother out of sight. Before he got nervous, though, he found him behind the corner, leaning against the wall.

"I'm coming, Moryo," sighed Maedhros and he rubbed his eyes. "Give me a moment."

Caranthir felt as if he was seeing someone totally different from that elf he had been watching the whole day during the ceremony. In the pale light of the moon, barely glowing through the clouds, Maedhros looked gray.

"We don't need to return at all," remarked Caranthir. He leaned next to his brother and put one arm around him. "But do kindly notice that it's raining."

Maedhros snorted in response and brushed the wet fringe from his forehead. He did that with his right arm and for a moment he was utterly surprised and confused when he realised that.

"Has something happened that I should worry about?" he asked suddenly, surprising Caranthir. "You were angry when you returned to the table, so I'd rather know if there is any diplomatic scandal threatening us," he explained.

"No, it's nothing," Caranthir rushed to reassure him. "Honestly, Maitimo. Angarato and I just had a few unpleasant matters to set," he said, involuntarily raising his voice, angry at the reminder of the unpleasant conversation with his cousin who made it clear what he thought about their friendship.

"If you say so..." Maedhros adjusted his cloak and pushed himself from the wall. Caranthir went after him, keeping close just in case, but his brother didn't need help.

Despite the rain many elves were walking around, apparently deciding that it was time to leave the official feast and seek more private spots to talk. Mixed groups greeted politely the sons of Feanor, but Caranthir manoeuvred his brother back to the main building where the music could still be heard.

"Nelyafinwe!" A female voice called behind them. "I thought I'd never find you."

"Lalwende." Maedhros turned around and smiled pleasantly. "Has something happened that requires my immediate presence?" he asked politely.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself." Lalwende grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him closer as if to examine him. Content with what she saw, she laughed merrily. "Findekano was supposed to find you, but Findarato and Makalaure needed him for a song and you know they are unlikely to let him go anytime soon."

"Not a chance," agreed Caranthir. "From what I can hear Kano is just warming up," he noticed with pride.

"So there's no point in counting on him. And he was supposed to tell you he had the rooms prepared for you, so that you don't have to return to your camp at night," explained Lalwende. "In the left wing, for you and for uncle Alcarino. We have some other buildings prepared as well, so there should be enough space for everyone."

"Thank you for your concern, auntie," Maedhros smiled playfully, knowing that Lalwende despised being called like that, as she was hardly older than him.

"I can show you the way, Maitimo," suggested Fingolfin's younger sister, letting the remark go by.

"Well, after you."

So, I'm almost done, just an epilogue left.
The scene with Maedhro kneeling and giving up the crown was something I wrote directly after writing Maglor seeing his brother for the first time - and so it was the main reason why this whole story was created, what pushed me to write everything that happened between Fingon returning with Maedhros and Maedhros giving up the crown. I'm eager to know how you regarded this scene and the whole ceremony.