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A King ought not have favourites.
Finwë, as King, strove to be even-handed, open-handed, as generous to his enemies as to his heirs. He dealt with Ingwë and Olwë both the same, friends of old and peers as no others were, and most assuredly did not show favour to any one faction of the Noldor above any other.
Finwë, as father and grandfather, failed in that regard, and in many others.
It had been an especial treat to have Fëanáro and Nerdanel visit in Tirion in those golden-sweet days. Indis had worried for them, living among Lord Aulë’s people with only Nerdanel’s family for support and none of Fëanáro’s, but there had been no convincing them to spend more time in the city - no convincing Fëanáro of anything at all, unless Nerdanel thought it worth the effort to change his mind! How proud Finwë had been then of his bold, strident boy, unstoppable as his calm, steady wife was unshakeable.
Finwë had never understood the murmurs of Nerdanel’s unsuitability as Fëanáro’s wife. He had met her once, briefly, before the wedding, and had seen in her fëa the same bedrock from which the very world had been raised. Who else could possibly have matched Fëanáro’s blaze?
Nerdanel had been hip-deep in orders following the first of many wildly successful showcases, and Fëanáro had recently turned his hand to the crafting of instruments and had been studying harp-making since meeting Olwë’s heir at one of Lord Oromë’s revels, or so his letters said. He was a marvellous correspondent, as brilliant a story-teller in his script as he was in person, but even Fëanáro’s peerless skill with the pen was nothing compared with his presence. Nothing ever had been. Finwë had never understood that fool saying, that absence made the heart fonder - absence made the heart hungrier, he thought, and that was a sorry thing indeed. He missed Fëanáro like a wound when his son stayed away.
They were so very busy, though, and Finwë did not begrudge them their crafts, nor their independence! They were still so young and passionate that it seemed best to encourage them to seek out joy, not to ensnare them in the duties Fëanáro would soon owe to the Noldor. But still, how happy Finwë always, always was to see Fëanáro, and how he loved Nerdanel, wise even in her brilliant youth, who brought forth the softness in Fëanáro’s heart as no other could. They had arrived as they always did, without fanfare, in a neatly made little cart pulled by a sweet-natured little ass, dusty from the road and more concerned with their own conversations than with anything in the city.
So long ago! Arafinwë had yet been clinging to Finwë’s skirts, a tiny slip of a child with Indis’ abundant golden curls but Finwë’s own dark brown skin, then. He had been sweetness itself, stirring even jealous Fëanáro to warmth, in those earliest days. It had been utterly unimaginable that anyone should look upon Arafinwë and not love him, with his clear blue eyes and his gentle nature.
But here came Fëanáro and Nerdanel, excited and happy as Finwë had so rarely seen his son, and he had greeted them informally, in his most comfortable, most private chambers, which looked away toward the Trees and caught Laurelin’s warmth better than any other room in Tirion save Indis’ bedchamber. It was in this very sitting room that Finwë had spent the first desperate year of Fëanáro’s life, pushing aside his grief so that he could support Fëanáro’s fëa as he deserved. It was a space for them, for Finwë and Fëanáro, and it had always been in that room that he greeted Fëanáro when he returned to Tirion.
Fëanáro was near as tall as Finwë, Nerdanel slightly taller than her husband, and there was surely no finer young couple in all the world-
“Atar,” Fëanáro said, breathless, “Atar, such wonderful news have we!”
Nerdanel opened her outer robe to reveal the first curve of her belly, her usual smile turned all to shyness, and Fëanáro brought Finwë’s hand to the swell and encouraged him to reach out, to greet his first grandson for the first time.
They agreed to remain in the city until this next Prince of the Noldor was born. Nolofinwë had been away studying architecture under his mother’s cousin in Valimar, which made it easier to have Fëanáro in Tirion. Even then, when Nolofinwë had been hardly more than a child himself, it had been difficult to have them both together. Finwë had despaired of them, but had been too much in the habit of indulging Fëanáro to ever properly scold him by the time the rest of his children had come. Nolofinwë, always prone to melancholy, had been doomed to disappointment from the off.
Finwë, King, did not have favourites. Finwë, father, tried his best not to.
Finwë, as grandfather, had held the Míriel-pale flare of Maitimo’s fëa in special regard from that very first touch.
Maitimo, when he was born - an easy birth, though even indomitable Nerdanel had not laughed at Fëanáro’s terror of the birthing bed - was given by his father the name Nelyafinwë. It was not a name that served the boy himself, but it served Fëanáro’s jealousy of his brothers and his depthless pride well indeed. Finwë understood the honour meant to him in Fëanáro’s choice, and loved him for it. He only wished it did not come at Nolofinwë and Arafinwë’s expense.
Maitimo, though, suited him well. He was a gorgeous child, taking far more after Nerdanel than after Fëanáro, with her abundant hair and the wide, tilted eyes she had in turn inherited from her own father. Maitimo had none of his father’s fear, either, no shadows haunting his wake. There was instead in Maitimo something of Míriel, just as Finwë had thought from the first, a temperance that would be no less valuable than Fëanáro’s passion, only more subtle. Even as a babe, he soothed all their clashing loyalties, all of them drawn to him to coo and fuss and rejoice at this newest addition to their ever-growing family.
Arafinwë in particular was thrilled by him, to finally have someone younger than himself in the palace, and made it his business to find all of his old toys from where they had been stored away for safekeeping, so that he might pass them into Maitimo’s calm, curious care. Lalwende, too, found great amusement in teaching him to walk, holding his hands in hers as they crossed the throne room’s polished floor and their giggling echoed down off the vaulted ceiling, and then, so soon it seemed unreal, to dance, first in the nursery and then at parties. How he loved to watch the three of them together, heads of gold and copper and sky-between-the-stars-darkness bent together over a tray of sweets! How it thrilled him, to see the two sides of his house brought together in such joy!
Even brilliant, serious Findis, who had been completing the first stage of her apprenticeship under Varda’s priestesses, climbing Taniquetil in carefully measured increments to practice for the ascent that would allow her to wear the spangled mantle of the lady Ilmare’s apprentices, was delighted by Maitimo, when she returned at last to visit them. Findis was an over-serious girl, but none could withstand the combined forces of Lalwende’s laughter, Arafinwë’s sweetness, and Maitimo’s beauty. Findis kissed them all and showered them with gifts, and then brought all three out of the city in her little pedal-cart, a rare gift from Fëanáro, and she taught them the hymns they sang in Ilmarin for the Mingling and for the stars.
“As fine a son as any might wish for,” Nolofinwë said quietly, with the same immediate affection Finwë had felt for the boy, when he finally risked Fëanáro’s displeasure to visit and to greet his nephew. There was something alike in them, Nolofinwë’s patience and Maitimo’s calm, and it saddened Finwë that Fëanáro would never realise that. He could see no virtue in Nolofinwë, after all.
Maitimo, who returned the love he was given as easily as he smiled, had fallen asleep curled under Nolofinwë’s arm. Finwë lifted him to carry to bed before Fëanáro saw, and saw harm.
The children shared a wing of the palace, the same wing where Finwë had won the war to keep Fëanáro with him after Míriel left them. Long ago had Finwë surrendered his favourite sitting room for the use of his children and grandchildren, and now the nursery - a simple name for such grand surroundings - was the very heart of Tirion, a place of laughter, a place of learning, a place-
A place where, often, Finwë found his oldest grandson and his youngest son in close council.
“You might at least ask, Maitimo,” Arafinwë was saying, bent so close that his golden curls were tangling up with Maitimo’s copper waves. “I am sure that your mother-”
“My mother has a great deal to consider without my adding to her burdens, Arvo,” Maitimo replied quietly, and Finwë held back for fear of disturbing them. “I cannot ask leave to leave, not with the baby-”
“Makalaurë is not a baby, he is only a brat,” Arafinwë said, a little laughter warming his tone. “And if you mean Finno, well, I am certain that Nolvo and Anaire will object quite stridently to the idea that he is in any way your responsibility.”
“Arvo-”
“I shall be spending the whole of the next season in Alqualondë,” Arafinwë said, and Finwë was not at all surprised by this news - he had, after all, been courting Olwë’s beloved only daughter, and young though they were Finwë could not deny that they seemed perfectly matched. He and Olwë had already exchanged a number of letters agreeing to terms for what seemed an inevitable betrothal. “You should do the same!”
“My lessons-”
“As if there are no tutors in Alqualondë,” Arafinwë said. “Now, they may not be the finest loremasters of the Noldor-”
“Arvo-”
“-nor even the great Fëanáro himself, creator of the tengwar-”
“Arvo!” Maitimo laughed, shoving his uncle aside. “I will ask! I will! But perhaps we might call Haru forth from his hiding place and ask if he would condescend to speak to Atar on my behalf.”
Finwë emerged sheepishly, folding his hands behind his back. “I did not mean to eavesdrop, my doves, but I could not help overhearing…?”
“I think Maitimo ought to come along to Alqualondë with me when next I visit King Olwë,” Arafinwë said brightly, without worry - why did Maitimo cringe so beside his uncle? “I know well that he is kept busy here at court, between you and Fëanáro, but I am sure he can be allowed some reprieve, Atar!”
“Just for a short while, Haru,” Maitimo cut in then, hands raised open-palmed, as if to calm a fight. “It is only that I have never sailed with Arafinwë, and it has been a very long time since last I saw my friends among the Teleri - and I could even bring gifts from you to King Olwë, if that would help!”
Finwë knelt before the boys - foolish to think them children still, when Arafinwë was courting Olwë’s little Earwen and Nelyafinwë had almost completed his apprenticeship, before even coming of age! - and reached up to brush his knuckles over the perfect arch of Maitimo’s cheekbone.
“You need not justify wanting to spend time out of the city, Nelyo,” he said reasonably. “You are as entitled to respite as anyone else, pityo.”
Why was Arafinwë’s sunny gaze clouding over so? Was Finwë not giving them precisely what they desired? Gy
“Go, sample the many pleasures of Alqualondë, and return to us refreshed,” Finwë said, rising to stand over them. “I will tell your father thus - that it is my desire that you should accompany your uncle, so you might learn something of Olwë’s court and their ways, and so your uncle has an appropriate chaperone for the courting of the princess. What say you?”
Maitimo was slumped, a little wan, but seemed pleased nonetheless.
“My thanks, Haru,” he said. “I am sure Atar will find no fault in such reasoning.”
Finwë was barely around the corner when they burst once more into furious whispers, and he smiled at their excitement - a fine adventure for the boys!
“No!” he heard Arafinwë snap. “No, Maitimo, it is not fair-”
“Ssh, Arvo, ssh,” Maitimo hissed. “Don’t, it is already more than I expected-”
What curious boys they were.
“No, my lady, I promise you I am well,” Maitimo’s voice came. “I will be better after the festival, I do not deny it, but I am well enough for now.”
Finwë stayed back a step behind the corner, hidden from view, but he could see Maitimo and Indis well enough. He was glad, suddenly, that Fëanáro and Nerdanel were out of the city for another day or two - it would serve no one for Fëanáro to see how friendly Maitimo had become with Indis.
“I worry for you, Maitimo,” Indis said gently, her golden hand very dark on his pale sleeve. “You take too much upon yourself, and accept so little in return. I know that your grandfather-”
“Expects only as much as is fair of me, in my father’s absence,” Maitimo reassured her. “There are duties expected of the King’s eldest son, and in that prince’s absence should not his own son shoulder the burden?”
Here was what Finwë had so desired to grow between Indis and Fëanáro - a friendship, if not the closeness of a mother and son, a trust that could gather the family closer instead of splintering it apart. Perhaps, had Fëanáro and Indis not clashed so terribly in those early days, Findis and Arafinwë might still be here in Tirion, and might stay for longer than a single season at a time.
“I wish only,” Indis said, “that that prince was not absent so often.”
Maitimo laughed, bright and sincere, and bowed his head to press a kiss to Indis’ brow. What brilliant diplomacy he showed, always!
“My lady,” he said fondly, “I wish for your sake that you did not mean that.”
Finwë stepped forth then, coming to meet them - second-wife, second-heir, their firebright fëas as Laurelin and Telperion brought close to hand. The Noldor were the better with them all working in tandem, and if only! If only a true balance could be wrought between them all.
“Beloved,” he said, holding out a hand to each of them, “Maitimo.”
“My lord,” Indis said, leaning up to press her lips to his. Maitimo bowed his beautiful head, and smiled. “We were only saying how much we are looking forward to having all the family together for the festival.”
“Findekáno is coming from Taniquetil,” Maitimo said, “and Arafinwë and all his children from Alqualondë-”
“And your father, pityo? Your brothers?”
Maitimo’s smile did not waver.
“My mother has promised to corral as many of them as she can,” he said. “Carnistir at least is already here in the city, and Makalaurë will be performing! But for Tyelkormo I cannot speak - I know not if Lord Oromë will see fit to release him from his service for the festivities.”
“A shame if not,” Indis said, “for I know Irissë is very much looking forward to seeing him.”
“As am I,” Maitimo agreed. “I have not ridden out with him in a very long while, and he comes to us here in the city so rarely!”
Finwë was surprised at that - it seemed to him only a short time since Maitimo had disappeared off into the wilds with his brothers, for he only did so when Fëanáro was in the city to keep up with the obligations of their station, and it was certainly not very long since Fëanáro and Nolofinwë had had their last public argument.
“You ought to leave with him, if he comes,” Indis said. “Or with Arvo, who I know has been asking you to visit with him in Alqualonde. Lalwendë means to visit the sea with him, and I cannot remember when last the three of you had time to spend together.”
“My lady is kindness incarnate,” Maitimo said, touching Indis’ arm. “We all have been so busy with our duties that it has been difficult to find the time. We will, though, I promise you, for I know Lalwendë has been harassing you on my behalf.”
“Lalwendë,” Indis said, her smile mischievous, a smile that was replicated exactly on their laughing girl’s face, “is often your greatest champion.”
“Talking about me, Ammë?”
And here was Lalwendë herself, slipping under Maitimo’s arm. She had Finwë’s own colouring, his hair and his eyes, but otherwise might have been Indis’ twin. He had sometimes wondered if that was why she laughed so, at the impossibility of her own face.
“Only to praise you,” Maitimo assured her, grinning. “My lord, my lady, if Princess Lalwendë and I might be excused…?”
“Of course, dear ones, go! Enjoy yourselves!”
They were gone almost immediately, darting away down the hall away from him and Indis.
“I have arranged for Turukáno to oversee the construction of the dais,” Indis said, “and Findis is due to arrive tomorrow, and she is taking over the care and keeping of the entertainers.”
“I thought Maitimo was looking after that,” Finwë said, surprised, drawing Indis close to him.
“He was,” she said. “And now he is not. Shall we to dinner, my love?”
“Uncle, please-”
“I am not asking you to stand against him, Maitimo,” Nolofinwë said quietly. Finwë had the uncomfortable sense that he ought not be listening to this conversation, but knew not how to escape. “I would never ask you to do that, you know that well enough by now.”
“I know,” Maitimo said. “It is the only reason we have been able to work together so well, all these years.”
“I ask only that you consider staying - only consider, Maitimo, I do not demand. Surely he must realise the worth in having you here at court?”
“Surely you must realise that he would take my remaining as a betrayal.”
Nolofinwë sighed, and Finwë knew without seeing him that he was pinching the bridge of his long, straight nose.
“I wish he trusted you more, Nelyo,” Nolofinwë said. “You have earned that a thousand times over. You deserve his trust, unquestionably. I am sorry if our friendship has weighed on your relationship with your father.”
“No, Nolvo, it is not- it is not your fault. That, at least, is not your fault. My father is complicated, and that is no one’s fault.”
“We all are complicated. A family such as ours, how could we not be? But it really is no one’s fault, and most of us can accept that.”
“You are not making your case so well as you think, Nolvo.”
The flat tone of Maitimo’s voice was as implacable as ever Fëanáro’s had been. Fëanáro had that ferocity from Míriel, and Maitimo had it from him.
“I apologise, Maitimo,” Nolofinwë said, subdued. “I know how difficult Fëanáro and I have made things for you. For all of you. I hope that our friendship might survive the exile, pityo.”
A laugh. Barely that, truth be told.
“All I do, Nolvo, is my duty.”
“I know that.”
“You have been my friend since we first started working together at court, yes? Well, keeping you as my friend has been part of that duty for many long years. Even this exile will not see our friendship falter.”
Finwë stepped away. He had preparations to make for their long journey to Formenos.
Maitimo was managing his brothers at dinner, all six of them, and Finwë took Fëanáro aside.
“You know,” he said gently, “that the boys will all scatter, once the exile is lifted.”
Fëanáro’s face twitched.
“I need you to let them do so,” Finwë said. “It would be cruel to hold them here, my son. They love you, and are proven in their loyalty - you must trust them to return if you have need of them, but you must also allow them their wings.”
“So that Turkafinwë can return to his master?” Fëanáro sneered. “And Kanafinwë can run off to Valimar, to chase after that bitch Elemmirë?”
“So that you and Curufinwë can return to Lord Aulë’s mansions,” Finwë agreed, ignoring the insult to Lady Elemmirë. She had done nothing to deserve it, but saying so would only anger Fëanáro, and that was not what Finwë needed. “So the twins, too, can return to Nerdanel-”
“Her!”
“- and so Carnistir and Maitimo can return with me to Tirion.”
“Ah! So you are making your choice, then!”
Finwë looked at him. He looked at him, truly, for the first time in many years.
“What choice?”
“The choice to replace me as your heir,” Fëanáro said, “just as you replaced my mother as your queen. You have hoarded Nelyafinwë - do not deny it! - and now you mean to use mine own son-”
“Atar,” Maitimo said, suddenly standing with them. “You know I would never betray you in such a way, and you know that Haru would not either. Ever has he treasured you as his heir - why else would he be here, in Formenos, with us?”
Fëanáro’s hand found Maitimo’s shoulder, drew him close, pressed their brows together.
“None other has my trust as you do, Nelyo,” Fëanáro said, their eyes locked. “None! Above all others do I place your counsel, yonya, but I have no need of it here and now. Be easy - take your rest with your brothers. This is for your grandfather and I to discuss.”
“Atar-”
“I am sorry, Nelyo,” Fëanáro said, leaning up now to press a kiss to Maitimo’s cheek, then to his brow. “My temper… Away, all of you. We will speak on the morrow of all our plans, yes?”
“I have all prepared for your journey,” Maitimo assured him, eyes flashing to Finwë for just a moment. “And I - Atar, are you certain you would not be best served to have some of us with you? The twins, perhaps, you know how restless they have been-”
“If I were to bring anyone, it would be you,” Fëanáro said, smiling now, “and if I brought you, who would keep your brothers from preempting our release? Nay, child, go to your rest now, and we will speak before I depart. Go, Nelyo, and know I esteem you as highly as any father has ever held his son.”
Maitimo flushed deep, shocked pink, and went.
“You and I will speak of this all when I return from my trip,” Fëanáro said once Maitimo was beyond hearing. “I love you, Atar, but there lies between us many things unsaid. It is time, I think, to speak more openly.”
Fëanáro left.
Then, the Unlight came.
So it was-
Melkor, mightiest and most jealous of the Valar, came upon Formenos as a storm, and Finwë stood alone against him.
Finwë stood alone, while all Fëanáro’s sons were sent safely away. Guided away through secret doors, the ways sealed behind them. All Fëanáro’s sons went safely away into the mountains beyond the fortress, into the darkness lit only by brilliant, blanketing stars out of reach of Ungoliant’s terrible hunger. All Fëanáro’s sons climbed down the rocks and crept through the broken gates to seek their grandfather, when at last the nightmare passed.
They found him, voice ruined by the effort of his Song, body ruined by the effort of his arms, but alive - just. Weeping - but alive.
When the Unlight had appeared in the darkness, Finwë had sent away all Fëanáro’s sons. Like the loyal, filial grandsons they were, all had fled.
All Fëanáro’s sons, save one.
Here, the lights - what little lights they are, distant stars in the far-foreign firmament above! What faint flickers, the ghost of flames caught in perfect jewels of Eldarin make! - are all gathered high above Ezellohar. Here, too, the Eldar, so too the Ainur, all close around what once was the greatest treasure of Valinor, the very heart-of-hearts.
Here, now, come near-to-half the mighty Sons of mightiest Fëanáro, flame-bearing, not-so-bright as their father, a-thunder as they cross the plains, coming from the cold north to this colder hilltop.
Into the circle of light comes now Tyelkormo, comes now Ambarussa and Umbarto both, casting their torches aside to cast themselves not at their father’s feet but at Lady Estë’s, at Lord Oromë’s.
“Pale lady,” Umbarto pleads, head bowed. “Gentlest and kindest, we beg your help and mercy - send now some of your Maiar to Formenos, where Aran Finwë lingers between life and death. Our home is sundered, alike unto our House, but with your aid we may yet save the King.”
The Lady of Lórien presses a hand to each twin’s heads, copper to the left and auburn to the right, and in a whisper, her Maiar depart.
“Lord,” says Tyelkormo, long-known favourite of the Lord of Forests. “I must plead further absence from your Hunt, and permission to take up a hunt of mine own.”
“What prey seekest thou, Hunter-mine?”
“Release me, Horn-Blower, that I might chase your lord’s brother,” says Turkafinwë, lifting now his burning eyes to his lord’s, “for he has slain mine.”