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i-did-not-mean-to · 7 months ago

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Week 3 - Feast

And this is the ending of this story as well...

Thank you for reading!

Prompt: Feast

Pairing: Maedhros x Fingon, Fingon & Finrod, Sons of Fëanor

Words: 3 060

Warnings: Nudity, sadness, loss, anger, betrayal, danger

Findekáno stared at the stacks of papers in confusion and dismay; as soon as he’d entered the abandoned study, he’d been overcome by a strange, uncomfortable feeling of urgency, but he was unable to put his finger on its source or sense.

Something wanted to be found—the gnawing, tingling sensation reminded him of his school days when he’d been working on a particularly difficult problem for hours on end, and the solution was teasingly grazing his consciousness without ever letting itself be grasped firmly.

Vanquishing his last scruples, he approached the littered desk, rifling through the documents aimlessly.

Then, as if called by an unseen power, he looked up sharply from the mountains of yellowed paper and gasped.

There, drowned in the dense shadow of the far wall, hung a masterfully crafted painting which spanned most of that side of the room.

“I know you,” he whispered, stepping around the now-forgotten furniture, and lifted his fingers to touch the tall, red-haired man standing at the right side of a slightly older, imperious-looking stranger.

In his single-minded haste, he’d disturbed a precariously heaped stack of notebooks, but he paid no heed to the avalanche of rustling paper as his eyes were riveted on the disturbingly like-like portraits.

Recognition was far less instantaneous than it should have been, but the sight of the broad, strong-featured woman on the other side of the compellingly intense patriarch made Findekáno’s eyes widen, and his mouth fall open.

Even though his gracious host had been a life-altering surprise, the young Prince was only too familiar with the dignified couple at the heart of the purposefully forgotten artwork.

“Where have you gone?” he whispered, overcome with dread and hope alike. He’d only ever seen King Fëanáro and his beautiful, talented wife depicted in banned history books, and yet he was absolutely certain that the people in the painting were indeed that doomed pair which had vanished without a trace so many years ago.

Together, they’d created many marvels that still adorned the palace in which Findekáno had grown up.

“And sons,” he murmured. “You had many sons, fabled to have been beautiful, smart, and exceedingly talented in the art of music and of war. They’ve…disappeared along with you.”

“You must leave,” a cold voice came from the door. “You’re no longer welcome here.”

Whirling around and thereby dislodging another landslide of books and notes, Findekáno discovered his host, now clad in a light dressing gown made of worn silk, standing on the threshold.

Nelyafinwë’s mouth was curled up in a moue of wild anger, but his eyes were dull and dark with grief at the discovery of Findekáno’s abject betrayal of his trust.

“I needed to know,” Findekáno croaked, lifting his hands pleadingly. The mere thought of being banished from a place he’d originally never even wanted to enter was unbearable to him, and—at that moment—he would have done anything not to be cast out.

“You must go,” Nelyafinwë repeated tonelessly. “I shan’t have our sanctuary torn apart by your indecent curiosity and the foolish bravery of your ilk. Leave now and never come back.”

Injured pride and something else—darker and far more painful—stirred within Findekáno’s chest, and he set his jaw stubbornly. “No.”

At once, the pale ghost of a lost line changed strategies in the face of Findekáno’s defiant refusal.

“You cannot stay here—think of your father, of your siblings, of your realm!” Nelyafinwë pleaded in the same forcibly level voice. “You have a life somewhere, far from this accursed ruin, and you must return to it.”

“My realm?” Findekáno exclaimed, letting the conflicting, confusing feelings within him melt in the merciless, purifying forges of his ire. “Don’t you mean our realm?”

Flinching back as if struck, Nelyafinwë stared at him for a long moment, open despair writ plain across his comely features.

“I will not add your misery to the list of my crimes,” he then whispered, waving a despondent hand at the hated mural. “You now know who I am, and certainly, you must agree that it would be better if we were confined to these lonely halls for all the ages to come.”

“I hold no such thoughts,” Findekáno barked and bent down to retrieve a handful of pages, covered in tight, neat script. To avoid detection, he’d not brought a taper, so he had to hold the paper up to the pale moonlight to decipher the writing.

“The answer is not there,” Nelyafinwë said in a warm voice that reeked of pity.

“Tell me then, oh beauteous guardian of an ancient curse. Clearly, you know!” Before Nelyafinwë could refuse him once more, he stepped forward to grab those broad shoulders and give the wilfully secretive man a good shake.

“Share the secret of your curse with me,” he purred into a visibly blushing ear. “And your own wish shall be granted—I will leave.”

As once before, Findekáno braced for the onset of crushing culpability as the lie passed his lips—he would indeed walk away from the castle, but his plan was to seek out whatever was needed to break the malediction and return posthaste.

“Forgiveness,” Nelyafinwë confessed in heart-wrenchingly forlorn accents. “We would have to earn and be granted forgiveness to be freed. It’s a hopeless endeavour—even you cannot deny that. Now, I’ve honoured my end of the bargain. Will you flee this prison?”

Inclining his head, Findekáno decided that he had nought to lose and everything to gain, so he pushed himself up on the tips of his toes and pressed a tender kiss onto that grim mouth which had just handed him the key to his happiness.

Nothing was clear or decided in this world, he knew, but he was convinced that—if only he could deliver this living, breathing phantom—he could obtain bliss beyond his wildest dreams.

“In the morn’”, he murmured against Nelyafinwë’s lips. “Grant me this one night to be with you before you force us to part ways.”

He could see how much the other wanted to deny his request, but—in the end—he found himself nestled against Nelyafinwë’s bare chest in the bed he’d been allotted so generously, absent-mindedly counting the freckles speckling his warm, smooth skin.

“I forgive you,” Findekáno whispered, unsure whether his host had fallen asleep or if he was still contemplating their imminent farewells. “Meeting you was worth being cold, scared, and tired. I pardon you for your gruff manner, your bad tea, and your overdrawn anger.”

He could feel more than hear the mirthless chuckle rumbling through Nelyafinwë, so he changed his tactic, embroidering his nascent affection and unwavering faith onto that pristine flesh with fervent kisses.

“I forgive you,” he breathed, “for following your father’s folly to your ultimate doom; I forgive you for disappearing and leaving the realm in disarray; I forgive you the crimes for which you still castigate yourself.”

When his mouth brushed against a sharp hipbone, he looked up. “Can you forgive yourself? Can you pardon your brothers for the part they’ve played?”

“They deserve no blame,” Nelyafinwë repeated the lie he’d told himself a thousand times.

“Yes, they do,” Findekáno objected kindly. “But they also deserve forgiveness. When I’m gone, please try to extend the same grace to yourself you’re so eager to bestow upon your siblings. And…learn to make a better cup of tea, all right?”

The night faded too fast—it always did.

“You must away,” Nelyafinwë whispered urgently.

Dark shadows lay beneath his beautiful eyes as if all the tears he had refused to cry had pooled in lakes of black ink atop his chiselled cheeks.

“You turn back when the sun comes up,” Findekáno whispered, extending a trusting hand. “I’d see it if you’d let me!”

Before his very eyes, the charming, alluring youth in whose strong, lean arms he’d spent an excitingly sleepless night morphed into a hulking creature, covered in reddish fur and poised to tear any foe to shreds.

“I recognise your eyes,” Findekáno gasped, awe-struck and undaunted, as he let his fingers comb through the long, shaggy pelage of the beast. “And your hair. I bet you wish one of your brothers had been turned into a brush, huh?”

Nelyafinwë threw back his massive head and uttered a vicious, resonating snarl that Findekáno only understood as laughter when tiny tears dropped from the corners of those eerily human eyes.

“Despite my unlawful intrusion yesterday, I’m a man of honour, so I shall keep the word I’ve given. Goodbye, dear Nelyafinwë. Think of my words!”

Unable to resist, he leaned forward one last time to bury his face, hot and tight with unshed tears and unspoken confessions, in that luscious fur and kissed the top of a fearsomely fanged snout lovingly.

Then, without daring a last lingering look for fear that he’d change his mind, he left the castle unimpeded.

Driven by the visceral scream of agony churning in his throat, Findekáno almost ran through the fray he’d hewn and only broke out of his delirious flight when he heard the approaching sound of hooves.

“Halt! Who goes there?” he called, lifting his sword laboriously. His arms were shaking, and his breath was short, but he was ready to defend his secret lover against all who’d seek to harm him.

“Finno? Is it really you? How have you escaped?” Not even taking the time to rein in his horse, Findaráto vaulted off the animal’s back with the grace of an acrobat to embrace his cousin. “We were prepared to slay a thousand fearsome enemies in your name.”

“No,” Findekáno roared, extricating himself almost violently. “No, you shall not harm a single hair on his head.”

“Finno? Are you quite well? You look fevered,” his cousin said in a softer tone, peering into his flushed, bloated face with alarm. “Have you been crying? What have they done to you?”

“You don’t understand,” Findekáno gasped, collapsing against the other’s chest with sudden weakness.

At that, Findaráto held up a staying hand, signalling thus to his hunting party that they’d settle down under cover of the nearby forest for a short halt. “Tell me everything.”

And so, Findekáno did. Warring shame and decorum made his account choppy and incoherent at times, but his cousin had known him for too long not to follow his disjointed narration easily.

“Do you believe Fëanáro to be…dead?” Findaráto finally asked, tapping a slender finger against his full lips pensively. As the oldest son of the minor family branch who never expected to ascend the throne and preferred it that way, he did not waste any time pondering the inevitable changes to things like the succession and the crown. “He was a dangerous individual.”

“He’s gone, one way or another,” Findekáno sighed. “Can you help me?”

“I am your father’s representative,” Findaráto chirped with a shrug. “And you are his heir. When we speak, we speak with the voice of the King in the name of the realm. Do you want us to go back and extend a royal pardon?”

Even though he was doubtful that such a negligible gesture would be anywhere near enough, Findekáno couldn’t think of a better idea, so he nodded tentatively.

“Ah, the colour is returning to your face, cousin, I take that to be a good sign. You must understand that we were on a daring rescue mission rather than a diplomatic one, so we shall have to make a few minor adjustments…”

Findaráto gave him one of his mischievous, lopsided grins. “After all, I wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the young man who’s managed to capture your heart.”

“My…what?” Suddenly aghast by how open and unguarded he’d been, Findekáno blanched.

“Worry not, your secret is safe with me. Onwards then, brave men and women. We have a potential suitor to convince of our beloved kingdom!” Findaráto said with a confidential wink and stalked away to retrieve his runaway horse.

“I’m not sure you’ll get a warm welcome,” Findekáno moaned.

“Nonsense, I restore his true love to the man—also, unlike many of our kin, I am irresistibly charming. Leave it to me! He’ll adore me!”

Nelyafinwë was wrenched out of his dark, self-pitying musings by the frantic clacking of metal and the dissonant scream of a harp.

“What now? Has someone come to fell us at last?”

Turning his cumbersome frame in a room too small for it, Nelyafinwë joined his brothers at the small, narrow kitchen window, only to espy the telltale cloud of dust heralding a group of quickly approaching horses.

Had he not gained a new appreciation for seemingly inanimate objects, Nelyafinwë might well have dropped the saucer he’d been polishing for the small feast he was presently preparing.

Even though his siblings would not be able to join him in the simple pleasure of eating, they’d all agreed with Findekáno’s assessment when Nelyafinwë had told them about what had transpired during the night.

The idea of having a family dinner once more, truncated and perverted as it might be, had lifted everyone’s spirits, and so Nelyafinwë had tried to ply his uncooperative bestial form as best he could to perform the menial tasks that were required to have such a humble banquet.

As far as he could tell, he’d made good progress, but now, all his efforts would turn out to have been in vain. How cruelly fitting!

The screeching of the harp reached a tremulous crescendo—Nelyafinwë was tempted to swat it from the windowsill, but he refrained, knowing that his fearful hope would turn him into the monster he refused to become. He wouldn’t give in to his basest instincts!

“Why would he come back? I’ve told him there was nought but death and desolation here,” he answered the question echoing through the room as much as through his own racing heart. “He promised.”

Of course, Nelyafinwë remembered that Findekáno had deceived him once before in the pursuit of what he’d deemed to be the “greater good”, and he’d only ever vowed to leave and had never sworn not to return, but that much had been implied, hadn’t it?

As the thundering cloud drew nearer, he could discern the flashing gold braided into the thick, gleaming hair of their recently lost and yet already bitterly regretted visitor.

“No,” Nelyafinwë gasped, and—heedless of his grisly shape—rushed to the door to intercept the interlopers before their wrath could endanger any of his beloved brothers.

Roaring and growling, he burst forth.

“Dear,” Findekáno cried and threw himself off the horse and into his unwilling host's long, twisted arms. “My kin have come to deliver me, but—as I’m already free—we’ve changed plans and shall now free you instead.”

A thousand thoughts and contradicting emotions flashed through Nelyafinwë’s mind—gratitude and disbelief making him freeze protectively around Findekáno’s solid warmth—and he stared at the visibly drawn, exhausted face of his sweetest dream in wordless confusion for a long moment.

“Good day,” Findaráto interrupted their strange and fragile intimacy with cheerful bonhomie. “My cousin tells me you’re in need of forgiveness.”

His gaze—sharp and perspicacious despite his air of good-humoured shallowness—fell on the incongruous heap of miscellaneous tools and instruments by the door, and he bowed courteously.

“You’ve done me no grievous harm, so there’s not much to pardon,” he then went on with a lopsided shrug. “Nevertheless, as Finno here insists, I forgive you for imprisoning my uncle and my cousin. The first is alive and well, and the second couldn’t get back here fast enough, so I dare say that there was no harm done.”

More men dismounted and, under the pressure of their Princes’ demanding expressions, they did their best to conjure up offences and crimes they could forgive.

When nothing immediately changed, Findekáno’s face fell.

“It’s not that easy,” Nelyafinwë hummed comfortingly into his ear. “But I’ve taken your advice—I was just preparing everything for a little feast tonight. Would your party care to join us? It won’t be as grand as what you’re used to in the palace, but it’s the best we can do out here.”

“I’d love to,” Findekáno exclaimed, nuzzling closer to the broad, bare chest of a mystery on which he hadn’t given up yet. “The others can have the room you gave me yesterday; I can spend the night by your side and watch over you.”

He remembered the dark shadows marring Nelyafinwë’s delicate skin only too well. “You need to rest, dear, and I can make sure that your beauty doesn’t go unnoticed.”

“You’d defend and protect me? Your jailor? A walking nightmare?” Nelyafinwë sputtered. It became increasingly difficult to shut out the jubilant clacking of his siblings throwing themselves bodily into the air in a weird display of exuberant joy and characteristic impatience, so he turned to carry Findekáno into the castle.

“Be my guests,” he called over his shoulder, shuddering at the thought of the supplementary teacups and plates he’d now have to wash.

“Yes, make yourselves comfortable,” Findekáno added merrily. “On account of having two hands, I’ll help with the preparations.”

“So will we,” Findaráto interjected suavely and followed the lumbering beast as if he’d not even noticed its terrifying girth.

When, not much later, the table was laid and the candles were lit, Findekáno raised his polished goblet solemnly. “To our gracious hosts and their future.”

“We have no—”

“He’s set his mind on it,” Findaráto cut in when Nelyafinwë tried to curb his guest’s enthusiasm. “He rarely fails once that is done.”

As he watched his siblings, Nelyafinwë felt his heart mellow. Yes, they’d stop struggling—they’d even actively help Findekáno find that healing forgiveness that would restore them to life.

Perhaps, it was time. Mayhap, they deserved to be saved after all.

And, at that very moment, as the light shone bright and a long-lost sense of comfort settled over the party, a flash of lightning cut through the scene.

When everyone blinked dazedly, the various tools—propped up on soft pillows—had been replaced by beautiful, young men who stared at their own hands in amazement.

Outside, the afternoon sun sparkled like a ruby, but when Findekáno turned to his host, Nelyafinwë sat beside him in his precious human form, eyes wide and entirely, gloriously naked.

@fellowshipofthefics This is the end of the third week for me!

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