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The sky was always beautiful in Valinor, but Maitimo loved it most in the evenings.
Laurelin’s shine had faded almost completely, shifting her brilliant gold to Telperion’s mellow silver, and his dimmer radiance allowed for Varda’s brightest stars to glitter against the pitch darkness of the night.
Silver lighting suits Finno best, Maitimo thought to himself as he gazed upon his lover, lying close to him in the grass.
They rested together on a hill outside of Tirion. Far enough away from the bustling city that no one would find them, but near enough that they would have ample time to return to their respective quarters without raising questions from their families. Eru only knew what their fathers would think to see them with one another like so; Legs tangled, hands intertwined, bodies so close it was unable to discern whose breaths were whose.
Findekáno raised one hand to point at a cluster of stars above. “Look, Russo! That group there has your likeness.”
Maitimo did look, but to his amused bafflement, he could not see the resemblance. “If you say so, melmenya.”
“Those on the outer edge have a faintly reddish glow to them. It brings your hair to my mind.”
“Only my own? There are others who have red hair as well, Finno. My mother, the Ambarussa.”
Findekáno rolled his eyes back skyward. “Perhaps. But none as bright nor fire-like as yours, I say.”
Maitimo gave a chuckle. “Ah, I suppose so. We have my grandfather Mahtan to thank for it. I shall pass along the message next time we meet.”
They laughed together at that, but it died quickly and the air grew wistful. It was not out of the ordinary for their trysts to turn a but dour when they thought of the secrecy of it all. Most lovers could freely announce and vaunt their courting, had supportive loved ones to gush about their love with. Maitimo and Findekáno could not, and did not. Fight would undoubtedly break out between their fathers if they were ever to be discovered. Ñolofinwë would be the easier of the two to convince of their love’s trueness if given enough time and proof, but Fëanor would never accept it no matter what he was shown or told.
“Do you ever wish that we were not members of the royal family? That we could live openly with no fear of punishment or hatred?”
Maitimo squeezed his lover’s hand. “All of the time. I have dreamt of my father having less pride, and no jealousy in his heart of his brothers. If he loved them as I love my own, things for us would be different. I understand his view of it, and why he feels the way he does, but I will never understand the hostility he seems to believe is the response. I fear his judgement more than your father’s.”
“Despite it all,” Findekáno said, “my father will always love Fëanor despite that it has never been returned.”
“It is easy to love him,” Maitimo sighed. “Despite his more austere ways, he is passionate and respectable.”
“I know, Russo.”
Maitimo turned his head to the side, meeting Findekáno’s eyes. “Sometimes I wish that I could hate him. I wish that it were different, and we could be like others. Hold hands in the market, a kiss good morning simply because we are glad to see one another, a wedding! Oh, the wedding would be so grand! Mother would never allow less for one of her sons. She would sculpt a statue of us to stand with us at the altar.”
Findekáno smiled at the thought. “My mother would decorate with the finest flowers she could find. My sister would scatter their petals all around.”
“We could have Írissë and Tyelko seated next to each other. Eru knows she has him by the ear,” Maitimo chuckled.
“Ah, but she would rather choke on a salad fork than have it suggested they were to be lovers. Tyelko is more of a brother to her, like myself.”
“Yes, but it would be rather funny, no?”
Findekáno laughed brightly. “I suppose it would be. You're right.”
They sighed together, looking at each other and then back up at the stars.
Maitimo pulled Findekáno closer, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Nál melme coivienyo,” he said quietly. A statement and a promise at once, between them and the stars.
Findekáno huddled further into Maitimo’s arms. “Ma meluval ni tenn’ oio?”
“Né,” Maitimo confirmed. “Until my spirit passes into Námo’s Halls, and forevermore.”
“Russo? If things were different, would you truly marry me?”
“If things were different, I would have wed you long before now, Finno.”
“I wish we could be free,” Findekáno whispered. “I see others who can show off their chosen to their friends and families, and my heart aches to think that we will never be like them.”
“I feel the same,” Maitimo sighed, sorrowful. “But it does not change how I feel for you. The secrecy and lies are worth it for moments like these, when we can just be. Just you, I, and the stars above. Times like these, though there are less than I would prefer, are what I look forward to most in my life. No princely duties, no family dramatics, just us. Finno and Russo.”
Findekáno tilted his head back and pressed his lips to Maitimo’s, a soft and gentle kiss for a delicate moment and emotional conversation. Their fëar were not bound in the way married couples were, but both felt the flare of love and devotion to one another grow with every kiss they shared. As if their very beings were also aware that a stronger bond could not be formed any time soon—if ever.
“Melin le,” Findekáno murmured against Maitimo, their breaths mingling together from the close proximity.
Maitimo tucked Findekáno’s hair behind his ear before resting their foreheads against each other. “Tenn’oio nál melmenya.”
They comfortably settled back in the grass once more, wrapped in each other and once more silent as they stargazed together. In a few hours, when Laurelin’s golden leaves begin to brighten once more, they would have to separate and go home and return to pretending, but for the time being, they were content.