Chapter Text
The pressure mounted almost every day. Every time Eönwë’s visits with Mahtan came up, and he felt himself newly at war with his own self, with the fact that he hadn’t told anyone, yet, the main reason he was so happy to cultivate a friendship with the most established of Lord Aulë’s elves.
Every time he opened his mouth, reached out with his ëala, and then changed what he was going to say, to reveal, and so kept the deception going every time.
The only escape he had though was Mairon, was Formenos and all that entailed.
The guilt of that, of needing an escape, desiring to be somewhere other than with his lord, did not help in the slightest. Nor did the fact that both stemmed from something caused by his own actions in the first place.
His lord had noticed, almost immediately, and had, when it kept going on over the next couple weeks, concerned, asked him what was wrong.
Eönwë had confessed to feeling at loose ends, adrift, lacking direction or purpose. He’d even admitted that he felt like the lack of assigned duties was a punishment. He had not, however, confessed to his meetings with Mairon. Had, indeed, taken active steps to conceal them from his lord’s concerned brush of ëala.
It had been the perfect opportunity, and he’d still let it slip by, told himself that there was no need to trouble his lord, and he still couldn’t bring himself to regret it, couldn’t bring himself to stay with his lord, with his fellows.
Mostly, he’d been trying not to think about it.
Unfortunately, it was not particularly on board with his plan, and liked to ambush his thoughts whenever he wasn’t otherwise occupied.
Like, for example, when he was outside the main keep of Formenos, waiting after breakfast and trying not to think about whatever Mairon was discussing with Lord Fëanáro.
At least he, so far, had managed to avoid a reprise of his early morning activities. Of course, he had also had to surrender both cloak and tunic for cleaning — he hoped they didn’t come back bleached to white and then stained splotchy pink on top this time, he’d had enough trouble hiding the damage the first three times — but that had given him an excuse to refuse further mud-flat wrestling.
The half-barrel’s worth of soapy water getting dumped on his head once he was away from the door was… well, it was annoying, but not really worth chasing Mairon’s people down, especially when he didn’t doubt for an instant that they’d have all sorts of traps ready to spring along their back trail.
Eönwë had simply pulled his shirt off, wrung it out, and replaced it. His wings still itched, but ironically the soapy water had helped with that, at least a little, which made him wonder what would happen if he tracked down Eletëon and Almorëon and thanked them for their assistance in breaking up the mud.
If nothing else, they’d probably look rather surprised.
Eönwë smiled slightly, then let the imaged scene fall away from his mind. A month and a half, and Mairon’s people were really making it quite clear that they did not like when Eönwë came to see Mairon.
Eönwë still hadn’t told Mairon about it. About any of it. Mairon had enough to worry about, and… and a part of Eönwë both kind of sympathized with Mairon’s people and dearly wanted to prove himself on his own.
He knew they’d probably stop — or at least stop with the obvious stuff — if Mairon told them to, but… but that just didn’t feel right somehow.
Not that being greeted by arrows and practice knives and tripwires and buckets of ice water felt very right either, and that quite leaving aside the concerted non-cooperation that always emerged as soon as they were away from Mairon.
Eönwë did find it frustrating that Lord Fëanáro didn’t choose to put a stop to it, but he could hardly do much about that, and it was true that the behavior wasn’t expressed openly in the lord’s presence.
Which reflection felt rather better than it perhaps ought to have, considering that Fëanáro was not actually a vala. Eönwë missed Almaren, missed even more the time before Almaren, when the only barriers between him and Mairon were those he knew how to deal with, even if, at the time, he’d been too unsure of himself, of them, to give Lord Manwë a true chance to lift restrictions. Lord Aulë, after all, had never seemed to find Eönwë’s presence a problem, nor, indeed, even to find it worthy of notice.
Which… was mildly concerning, honestly, now, in retrospect. Granted, Mairon was hardly the sort to’ve been overpowered — not by Eönwë, at least — but…
Lord Manwë had if anything paid too much attention to that connection. Not that there had been a need, and it had certainly not helped a young and confused Eönwë deal with anything, but what if the lack of notice hadn’t just been Lord Aulë having absolute confidence in Mairon?
What if it had been?
Had not the effect been the same, in the end? Certainly overpowering Mairon would have been difficult — though not impossible for Morgoth, or any other vala, Eönwë’s thoughts piped up with — but overawing him…
Dangling information in front of him and waiting for him to be curious enough to reach out to claim it…
Eönwë swallowed sharply.
It was hardly the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Absent confirmation that Mairon had never given him, not directly, he had no proof, but… but well… just because Morgoth had always felt rather off to Eönwë didn’t mean that Morgoth was incapable of manipulation, of using subtle words rather than brute force. Certainly, if Eönwë knew enough to to guess how best one might have slowly tempted Mairon away from safety, then… then Morgoth almost certainly had as well.
Eönwë did not wish to think about it further.
Looking up, Eönwë let his focus drift, let his attention follow the clouds drifting overhead, and catch on the birds that graced the sky.
Time passed, drifting like the clouds, and Eönwë paid its passing no mind, until his awareness strayed back towards the door to the garden and snagged immediately on the presences stepping through it.
Lord Fëanáro and Mairon.
Eönwë immediately jumped up, ëala eagerly reaching out towards Mairon in excitement of greeting, though he reined himself back almost immediately, his lord’s edicts regarding proper manners ringing through his head.
Among them, that one did not slam one’s ëala forward like the leading edges of a tornado.
Eönwë was not vibrating in place.
Ok, yes he was, but it was a very subtle vibration. Hopefully, Lord Fëanáro wouldn’t notice.
Lord Fëanáro, who did not appear to be in a good mood, if the stern glower with which he pinned Eönwë was any indication.
Eönwë forced himself to stillness, swallowing nervously. He… honestly had no idea which way Mairon would decide, if Lord Fëanáro pushed the issue, tried to forbid them to spend time together, and he didn’t want to know either, didn’t want Mairon, his precious Mairon, to be anywhere near such a bind.
He could hardly expect that Mairon would choose him, and it would hurt, hurt beyond all belief, even if he understood only too well the threads of duty that would create it.
Lord Fëanáro, however, simply led Mairon over, then turned and left them alone as Mairon folded himself in against Eönwë’s side, pausing in his departure long enough to pin Eönwë with an even sterner look and state, “If you hurt him, I will end you.”
Which was… confusing, really. If Lord Fëanáro didn’t approve, why not simply say so? Why bring Mairon right to Eönwë?
If Lord Fëanáro did approve, why issue a threat?
Eönwë glanced at Mairon, who was still pressed against him, exuding a sort of deep exhaustion of ëala, rather than fana. Answers, it seemed, were unlikely to be forthcoming.
Which was fine! Clearly, Mairon needed to relax and unwind a little, or even a lot. Gently, Eönwë rested his ëala against Mairon’s normally fiery one, which felt more like sparks and banked embers at the moment, and urged some of his winds to stoke those embers a little.
Eönwë wasn’t sure if the reduction was related to whatever had happened to Mairon prior to his returning to Valinor, or if it was something else. Considering the way that all the úmaiar felt, like their ëalar were roughly almost amputated, blocked off almost completely, he was inclined towards the latter, though what it could have possibly been, to’ve lasted for entire Ages, remained beyond him.
Nor was now a good time to ask after it. Not with Mairon clearly already on the edge of overwhelmed.
“Come, you mentioned wanting to show me something, last time,” Eönwë said, smiling, speaking aloud to try and pull his friend’s attention away from his doubtless internal spiralling.
Mairon immediately perked up, though it lasted only a few seconds before he was stretching his ëala out, faint and targeted almost immediately, then slumping down a little in relief.
A questioning brush of ëala resulted in Mairon sharing a sense of relief that his fellows, his people, were not accidentally out of compliance with a newly determined edict of their lord.
Which revelation made Eönwë blink in surprise. Granted, in Lord Fëanáro’s first life, he could have imaged the elflord being excessively and lingeringly wroth over an accident, but now…
What he’d seen, and heard, thus far suggested that Lord Fëanáro was hardly likely to be so, however. Not for a legitimate accident relating to a just-pronounced edict. Not any more than would Lord Manwë.
Offering this awareness just led to uncertainty threaded with skepticism from Mairon, so after a moment Eönwë allowed it to slip away from between them, and gently nudged Mairon towards whatever it was that he had wished to share.
Mairon turned to glance at Eönwë with a slightly shaky smile, then tugged him forward gently, away from the keep, all while staying pressed right beside him. Right where he belonged. Just as Eönwë, likewise pressed right against Mairon, was right where he belonged too.