"The Rivers Of My Palms" by Amy Fortuna
Mar. 30th, 2015 10:20 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: Noldorin Beleriand: work inspired by Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem by Bob Hicok.
Format: Short Story - 2100 words.
Genre: Romance, Slash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Characters: Fingon, Maedhros
Pairings: Fingon/Maedhros
Creators' Notes (optional): I was expecting to write something much sadder based on that poem, but somehow it wasn't happening. All the stuff about palmistry is basically made up out of whole cloth, wild speculation on what Elvish palmistry might be like, and the tiniest bit of Googling.
Summary: In Valinor, young Fingon and Maedhros visit a palm-reader and have their somewhat ambiguous fortunes told.
"They say they can tell your whole future from the palms of your hands," Fingon said excitedly, leading Maedhros up a long street in Tirion. "Of course it's just a bit of amusement, but I think some people can read the Music better than others, and why shouldn't it be written in our hands?"
"It sounds like a bit of trickery to me," Maedhros commented mildly. Fingon, at the age of forty-eight, was busy finding out all the important lessons of life, and certainly part of that was wasting time trying to figure out the vagaries of what fate had in store. It had never been Maedhros' preferred way of dealing with the long future stretching out before them, but it couldn't hurt to give it a shot, and in so doing spend a little time with his most favourite cousin.
They entered a building, colourfully painted on the outside with various flowers and stars. It was dark inside compared to the light of the Trees outside, so they took a moment, standing in the doorway to let their eyes adjust.
"Welcome," a soft voice greeted them, and the form of a young and very pretty nis emerged from the shadows. "She is waiting for you."
They followed her through the darkness into a dimly lit, curtained room. A dark figure sat behind a small table, heavily cloaked so that her face could not be seen.
"My lords, please sit," she said, and her voice was low, and filled with a strange power.
Fingon moved forward with easy grace, sitting down on one of the low cushioned chairs in front of her, and Maedhros followed suit, after a moment. He felt distinctly uneasy here, unsure of what would be said. He could sense that there was some power here, but could not tell if it was particularly friendly. And yet, they were in the Blessed Realm, and surely the Valar would not condone any dangerous practice, here.
"Prince Findekano," the fortune-teller said, leaning forward. The light in her eyes shone even from under the cloak, so that although they could not fully see her face, they could tell that her hair was dark and her skin pale. "Lay your hands out before me, palms upward."
Flashing a quick excited smile at Maedhros, Fingon did so. "What can you tell me?" he asked eagerly. "Do I have a great fate? Who will I marry? What will I do with my life? How many children will I have?"
"Patience, young one," the fortune-teller said, tracing the lines of Fingon's hands with her own graceful fingers. "Your hands are most expressive, and I can assure you that you will indeed have a most noble fate, and a very important part to play in the events of the future." She examined both hands carefully, comparing them.
"There are differences between your two hands, but they are almost inconsequential. You will undoubtedly fulfil the destiny fate has in store for you." Fingon smiled brightly at this.
"You also have a very prominent heart line, indicating that love will be very important in your life. Indeed, your hands show that you will have one you love above all else, and that you will meet this one early in your life, if indeed you have not already. However, the lines are unclear about marriage, and particularly about children. There is one line, very faint and short, that looks like it might be one child, but this is uncertain and may be possibility only." Fingon frowned a little, not sure what to make of this.
The fortune-teller went on, tracing another line on Fingon's right hand. "This line here indicates your mind. It is strong, but not overly deep. You prefer to act on instinct and not over-analyse, and you prefer practicality to idealism." Fingon nodded along with this; it fit what he already knew about himself very well.
"This final line indicates the scope of your life, and this one next to it the success of your endeavours." The fortune-teller paused, taking a long breath in, almost a sound of a sigh, and when she resumed, her calm tone seemed shaken. "Of your success line I cannot speak much, for it is broken in places and vague in others. But it is certain that it is bound up with your heart line, for good or ill I cannot say. In truth, I do not know how well you will succeed but it is clear that in success or failure, you will always follow your heart." Fingon looked puzzled and thoughtful.
She released his hands and he drew them back, staring at his palms as if he would unlock their secrets. "If as you say I will fulfil my destiny," he said at last, "then I will succeed, shall I not?"
The fortune-teller shook her head. "Those are not the same things, not at all." She turned her attention to Maedhros. "Come, lay your hands out for me."
Maedhros was reluctant, still unsure of the fortune-teller's veracity, but at last laid his hands out as he had seen Fingon do.
"Do you not have questions for me?" the fortune-teller asked.
"No," he answered. "Only tell me what you see, good or ill."
She looked carefully at both hands. "Which is your favoured hand?" she asked.
Maedhros nodded toward his right hand, and she inspected it closely, then compared it with his left, frowning strangely.
"It is very odd," she said at last. "The life line on your left hand is far longer than on your right. This sometimes indicates a disparity between a person's fates - that one will make a choice that results in a changed fate from that originally destined, but I am not sure this is the case, here, for if that were so, all the lines would be different, not merely that your life line would be shorter on one hand. I do not know what to make of it."
Maedhros almost drew back his hands, confused, but she went on. "Your love line, now, Prince Nelyafinwe, is just as prominent as Prince Findekano's - indeed, they almost seem to match. You too, will love early, and eternally, but a marriage for you is unclear, and you will not have children." Then she looked more closely. "No, you will, perhaps. Very faint, very late, two short lines, identical to each other, maybe twins?"
This was, if anything, even more confusing than Fingon's reading had been. But he was in now, so there was nothing more to do but see what else she would say. "What do you see about my mind?"
She smiled within the cloak; he could just see her mouth from where he sat. "Your mind line is most intriguing. It is very strong, and very deep. You tend to think hard, and look before you leap. You are cautious and analytical, capable of turning your mind to almost any problem." Her face went serious and sober as she continued to look at his hand. "And yet, the line of your mind also indicates almost imbalance, a tendency to become lost within the tangle of your own thoughts. Grief and sorrow, which alas! are not unknown in Aman, affect you deeply."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Maedhros asked. What she was saying matched to some degree how he saw himself, but he was not sure this wasn't just a general reading based on research about them - it wasn't like he and Fingon were unknown figures in Tirion, after all.
She examined his left hand very closely then, tracing a line of his hand with her finger. He suddenly shivered, as if the room had gone cold. She looked up, and the hood of her cloak fell further forward over her face, blocking out the light of her eyes. The tone of her voice changed too - it was no longer the calm, assured voice of the fortune-teller, but the voice of someone on the edge of fear trying to regain control.
"The line of your life seems to end sharply," she said. "Also, I have never seen this connection between the mind line and the life line before in such a way, but I cannot say what it points to. About the success of your endeavours I cannot speak, for the line that should indicate that is entirely missing."
"What does that mean?" Maedhros said, and at this he did take back his hands, placing them on his knees. For some reason he didn't want to look at the palms right now, didn't want to see what was in them.
She swallowed, and glanced away uncharacteristically. "There are two different ways to read it," she said slowly. "One way to read it will be that you will not have lasting success, but there is also a belief that a missing line means that you must create your own fate, that your successes are not foretold in the Music at all, which is a much happier way of looking at things."
He took a deep breath. "I do not know what to make of this, but thank you." The fortune-teller nodded quietly, folding her hands in front of her, indicating that the reading was over.
"Come with me," a voice said from behind them, the young nis they had seen earlier. Carefully, they both rose and followed her out, Fingon silent in a way that was entirely unlike him, Maedhros thoughtful in a way that generally was.
Back out in the bright light once more, Fingon took Maedhros' hand. "I think there's an especially pretty garden not far from here," he said softly, leading Maedhros away.
Maedhros thrilled at the feel of Fingon's hand in his own, heartrate suddenly speeding up. This was not an unknown phenomenon, but one that Maedhros had very carefully kept as quiet as possible, hardly willing to admit even to himself the depth of his feelings for Fingon. Who was, as he reminded himself once more, still very young.
Once in the garden, which was deserted, they sat down on a bench. The light of Laurelin was just beginning to fade, and the light of Telperion growing. The Mingling, the time when Valinor was at its most beautiful, was upon them, and they were in a lovely garden, alone, and Fingon's hand was still nestled within Maedhros', and Fingon was curled up against him, quiet and thoughtful for once.
"What are you thinking of?" Maedhros said, trying to tear his mind away from the romance of the situation. But Fingon's next words were not helpful at all with that.
"Love," he said, and his voice rang with feeling. "Indeed, it has often been on my mind of late."
"Are you in love, Findekano?" Maedhros said, trying to put light amusement in his tone, rather than jealousy.
"Yes," Fingon breathed, so soft. "But I do not know if the one I love returns my feelings."
"Then perhaps you should tell that one," Maedhros said. Fingon drew his hand out of Maedhros' and sat up suddenly. Maedhros almost wanted to protest the loss, but Fingon stood abruptly, turning toward Maedhros, facing him, almost between his knees. He lifted his chin with determination, and his eyes glittered bright.
"You are right," he said. "I should tell that one." He looked for a moment as if he was about to walk away, and Maedhros' heart clenched painfully. But then he looked back again, meeting Maedhros' eyes, moved even closer. "It is you, Maitimo, I love you and no other, and I always will."
"Findekano," Maedhros breathed, hands desperate to reach out and pull Fingon close. His entire head was ringing with half-fulfilled longing, and after a moment he gave in to it, both arms going around Fingon, and pulling him so close that he could feel the warmth of him all along their bodies. "Your love is returned, I -," he broke off as Fingon's mouth met his.
The kiss was clumsy but sweet, and Maedhros wondered if indeed it was Fingon's first kiss, for certainly it felt that way. They lingered over it for a long moment, lips clinging as if they never wanted to let go. Fingon at last drew back, flushed and breathless, and Maedhros looked at him like that, heat sweeping over his body at the sight of him half undone from just a kiss.
"Findekano," he breathed. "Findekano, I love you, I love you. I never want to be without you."
The future was alive with possibility, then. All the worlds stretched out before them, waiting.
Format: Short Story - 2100 words.
Genre: Romance, Slash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Characters: Fingon, Maedhros
Pairings: Fingon/Maedhros
Creators' Notes (optional): I was expecting to write something much sadder based on that poem, but somehow it wasn't happening. All the stuff about palmistry is basically made up out of whole cloth, wild speculation on what Elvish palmistry might be like, and the tiniest bit of Googling.
Summary: In Valinor, young Fingon and Maedhros visit a palm-reader and have their somewhat ambiguous fortunes told.
"They say they can tell your whole future from the palms of your hands," Fingon said excitedly, leading Maedhros up a long street in Tirion. "Of course it's just a bit of amusement, but I think some people can read the Music better than others, and why shouldn't it be written in our hands?"
"It sounds like a bit of trickery to me," Maedhros commented mildly. Fingon, at the age of forty-eight, was busy finding out all the important lessons of life, and certainly part of that was wasting time trying to figure out the vagaries of what fate had in store. It had never been Maedhros' preferred way of dealing with the long future stretching out before them, but it couldn't hurt to give it a shot, and in so doing spend a little time with his most favourite cousin.
They entered a building, colourfully painted on the outside with various flowers and stars. It was dark inside compared to the light of the Trees outside, so they took a moment, standing in the doorway to let their eyes adjust.
"Welcome," a soft voice greeted them, and the form of a young and very pretty nis emerged from the shadows. "She is waiting for you."
They followed her through the darkness into a dimly lit, curtained room. A dark figure sat behind a small table, heavily cloaked so that her face could not be seen.
"My lords, please sit," she said, and her voice was low, and filled with a strange power.
Fingon moved forward with easy grace, sitting down on one of the low cushioned chairs in front of her, and Maedhros followed suit, after a moment. He felt distinctly uneasy here, unsure of what would be said. He could sense that there was some power here, but could not tell if it was particularly friendly. And yet, they were in the Blessed Realm, and surely the Valar would not condone any dangerous practice, here.
"Prince Findekano," the fortune-teller said, leaning forward. The light in her eyes shone even from under the cloak, so that although they could not fully see her face, they could tell that her hair was dark and her skin pale. "Lay your hands out before me, palms upward."
Flashing a quick excited smile at Maedhros, Fingon did so. "What can you tell me?" he asked eagerly. "Do I have a great fate? Who will I marry? What will I do with my life? How many children will I have?"
"Patience, young one," the fortune-teller said, tracing the lines of Fingon's hands with her own graceful fingers. "Your hands are most expressive, and I can assure you that you will indeed have a most noble fate, and a very important part to play in the events of the future." She examined both hands carefully, comparing them.
"There are differences between your two hands, but they are almost inconsequential. You will undoubtedly fulfil the destiny fate has in store for you." Fingon smiled brightly at this.
"You also have a very prominent heart line, indicating that love will be very important in your life. Indeed, your hands show that you will have one you love above all else, and that you will meet this one early in your life, if indeed you have not already. However, the lines are unclear about marriage, and particularly about children. There is one line, very faint and short, that looks like it might be one child, but this is uncertain and may be possibility only." Fingon frowned a little, not sure what to make of this.
The fortune-teller went on, tracing another line on Fingon's right hand. "This line here indicates your mind. It is strong, but not overly deep. You prefer to act on instinct and not over-analyse, and you prefer practicality to idealism." Fingon nodded along with this; it fit what he already knew about himself very well.
"This final line indicates the scope of your life, and this one next to it the success of your endeavours." The fortune-teller paused, taking a long breath in, almost a sound of a sigh, and when she resumed, her calm tone seemed shaken. "Of your success line I cannot speak much, for it is broken in places and vague in others. But it is certain that it is bound up with your heart line, for good or ill I cannot say. In truth, I do not know how well you will succeed but it is clear that in success or failure, you will always follow your heart." Fingon looked puzzled and thoughtful.
She released his hands and he drew them back, staring at his palms as if he would unlock their secrets. "If as you say I will fulfil my destiny," he said at last, "then I will succeed, shall I not?"
The fortune-teller shook her head. "Those are not the same things, not at all." She turned her attention to Maedhros. "Come, lay your hands out for me."
Maedhros was reluctant, still unsure of the fortune-teller's veracity, but at last laid his hands out as he had seen Fingon do.
"Do you not have questions for me?" the fortune-teller asked.
"No," he answered. "Only tell me what you see, good or ill."
She looked carefully at both hands. "Which is your favoured hand?" she asked.
Maedhros nodded toward his right hand, and she inspected it closely, then compared it with his left, frowning strangely.
"It is very odd," she said at last. "The life line on your left hand is far longer than on your right. This sometimes indicates a disparity between a person's fates - that one will make a choice that results in a changed fate from that originally destined, but I am not sure this is the case, here, for if that were so, all the lines would be different, not merely that your life line would be shorter on one hand. I do not know what to make of it."
Maedhros almost drew back his hands, confused, but she went on. "Your love line, now, Prince Nelyafinwe, is just as prominent as Prince Findekano's - indeed, they almost seem to match. You too, will love early, and eternally, but a marriage for you is unclear, and you will not have children." Then she looked more closely. "No, you will, perhaps. Very faint, very late, two short lines, identical to each other, maybe twins?"
This was, if anything, even more confusing than Fingon's reading had been. But he was in now, so there was nothing more to do but see what else she would say. "What do you see about my mind?"
She smiled within the cloak; he could just see her mouth from where he sat. "Your mind line is most intriguing. It is very strong, and very deep. You tend to think hard, and look before you leap. You are cautious and analytical, capable of turning your mind to almost any problem." Her face went serious and sober as she continued to look at his hand. "And yet, the line of your mind also indicates almost imbalance, a tendency to become lost within the tangle of your own thoughts. Grief and sorrow, which alas! are not unknown in Aman, affect you deeply."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Maedhros asked. What she was saying matched to some degree how he saw himself, but he was not sure this wasn't just a general reading based on research about them - it wasn't like he and Fingon were unknown figures in Tirion, after all.
She examined his left hand very closely then, tracing a line of his hand with her finger. He suddenly shivered, as if the room had gone cold. She looked up, and the hood of her cloak fell further forward over her face, blocking out the light of her eyes. The tone of her voice changed too - it was no longer the calm, assured voice of the fortune-teller, but the voice of someone on the edge of fear trying to regain control.
"The line of your life seems to end sharply," she said. "Also, I have never seen this connection between the mind line and the life line before in such a way, but I cannot say what it points to. About the success of your endeavours I cannot speak, for the line that should indicate that is entirely missing."
"What does that mean?" Maedhros said, and at this he did take back his hands, placing them on his knees. For some reason he didn't want to look at the palms right now, didn't want to see what was in them.
She swallowed, and glanced away uncharacteristically. "There are two different ways to read it," she said slowly. "One way to read it will be that you will not have lasting success, but there is also a belief that a missing line means that you must create your own fate, that your successes are not foretold in the Music at all, which is a much happier way of looking at things."
He took a deep breath. "I do not know what to make of this, but thank you." The fortune-teller nodded quietly, folding her hands in front of her, indicating that the reading was over.
"Come with me," a voice said from behind them, the young nis they had seen earlier. Carefully, they both rose and followed her out, Fingon silent in a way that was entirely unlike him, Maedhros thoughtful in a way that generally was.
Back out in the bright light once more, Fingon took Maedhros' hand. "I think there's an especially pretty garden not far from here," he said softly, leading Maedhros away.
Maedhros thrilled at the feel of Fingon's hand in his own, heartrate suddenly speeding up. This was not an unknown phenomenon, but one that Maedhros had very carefully kept as quiet as possible, hardly willing to admit even to himself the depth of his feelings for Fingon. Who was, as he reminded himself once more, still very young.
Once in the garden, which was deserted, they sat down on a bench. The light of Laurelin was just beginning to fade, and the light of Telperion growing. The Mingling, the time when Valinor was at its most beautiful, was upon them, and they were in a lovely garden, alone, and Fingon's hand was still nestled within Maedhros', and Fingon was curled up against him, quiet and thoughtful for once.
"What are you thinking of?" Maedhros said, trying to tear his mind away from the romance of the situation. But Fingon's next words were not helpful at all with that.
"Love," he said, and his voice rang with feeling. "Indeed, it has often been on my mind of late."
"Are you in love, Findekano?" Maedhros said, trying to put light amusement in his tone, rather than jealousy.
"Yes," Fingon breathed, so soft. "But I do not know if the one I love returns my feelings."
"Then perhaps you should tell that one," Maedhros said. Fingon drew his hand out of Maedhros' and sat up suddenly. Maedhros almost wanted to protest the loss, but Fingon stood abruptly, turning toward Maedhros, facing him, almost between his knees. He lifted his chin with determination, and his eyes glittered bright.
"You are right," he said. "I should tell that one." He looked for a moment as if he was about to walk away, and Maedhros' heart clenched painfully. But then he looked back again, meeting Maedhros' eyes, moved even closer. "It is you, Maitimo, I love you and no other, and I always will."
"Findekano," Maedhros breathed, hands desperate to reach out and pull Fingon close. His entire head was ringing with half-fulfilled longing, and after a moment he gave in to it, both arms going around Fingon, and pulling him so close that he could feel the warmth of him all along their bodies. "Your love is returned, I -," he broke off as Fingon's mouth met his.
The kiss was clumsy but sweet, and Maedhros wondered if indeed it was Fingon's first kiss, for certainly it felt that way. They lingered over it for a long moment, lips clinging as if they never wanted to let go. Fingon at last drew back, flushed and breathless, and Maedhros looked at him like that, heat sweeping over his body at the sight of him half undone from just a kiss.
"Findekano," he breathed. "Findekano, I love you, I love you. I never want to be without you."
The future was alive with possibility, then. All the worlds stretched out before them, waiting.
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