Fic: Tributary - Chapter 4

[ingenious_spark]

Tributary
Fandom: The Silmarillion, Hayao Miyazaki's Spirited Away
Rating: PG13/T
Warnings: Mild child abuse/child endangerment, underage employment
Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon (pre-relationship), Fëanor/Nerdanel (background), other minor background relationships
Characters:Fingon, Maedhros, Círdan, Fingolfin, Anairë, Turgon, Aredhel, Fëanor, Caranthir, Maglor, Celegorm, Ambarussa, Nerdanel, Curufin, Curufin's Wife, Thranduil, Thranduil's Wife, Hildifons Took, Isengar Took, Rog (Tolkien), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Genderqueer Character(s)
Word Count: 34,139
Summary: Tributary: noun; a river or stream flowing into a larger river or lake.

Moving to another town can be difficult, especially when you're just a kid. Leaving everything you know behind - friends, classmates, teachers, the nice guy at the ice cream shop who sometimes snuck you an extra scoop - is scary, even if you know the place you're moving to.

For Findecáno, son of Ñolofinwë and Anairë, brother of Turucáno and Írissë, it's going to be even harder.

Dropped into a dangerous and treacherous world of spirits and magic, he doesn't know which way to turn, or even who he can trust, but he has to keep his feet under him in order to stay ahead of the great Sorcerer and save his family.

Findecáno turned, suddenly feeling a lot better about his situation. He noted that the décor up here was gaudy, heavily ornate and cluttered. He approached the over-elaborate set of doors, and rapped the strangely-shaped knocker.

“Huh. This one has manners, it seems. Bit scrawny, though, haven’t hit your first growth.” The voice made him jump – a smooth, pleasant male voice, with just a hint of something that screamed danger to it. It came from the knocker, but then, it came from everywhere. The doors opened, by themselves. All of them. There were apparently a lot. He stared down the corridor, and gulped. The voice seemed to get impatient. “Come closer, child. I need to get a good look at you.” He steeled his nerve, which apparently took too long, because the voice abruptly said, “I said closer,” and something invisible grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked. He was pulled through the maze of rooms, all with the same elaborate, overdone grandeur, all the doors slamming shut and locking behind him, until he was thrown head over heels into a room like a parlor or receiving room.

The first thing Findecáno noticed was the almost oppressive heat. The fireplace took up practically an entire wall, radiating warmth like a furnace. He was immediately absolutely soaked in sweat, his skin flushing. A teenager was bending over him, to help him to his feet, and he gladly accepted the assistance.

This teenager looked an awful lot like Celegorm, but with black hair that had an almost glassy shine to it. After a moment, Findecáno realized that there were strands of obsidian glass and shiny gray hematite woven through his hair and the pair of braids that held it away from his face – not beads, but rather like someone had turned the stones to liquid and formed them to the exact contours of his hair. His eyes were not like fire trapped in glass, but rather like chips of stone, mottled blue and green and gray. His skin was human-looking, pale and pinkish, but it gleamed occasionally as it caught the light, with gemstone-fire in pinks, reds, and yellows.

He got to his feet, and turned to the other person in the room. His heart leapt into his throat, and his tongue felt leaden. That man was the one who had turned his family to goats, he recognized the tall, slim figure and long dark hair – he looked so much like Da that it gave his tummy an unpleasant lurch. His hair was brown though, the firelight - though it had dimmed now nearly to embers and Findecáno could breathe once more - caught the light in almost-red glints in the long, deep brown hair. This man’s eyes were exactly like Celegorm’s though, darker, but still the blue heart of a fire caught in glass. The claws, horns and the teeth were the same, as was the curling gust of smoke the man breathed at him. It smelled of wood smoke and oranges, and that cleared Findecáno’s head, strangely enough.

“Please, will you give me a job?” He blurted out, and the man’s hand lifted from where he was writing elegantly to make a purposeful, jerky gesture, accompanied by a murmured word in the same old language Maedhros had used. Findecáno found himself completely unable to open his mouth and he screamed, though it came out as muffled, panicked mumbles as he clawed at his skin.

“Shut up and stop talking. You look like a perfectly useless, scrawny brat. Besides, this is no place for humans, you’d just as soon be eaten.” He looked up at Findecáno finally, and a queer look passed over his face briefly, too quickly for him to read any of the tangle of emotion that it presented. “This is a bath house, you understand, for the spirits. A place where the eight million gods might rest their weary bones. Your family – and they were your family, you’re the spitting image of your father, so don’t bother denying it – had some nerve trespassing into our realm. Got what they deserved, in my opinion. Tell me, boy, the name of your grandfather?” The jerky motion was repeated, in reverse, and Findecáno gasped a breath when he found he could once more open his mouth.

“My mother’s father’s name is –” The man shook his head sharply, and breathed out an irritated gust of smoke.

“Your father’s father, boy. Hurry up, now.” Findecáno could only shake his head.

“I don’t know, sir, Da and Uncle haven’t got a father. Please, will you give me a job?” Fëanáro’s lip curled, and he gave a dry little chuckle – there were sparks in that little puff of smoke, which made Findecáno flinch just slightly.

“Only one thing for it, likely. You’ll make a fine little goat, my boy, and you’ll be with that pesky family of yours again." He paused, looking Findecáno over with a jaundiced eye. "I see you're trembling." Findecáno hadn't even noticed that he was - adrenaline and terror were flooded through his system, so it made sense why he would be shaking. "I am mildly impressed that you made it this far. Someone must have helped you. I must thank your friend, so please, tell me who it was, my boy." His voice had dropped to a soothing cadence, melodic and almost hypnotizing. Findecáno found himself relaxing ever so slightly.

"And risk my life? I don't think so!" Celegorm's words rang through his head suddenly and he twitched.

"Please, give me a job here!" He blurted out, and Fëanáro's calm facade dropped.

"Enough of that from you!" He yelled.

"I need a job, please give me one!" Findecáno yelled right back.

"Silence!" The word was yelled once more, the fire in the fireplace blazing bright and hot once more as Fëanáro vaulted over his desk and prowled to where Findecáno was standing. Findecáno noticed, vaguely, that the dark-haired teenager was now tucked away in a corner looking mildly terrified. "Why should I hire you?" Fëanáro spat, grabbing a handful of Findecáno’s hair and yanking. Findecáno was forced up onto his tiptoes, staring up at the spirit with wide, terrified gray eyes. "Anyone can see you're a weedy, undergrown maggot who wouldn't be able to pull his own weight," he snarled, interjecting his words with vicious tugs at Findecáno's hair. "I've got nothing for you, forget it. I've got all the bums I need around here." He smirked cruelly, "unless you'd like the worst, nastiest job I can possibly find for you, slaving away until you breathe your very last breath?"

They were interrupted by a loud thud and a high-pitched shriek from what sounded like the next room. Suddenly, fire was licking at a set of heavy draperies and Fëanáro dropped Findecáno and hurried over, slapping at the flames and causing them to go out with just a touch. The someone in the next room, who really sounded like Írissë in a tantrum, was now screaming lustily, and new flames sprang up almost as soon as Fëanáro put them out.

"Calm down, my little one, I'll be right there!" Fëanáro called, before looking venomously at Findecáno. "What are you still doing here? Get out!" He snarled, but Findecáno had found his courage.

"Please give me a job!" He had to nearly yell to make himself heard over the racket.

"Don't shout!" Fëanáro snapped, but the look on his face had become a look that Findecáno recognized from his own parents' faces, and he wasn't really very scary anymore. "Please give me a job!" He repeated, just as loudly, and Fëanáro growled, looking over his shoulder at him with a look of utter loathing.

"Fine, just shut up, will you?" He snarled. After one last glare, he went through to the other room, and there soothed the screaming child. Findecáno stood there, feeling ever-so-slightly dumb, wondering what he was supposed to do next. The answer came in the form of the teenager uncurling from his corner, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from the desk and bringing them over to him.

He read the contract carefully. It was thorough, but he was confident he could later find a way to escape. He carefully signed his name, and by the time he was done, Fëanáro seemed to have been successful in soothing the child back to sleep or at least to quiet.

"You've signed your contract?" He asked brusquely, emerging from the other room, and magically erasing the burn marks in the draperies and his clothing. "I warn you right now, any complaints and you'll make a fine little goat." Fëanáro tugged on a queer heavy rope that was hanging from the ceiling. Findecáno wondered what it was supposed to do. "That damned oath I took, give work to anyone who asks for it. Hellfire, that was a stupid idea." Fëanáro was grumbling, but the angry fire seemed to have gone from his voice. The fire itself had simmered back down to embers, which made the temperature in the room close to bearable again. The silent assistant took the paper and pen from Findecáno and brought them back to Fëanáro. He looked down at the paper.

"You're Findecáno, then, boy?" He asked, and Findecáno thought the answer was pretty obvious, but nodded anyway. "Far too extravagant a name," he waved a hand over the paper and Findecáno watched in horrified amazement as the letters he had penned peeled up from the page, or rearranged themselves to a new form. "From now on you're Fingon.” He looked up at Findecáno with a peremptory glare. "Got that, Fingon?" When Findecáno didn't reply right away, he snapped - "Fingon." Findecáno jumped, inexplicably guilty.

"Y-yes!" He stammered.

"Master Fëanáro called for me?" A smooth, familiar voice broke into the conversation, and Findecáno looked over, stunned. Sure enough, Maedhros stood there, looking utterly serene and strangely lacking the warmth Findecáno knew could be found in his eyes.

Now that he was actually looking at the other in a well-lit room, he noticed that there were some alien properties about the redhead, too. His eyes had a slit pupil like a cat's and were tilted up at the corners, a little too high to be human. The lids were lined in a faint golden shade that Findecáno knew wasn't makeup, somehow. His fingers were tipped with bone-white claws, like the finger bones had melted into the fingernails. When he spoke, his teeth were sharp, with long incisors. There was a faint pattern to his skin, like scales or snakeskin, which only showed up when the light hit it just right, glittering faintly gold and scarlet.

"Yes, this brat's going to be working for me now. Look after him, get him settled." Fëanáro waved dismissively, and Maedhros bowed, leading Findecáno away.

"Your name," he asked, as they departed through the mazelike, artificially grand halls. Findecáno frowned. Maedhros knew his name, didn't he?

"Um, Fingon." He volunteered, thinking perhaps the other wanted the name that Fëanáro had given him. Once they were safely ensconced in the elevator, Findecáno chose to speak.

"Maedhros, what's-"

"No idle chatter. You will address me as 'Master' Maedhros." All the warmth in those bright green eyes seemed to have evaporated, leaving them cold and reptilian. Fingon shrank into himself, feeling small and lost and lonely. They descended into the working quarters, and he tried to make himself as insignificant-looking as possible, though every eye was on them. They came to the little desk in the center of the chaos.

"This is Fingon, Fëanáro sent him to work here." Maedhros said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Evidently the frog-man sitting behind the desk was not good at recognizing tonal implications, because he argued. "Even on Fëanáro's orders, we can't take a human," he protested, his grotesquely wide mouth curling in a sly smirk.

"His contract is already signed and sealed. It matters not." Maedhros said simply, to the surprise and consternation of all. Fingon bowed politely to the assembled masses.

"Please treat me kindly," he said softly, the rote pleasantries tasting ashy in his mouth from nervousness.

"He reeks of human," someone behind him complained, not even bothering to moderate the loudness of his voice. "Don't send him to us!" Maedhros looked around at the crowd. "If you bothered to look closely enough, you'd see that the boy isn't entirely human. Three days of eating our food and the smell will vanish. Long enough, and he'll become one of us entirely. Stop complaining and do your jobs. If he's useless, you can go ahead and eat him, but if I hear you haven't even given him a chance, there will be consequences. Get back to work! Where's Celegorm?" The crowd sulkily dispersed, and Celegorm voiced his displeasure from where he was propped against a doorframe.

"What? Don't dump the kid on me!" He yelped. Maedhros eyed him cooly.

"You said you wanted help," he said, and left it at that. The wide-mouthed foreman frog grinned greasily.

"Yes, that will work well. Give him to Celegorm." Maedhros ignored him completely and turned to Fingon.

"Go, Fingon." He said, and Fingon went.

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