It's been two weeks since Anthony's surgery. Winter starts to thaw, with signs of spring, and then in true New England fashion there's another big snowstorm at the end of March, with more flurries into early April.
The shop was closed for the first week after the surgery, so Sören and Mark could take care of Anthony and keep him company. Unfortunately, they can't afford to take more time off, so in week two, Sören and Mark take turns running the shop while the other stays upstairs with Anthony. During this time the cafe is closed, and most people are understanding that Anthony has "medical issues" and they've gotten some well-wishes, but there's the occasional disgruntled person who wants coffee, and Sören feels aggravated that people think coffee is more important than the well-being of the shopowners.
While Anthony will be out of work for at least another month to recover, after the first two weeks post-surgery his doctor gives him the clearance to go for a little walk every day, which will also help prevent complications like blood clots. Anthony is moving slower than usual - he looks exhausted; Anthony told Sören and Mark that the surgeon said he had the worst case of fibroids he'd ever seen, a normal uterus weighs about six ounces and is the size of a hockey puck and his was close to two pounds from the fibroids, so having that taken out with everything attached to it was quite a bodily ordeal. But Anthony is also restless enough that he looks forward to the walks, even in the cold, snowy weather.
On their Monday off, Anthony watches Father Ted while Sören and Mark do chores, and once the chores are finished, Sören brings Anthony tea and Anthony yells "FECK OFF, CUP!" which makes Sören laugh. Halfway into his cuppa, Anthony says, "How do you guys feel about going to Craig Beach?"
It's Anthony's first trip out of the house after the surgery, except to see his doctor. It's enough of an occasion that Mark brings his harp, and they stop at Subway to indulge in veggie subs to bring to the beach for a picnic. As Mark runs in to get the food, Anthony turns to Sören and says, "I don't know if you can eat a sub, that's like a form of cannibalism."
Sören facepalms and snickers loudly. "For once it's not Mark making a vore joke."
They laugh together, then Sören adds, "I'm glad you're feeling a little better." He feels relief that Anthony is laughing, finally - Anthony has been quiet and serious for the last two weeks following his surgery, though Sören knows some of that is the pain meds and some of that is Anthony's continued grieving of Elaine... and one stress after another, his hysterectomy not long after Elaine's death and funeral.
On a cold Monday afternoon with the weekend's snow still dusting the sand and rocks, the beach is empty except for them. They spread a blanket on the snowy sand and sit, eating their veggie subs and chips, watching the waves, enjoying the salt breeze. Anthony is tired but happy, and Sören savors the moment of peace - especially Anthony's peace, the calm after the storm. Mark notices it too.
"Brighter days ahead," Mark says, affectionately tousling Anthony's hair. "I won't bullshit you, the wound never completely heals, but it bleeds less, stings less, with time."
Anthony nods. "My uncle Nigel said something similar after Mum passed. You'd like him, I think." Then Anthony looks off to the side, as if he realizes that Mark hasn't definitely said yes to staying with them past June, and it's already early April. And even though Anthony argued for a living when he was a lawyer, he and Sören both know not to try to fight too hard; Mark has enough guilt for several lifetimes.
It still doesn't keep Sören from wishing it... aching so much to give Mark the home and the family that he needs. Aching to ease Mark's pain, and Anthony's.
Mark's eyes mist a little, and he clears his throat and goes over to his harp. The song he plays is familiar, and perfect for the moment, here as the tide rolls, on and on, eternal, constant while other things have washed away.
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose, only time
Sören gets choked up - his mind's eye replaying Fëanor's memories as well as his own - and he doesn't want to make Anthony's first post-surgery outing sad by breaking down crying, knowing that will make Anthony cry too. So instead, Sören does what he does, and at the end Sören sings along:
Who knows? OnlyFans
Who knows? OnlyFans
Anthony doubles over, heaving, face beetroot, tearing up with laughter. "DAMMIT, SÖREN."
Sören takes a bow. Mark rolls his eyes but he snickers too.
"We need something more serious to make up for... that," Anthony says, wagging a finger at Sören with a mock stern look on his face, though his eyes are dancing. Sören kisses the tip of his nose and glances over at Mark.
"Jæja, do 'Hotline Bling'," Sören says. He explains to Anthony, "While you were in surgery he played that on the harp. It was actually nice."
Mark chuckles and heaves an exaggerated sigh. "As you wish."
As Mark gets into a harp instrumental of "Hotline Bling" - which sounds even prettier this time around, on the beautiful snowy beach landscape - Sören can't resist trying to make Anthony laugh some more, so after a moment he gets up, walks to the water's edge, and begins doing the dance from the video, rotating his arms, leaning back then moving up again...
...and as he bends over and swings his right arm back and forth, he catches something glinting in the waves.
Something very like one of his paintings. Something very like his dreams.
It washes in right to him, a golf-ball shaped stone glowing iridescent white. Sören picks it up as part of his dance and Mark stops playing, open-mouthed, as he sees the stone shining in Sören's hand. The stone feels warm to the touch, despite having been in the ice-cold Maine ocean, and it's pulsing gently.
Sören brings it back and Mark's eyes widen. He covers his mouth with one hand and his burned hand points at the stone.
The Silmaril that Maglor threw into the ocean, eons ago.
"I know when that Silmaril bling, that can only mean one thing?" Sören asks, and offers the stone to Mark. "Your Oath has been fulfilled, Kanafinwë."
Mark laughs so hard he falls out of his seat and into the snow and then he starts sobbing. Laughing and crying.
Sören cries too.
Somehow, they manage to get home, but are silent all the way. Sören makes tea once they get inside and for awhile they just drink tea and watch the news like nothing has happened.
Of course, it feels like everything has happened. All at once.
Finally Sören breaks the silence, taking the Silmaril out of his pocket and putting it on the coffee table. Seamus gets curious, like the light is a laser pointer, and bats it off the coffee table. He starts knocking it from the living room into the kitchen, chirping, as the light throws rainbows all over the ceiling and walls. Sören lets Seamus have his fun for a few minutes and then he brings it back over. "I'm going to have to find someplace safe to keep this so the cats don't get into it," Sören says. He offers the stone to Mark again.
Mark waves his burned hand. "I... I don't know if I can."
Sören exhales. "What... you did... was a long time ago. You're a better person now. I don't think the stone would hurt -"
"Even if you're right," Mark says, and then he nods and adds, "And you would probably know."
Anthony's eyebrows shoot up but he says nothing and sips his tea; Sören knows Anthony has caught that. They haven't had the conversation about Sören being Fëanor - and Anthony being Finarfin - yet; after Sören and Mark took Anthony home from the hospital and put him down for a nap, they made an agreement to "play it by ear" and wait for the right timing to discuss "the Fëanor thing". It looks like the time is finally here. Sören shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Mark goes on, "I still feel like it... it's yours. You made it."
Anthony puts down his tea and leans back.
Mark and Sören glance over at Anthony. Oh shit, Sören thinks to himself, heart beating faster. He was hoping to get at least a few more minutes. Finding the Silmaril was intense enough, never mind having to have this conversation on top of that.
"With the caveat that I've not read The Silmarillion yet, because I want to get to know you without being influenced by 'canon'..." Anthony makes air quotes. "I'm going to guess that's a Silmaril."
"That is the Silmaril that I threw into the ocean several thousand years ago," Mark says, nodding again. "It... came back."
"I'd got that." Anthony turns to Sören. "You've painted that stone, in the waves. You told me you've dreamt of it."
There is a long, painful pause, and finally Sören says, "Jæja. I've... dreamt of making it."
"I've had some strange dreams myself." Anthony purses his lips. "When I was under during the surgery, I dreamt I was the 'swan prince' from the painting. I dreamt of a long journey through ice and snow... and someone who looks like you, Sören, only clean-shaven and with longer hair, telling me to go back. I dreamt of leading an army into battle and getting killed by the same fire demons you've spoken of dreaming about -"
Mark puts up a hand. "I don't like telling people 'this is what you are' because it feels manipulative, but Anthony, those dreams are your memories."
Anthony nods. "I had a feeling." Anthony picks up his tea and takes a big gulp.
"I know this sounds batshit, but you and Sören were both... my kin, a long time ago. Sören was someone named Fëanor - my father -"
Anthony drops his tea and spills it all over himself, swearing.
Sören runs and gets a dish towel, though he knows that won't really help. He and Anthony dab at the mess and Mark quietly gets up, sprays pet-safe cleaner on the floor, then helps Anthony take his shirt off. Mark brings it down to the laundry hamper and comes back with a fresh clean shirt for Anthony. Anthony puts on his shirt and then he says, "Sorry. I. Ah."
Mark waits. Sören feels like he can't breathe.
"I heard myself calling that name as I was in the recovery room." Anthony swallows. "I never wanted to believe in reincarnation and... and... souls... and... gods... and all that rubbish -"
"I know. I'm sorry." Mark gives a sad smile.
"I was someone, wasn't I." Anthony makes a face.
"His name was Arafinwë, the Sindarin translation of his name is Finarfin. My uncle. I'll get this out of the way now - yes, we were like that. We were adults when it started. No, I don't think human incest is OK."
"It's like mythology," Sören says. "Freyr, the lord of the elves in Norse mythology, was lovers with his sister Freyja. Different power dynamics, different... sense of time, I guess."
Anthony nods. "Yeah, and... I mean... we're also not blood-related, now, in these new bodies."
"Perhaps distantly - I've had half-human children, haven't kept track of their descendants. But not close enough for it to count," Mark says.
There's another long silence - Anthony takes everything in.... and Sören keeps processing it. Feeling like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders - many years, many civilizations, many lives, come and gone. A whole multiverse of worlds like this one, wondering if his other counterparts have had a moment like this, finding the Silmaril, finding themselves...
"My brain is breaking," Anthony says softly.
"It's a lot," Mark says. He gives a wry chuckle. "I'm a lot."
Sören wonders if that's part of why Mark leaves - feeling like he's broken, damaged goods, carrying millennia of trauma that most people can't begin to fathom. "You're not too much for us," Sören says, and reaches out his hand.
Mark takes Sören's hand in his burned hand, and squeezes, but stays silent.
Don't leave, Sören thinks to himself, but doesn't say it aloud. We found our way back to each other, after all this time. Don't let it be for nothing.
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