Sunrise Before I Ever Saw the Sun by Himring

In the Park

Among the Noldor in Valinor, the first subtle signs of discord fomented by Melkor have arisen. There was a troubling incident in a public space in Tirion and neither Feanor nor those he clashed with seemed quite their usual selves. Maedhros, who was present and had tried to defuse the situation, has sensed this, but is finding it difficult to pin down what has changed, let alone guess what caused the change.
In the aftermath of the incident, Maedhros and Fingon retreat to a nearby park.

A short scene between the two.

Rated Teens for some angst and the canonical background

Fingon caught up with him and they walked through the grove together, the tense silence between them muffling the birdsong. Without a word spoken, they reached the glade. Maedhros slipped the sandals off his feet and waded into the small canal, heedless of the hem of his second-best robe that dipped below the surface and flowed wet about his calves. He stood feeling the clear coolness of the water washing around his feet, until it washed away a little of the aftertaste of the incident and carried it downstream.

‘I’m sorry, Findekano,’ he said, without turning his head. ‘I can’t talk about it. Not today.  Maybe tomorrow.’

‘Or the day after,’ said Fingon, behind him. ‘Or the day after that.’

‘Now you’re teasing me,’ said Maedhros, without rancour.

Fingon laughed a little. Maedhros heard him and, with that, the sound of the birds’ voices came back and the rustling in the grass and the gush and bubble of the artificial little waterfall at the southern end of the glade. He felt himself breathing easier.

Better now. All light, all bright, under the glittering rays of Laurelin. And yet, he feared—no, he knew it wasn’t over, whatever had happened back out there. He doubted any of the few Vanyar present had noticed, unless they were really well attuned; they thought the Noldor fractious and his father impossible anyway. If he had uttered any alarm, they might have suspected him of just making excuses for Feanor.

Had it merely been an especially bad clash of personalities and opinions, distressing as those could certainly be? No, something had shifted. He closed his eyes, trying to pin it down, what it was, where it had come from, and it seemed to slither away from his perceptions...

Fingon, he saw, was sitting cross-legged on the bank, watching him. There was a buttercup growing close by his left knee, and the light was making a shifting pattern across his hair and shoulder that seemed brighter, at this moment, than any threads of gold.

It was nothing, it was just Fingon being Fingon, more aware of Maedhros’s limitations than he had sometimes given him credit for, in the past, and still putting up with him. But for a moment Maedhros was seized by a panicky impulse to say to this face that seemed so open and therefore, suddenly, so vulnerable: Let’s not go back, let’s stay and hide, pretend we are not here, until they forget all about us. Ridiculous—they would have a better chance of hiding out in Finwe’s palace, even, than in this small city park. And who, exactly, were ‘they’, after all?

He opened his mouth and found himself saying, instead: ‘I guess we had better be getting back.’

Chapter End Notes

The details of the preceding incident refused to come to me and will no doubt reveal themselves in their own time.
Meanwhile, perhaps the first chapter of "The Chief in a Village" (in the same series, called: Feanor Disrupts Gathering Female Relatives Refuse To Attend) might give readers some idea of the background, if wanted. It's set later, when things have become noticeably worse, but shows an incident involving Feanor, Fingolfin and Maedhros from Fingon's point of view and Fingon's thoughts on the matter.