Whatever You Say, Ace by Isilme_among_the_stars  

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One

The first time Maedhros beheld Fingon he was smitten. How could he not be? Such soft, velvety skin! Oh, the delightful smell of his dear little head! Yes, Maedhros was in love from the very first moment he held his baby cousin, who, unlike Maglor when he was an infant, rarely cried and did not try to pull at his hair.

Despite what certain elves would later insinuate, and falsehoods that certain rumours would spread like wildfire among the populace, Maedhros’s love for Fingon would never differ substantially from the platonic affection he had felt in that first moment. He was becoming quite tired of having to explain otherwise! Gifting his cousin sparkling ribbons for his hair was not a sign that they were ‘involved’, and if they were gold that was only because Finno favoured the shade for self decoration. Had Maedhros not given his other cousins gifts too? Just because he remarked upon what a fine figure Fingon cut atop a horse did not mean he hoped to steal a kiss later! He merely expressed pride in his young cousin’s growing aptitude and excellent form. Was that not right and good? After all, Maedhros had been partially responsible for teaching his young kinsman princely decorum. Did he not also compliment all of his cousins on their many and varied accomplishments? Why, oh why, did everyone insist on reading further into it? Couldn’t a smile be only a smile? Must it be a lustful suggestion? Could not praise be merely praise? Must it also be a sign of budding romance?

Contrary to popular opinion, Maedhros had never thought of Fingon in even the vaguest of romantic or sexual ways. In fact, he had never thought of anyone in those ways. This, on reflection, was perhaps why everyone read so much into the smallest of his actions: they were starved for gossip fodder. Since he had shown no real interest in nissi, his brothers and friends eventually began to assume Maedhros’s predilections were for neri, or rather, a certain nér in particular.

Maglor was the absolute worst. “I want to date, so, you must date,” he declared.

“No, thank you,” Maedhros declined mildly without looking up from the book he was reading.

“What is wrong with you anyway? Atar was married at your age! Are you scared of nissi?”

“Leave off, Makalaurë! Date if you wish to, but do not involve me.”

“Fine, I will date, and I’m absolutely involving you.”

He proceeded to parade a string of nissi before Maedhros in attempts to set him up. They were all lovely people. It was not their fault that Maedhros was more attracted to books.

Maedhros hummed happily as his deft fingers worked, weaving a fishtail braid into Fingon’s glossy locks.

“Oh, now I understand!” Maglor declared dramatically upon walking in on the scene.

“What are you talking about?” Maedhros asked, baffled. Such non sequiturs were common with Maglor; Maedhros had yet to decide whether he spoke aloud thoughts that should have remained private, or merely neglected to voice half of what he was thinking.

“I presented you with melons, but it is clear your desire is for peaches. Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

Then Maedhros understood perfectly; he picked up a comb and launched it at Maglor, but Maglor quickly ducked and laughed as the projectile sailed over his head, then left the room.

“What is he talking about?” Fingon asked, still much baffled.

“Makalaurë wishes to court nissi and he is determined that I must too. He has been trying to partner me with a veritable crowd of young ladies for months now, but as I am not interested, naturally his efforts have failed. Now he thinks that is because I prefer neri.”

“And he has reached this conclusion in this very moment because you are braiding my hair?”

“It seems that way.”

“Then he must think…” Fingon started to giggle. “He must think we are attracted to one another!” Fingon’s laughter grew until it shook his shoulders.

“Stay still, Findekáno!” Maedhros chided, trying to keep his own laughter at bay.

“But, Maitimo, it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard today!”

“Isn’t it just?” Maedhros agreed.

Fingon liked to swim. Swimming was rather more enjoyable than hunting, truth be told. By the time the day had worn on toward Laurelin’s waxing, Finrod had already wandered off with his harp, seeking more interesting pursuits, and Maglor had begun gossiping incessantly in Maedhros’s ear. Only Celegorm was truly still interested in taking down the stag they’d been pursuing. When they passed by a splendid pool at the bottom of a small waterfall (one of many in Oromë’s forest), Fingon jumped straight in, clothes and all. Maedhros rolled his eyes, took the time to strip down to his small clothes, and then dove in after him. The day was pleasantly warm after all, and Celegorm still had chattery Maglor to help him bring down the impressive creature.

Yes, Fingon liked to swim, but he did not like to be cold, which he promptly became during the necessary slog back to camp in wet clothes. The clear sky ensured an evening chill hastened come mingling, and Fingon was shivering piteously by the time he and Maedhros returned, to the accompaniment Finrod’s laughter.

“I’m freezing,” he complained through chattering teeth as Maedhros hung his wet clothes by the fire to dry. Fingon looked miserable from inside the cocoon he had made of his blanket.

“Here, take mine,” Maedhros offered, passing his own blanket over to supplement Fingon’s. “I’ll climb in there with you in a moment. You’ll be warm in no time.”

“He’ll warm up faster if you’re both unclothed. It’s basic physics,” Finrod pointed out helpfully, twanging idly on his harp as he sat peering into the cheery flames.

Maedhros took one look at his cousin’s piteous, trembling form and began stripping. “Did Tyelko fell his stag?” he asked Finrod from inside the now shared cocoon as his belly began to growl.

Finrod shrugged. “Neither of you brothers are back.” With a wink he tossed them pastries that had been stashed in his pack, which they scarfed down gratefully. Nestled together near the fire, now both comfortably warm and fed, Fingon and Maedhros promptly fell asleep.

Celegorm sniggered and elbowed Maglor when he spotted Maedhros and Fingon tangled together snoring. “Hark at them, Káno.”

“It’s only ‘hark’ when you’re hearing something, idiot,” Maglor replied as his gaze drifted toward two sets of clothes hung by the fire and raised his eyes at Finrod.

“Finno caught a chill. Maitimo is kindly warming him up,” Finrod explained. “How did you fare?”

“Oh, warming him up, is it?” Maglor smirked.

Seeing his cousin’s confused frown, Maglor began to confer with him in exuberant whispers while Celegorm turned his attentions to dressing the large hare that had been his consolation prize. When next he glanced up, both had knowing, slightly salacious looks in their eyes. Behind him, Celegorm heard another set of voices whispering.

“Look at that,” Lord Oromë said. “What is that odd creature by the fire?”

“It’s Findekáno and Maitimo,” Vána answered dreamily. “Aren’t they sweet together?”

“Together? You mean…?”

“Oh, yes! They’re going to make a lovely couple,” Vána gushed.

“I must admit, they do look quite adorable all tangled together like that. Elven faces turn all smooshy and relaxed when they sleep,” Oromë observed.

Celegorm chuckled.

“What? Have I used the wrong words?” Oromë asked him.

“No. It’s just… very vala of you. Eldar would not put it in quite those terms.”

“How would you put it?”

“We’d say peaceful, probably. And smitten.”

“Fine!” Maedhros threw up his hands in frustration when Maglor confronted him later. “We’re in a relationship: it’s called having a cousin! Are you happy?”

Maglor looked intently back at him. He was far quieter than usual. It was disconcerting.

“But it’s not just ‘having a cousin’ is it, brother? You’re far closer to Findekáno than you are with any of the others. Any of the rest of us you’d let shiver by the fire until we warmed up all on our lonesome.”

“None of the rest of you would have been stupid enough as to dive into a pool still fully clothed, so the point is moot,” Maedhros remarked huffily.

“I won’t deny that,” Maglor agreed. Owing to a string of recent impulsive actions, Maglor had a rather low opinion of Fingon’s intelligence. He was wrong. “But my point stands. It goes beyond the close friendship between Turukáno and Findaráto. Aulë’s forge, you’re even closer to Findekáno than you are with any of your brothers! You may have no intention of bedding him, which I can readily believe, for you surely would have done so by now, but what is it that you have? It’s certainly more than a cousinly bond.”

“I don’t know, Káno. There is no yermë—I don’t know that I am even capable of sexual attraction—but there he is more than merely a friend. I can’t explain it. The rightful term is melotornor, I believe, but I have seen very little written so far on how that is expected to proceed.”

“There’s far more to life than can be found in your books, Nelyo,” Maglor scoffed.

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