Whatever You Say, Ace by Isilme_among_the_stars  

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Two

“Are you sneaking off again? You’re going to get us all into trouble, you know.” Maedhros had not seen Caranthir sitting in the entrance hall; Formenos had too many shadowy corners.

“It is not sneaking! I’m a grown adult and may go where I please.”

“Then why do you go after dark, while father sleeps?” Caranthir accused.

“Because he is far too angry with uncle to even try to understand, and I do not want to hurt him. Neither do I wish for the rest of you to suffer the consequences.” The difference between trouble and consequences was more than mere phrasing; Maedhros understood this, but he did not think Caranthir did. Fëanor was not always right.

Caranthir rolled his eyes. “Give Finno my regards, then. How long will you be gone?”

“A few days. Cover for me in the morning?”

“Only because I love you so much. Do I get a kiss too?” His brother’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but Caranthir’s eyes told a different story. All of Fëanor’s sons cared for one another deeply, even if they frequently neglected to show it, just as they loved and worried for their father. Maedhros did not rise to the bait.

“No, and Findekáno shall have no kisses from me either. I know you do not understand, Moryo, but I won’t give up his friendship just because our fathers are at each other’s throats.”

“Say what you will, I don’t see you sneaking off to visit Findaráto, Turukáno, or any of our other cousins.”

“I could make a point of visiting them while I’m gone if you wish it. We all miss them. I have a letter for Írissë to deliver from Tyelko.” Maedhros pulled a corner of folded parchemnt from his pocket to show Caranthir.

“No,” Caranthir replied with a resigned sigh, “just tell Finno to pass on our regards.”

Maedhros stood behind Fingon and ran his fingers through his cousin’s soft, thick hair. “Oh, I have missed you.”

Across the breakfast table, Fingolfin pursed his lips and buried his face in his teacup, taking a long, deliberate sip.

“And I you. Won’t you stay?” Fingon suggested between bites of bread spread thick with preserve.

“You could, Maitimo,” his uncle confirmed. “You have family here. Your mother, as you know, abides with mine. We would happily make space for you.”

Nolofinwë, ever the diplomat, Maehros thought. I also can play that game. He began to part Fingon’s hair, twisting it so that all the finest strands were caught up in the braid and would stay out of his eyes, just how he liked. “With respect, uncle, should my brothers or I have wished to stay in Tirion, we would have chosen to do so from the beginning.”

“You are all grown. You do not have to follow your father’s path. I do not understand your decision.”

“Our father has our love and loyalty, uncle. Not one of us would choose to be parted from him, and very wrong it would be for anyone to try to steal us away.” Maedhros looked pointedly at Fingolfin. I see what you are trying to do, his expression said. It won’t work.

Fingolfin, never one to forgo a challenge, redoubled his efforts.

“Then why do I continually find you here? You sneak away right under his nose.”

“Because, uncle dearest, I do not see why I should be made to choose between love of my father and love of my cousins, nor my aunts and uncles. And I’ll have you know it is not sneaking.”

Turgon, who had been quietly listening, coughed pointedly.

“It isn’t, Turukáno!” Maedhros insisted. “Grandfather knows where I go.”

“And does he know why? Does he know you are in love with one cousin in particular?”

Maedhros could not see Fingon’s resulting glare, but he felt him make it, and know exactly what sight Turgon found himself facing in that moment.

“You are wrong.” Maedhros’s voice was quiet but dangerous. “And, frankly, I am appalled that you cling still to rumours Makalaurë ignorantly began when we were little more than children. He was clever enough to realise his error many years ago.”

Turgon huffed but said no more.

“It is like you and Findaráto,” Maedhros continued with a softened voice. “Your friendship is particularly close, and so it is with us.”

“Even I can see it runs deeper than that, Maitimo,” Fingolfin put in quietly. “I know my sons. This is far more committed. Tread carefully.”

“Maitimo is not as uncle Fëanáro is, atya,” Fingon asserted. “He will not hurt me.”

“I am sure Maitimo is intelligent enough not to try such a thing,” Fingolfin remarked mildly. “For he would not enjoy the consequences.”

“I am hurt that you are concerned I might.” There was no pretence in Maedhros’s voice now— the game between them had been abruptly dropped— and from the look in his uncle’s eyes, Fingolfin understood this.

Sighing, Fingolfin pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached to squeeze his nephew’s shoulder. “What I would not give for our family to be woven whole at last. Come as often as you like, Maitimo, and guard that pure heart of yours.”

“Have your father and Turukáno been very angry with me?” Maedhros asked Fingon later, when they were alone.

“Father? Not so very much. He worries, I think. He fears what uncle Fëanáro is becoming, and worries that I may be drawn into that danger through you, just as he does with Írissë and Tyelkormo.”

“He needn’t. My father’s anger burns hot, but once it has cooled he will see reason, and cool it shall as long as both he and uncle manage not to provoke one another again.”

“I hope you are right.” Fingon sounded unsure.

“But Turukáno?” Maedhros prompted again.

Fingon sighed and made a face. “He is only angry because he wants me to have what he has. Elenwë has convinced him that I am missing out on marriage and fatherhood because of you. Unfortunately, we are well and truly old enough now that our lack of marriage, or even courting has become notable.”

“And are you missing out? Would you like such things?”

Maedhros watched intently as Fingon thought about this quietly for a moment. “Perhaps, one day,” he said. “Though I have not felt inclined toward either yet.”

“You could, you know? Begin to court someone, that is, if there was someone special who drew your attention. I would not mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, of course not! Why would I deny you that joy? If need not change anything between us.”

Maedhros tried to imagine Fingon with a family, with his own little daughter to love just as Turgon had. His heart warmed at the idea. How wonderful it would be to watch his cousin light up, just as Fëanor had when his younger brothers were born. But he could not imagine his bold and adventurous Fingon as a father yet: he was not so settled in life as Turgon, and still longed yet to stretch his wings.

“I do not want anything to change between us,” Fingon assured him. “I will keep it in mind, but I find my life full enough, at present.”

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