Whatever You Say, Ace by Isilme_among_the_stars  

Eleven

Finrod approached Fingon with the dreaded, predicted tape measure in hand.

“I don’t see why you need to come at me with that thing. Get it away,” Fingon rebuked him, slapping his hand away when it came too close.

“Because you’ve been too long lacking in the proper care,” Finrod explained with great patience, “and it would be well to monitor your health and that of the child’s.”

“You just want to study me,” Fingon accused, “It’s too unique an opportunity for you to pass up.”

“Findekáno Nolofinwion!” Finrod chastised him, “I intend no such thing. I am a keen student of the sciences, but foremost I am your cousin who wishes only to ensure you are well. Now, please let me measure you.”

Fingon acquiesced. It was very hard to say no to Finrod.

“Father wrote. He has rather changed his tune. What did you say to him?”

Finrod chuckled as he pulled the tape taut over Fingon’s belly. “I told you we could forestall his consternation, did I not? I merely mentioned that Nutunto was with child, and that you had journeyed to Himring to share the happy news. He would only expect that after all.”

Fingon nodded, this was true. Fingolfin had more or less accepted his son’s intimacy with Maedhros, though he still vacillated on whether he approved.

“After this I dropped the hint that Nutunto grew weary, unusually and perhaps concerningly so,” Finrod went on, “and found herself in need of refreshment such as only the Gap could provide.”

“Implausible,” Fingon judged, “I cannot believe it worked.”

Finrod shot him a hurt look, “The edain did not call me Nóm the Wise for nothing, and you are forgetting our family history. Do you think he would deny Nutunto anything that may prevent her from suffering the fate of Míriel?”

Fingon’s expression lost its annoyance and became suddenly very shrewd, “Oh, that is genius. Cruel, but very, very clever. I must write to reassure him that Nutunto is well enough, however regrettably she and I must remain here to ensure she continues to be so. Remind me later.”

Finrod began walking his hands all over Fingon’s belly, pressing down in vaguely uncomfortable places. His bladder screamed. The slightly larger than little scrap of fëa reached out to share his indignance. I do not appreciate being tickled. What is this feeling?

I believe you are laughing, Fingon tried to explain, you might enjoy that someday.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked Finrod.

“Oh yes,” his cousin assured him, leaning over to make some notes in a piece of parchment he had pulled out of his pocket.

You sly bastard, you are studying me, Finrod thought.

“If you feel it necessary to share any of what you are writing there with another soul, I shall find it necessary to break your fingers so badly you will never hold a pen, nor pluck a harp string again,” he threatened.