Whatever You Say, Ace by Isilme_among_the_stars  

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Five

Fingon woke one morning with the distinct feeling that his insides had been re-arranged while he slept. Nothing hurt or appeared any different from the outside, so he ignored it, and went on ignoring it for another three months until it became difficult to continue to do so. Very difficult indeed.

“I don’t think the long peace is good for your figure my love,” Fingon’s wife laughed one evening as they retired to bed, patting his stomach in a teasing way.

“Oh, isn’t it?” he sucked in his gut and puffed up his chest.

Nutunto spoke in jest, but he did have to wonder what was behind the sudden change in his shape. Nothing worth speaking of had changed, in truth. He was just as vigorous as ever and his eating habits were just the same. A week later his belly had swollen a little more.

“Did you eat something that disagreed with you, my love? You seem a little bloated,” Nutunto remarked. Eru bless her, she was serious too. Not a hint of chastising was there in her voice, only concern.

“Oh, perhaps it was the wine,” Fingon lied, “I am sure I will be feeling better by tomorrow.”

There was, however, no discernable change come morning, and Fingon, feeling a bit self-conscious, began to choose tunics somewhat looser than was his usual wont. Two weeks after this, he felt a distinct flutter, and it was not coming from his heart. Nor was it, unfortunately, trapped gas. He remembered Elenwë speaking of such a thing before Idril had been born, and Fingon had a rather uncomfortable feeling that his symptoms were not going to resolve themselves anytime soon.

“I’m leaving in a few days to visit Himring,” he announced to Nutunto that evening, “I intend to see how our cousins in the East are faring. Do not worry about me if I tarry overlong, as I may travel on to Thargellion after.”

“Of course, dear. You have written to your father to inform him of your plans?” Nutunto asked innocently.

Fingon’s cheeks became a decidedly rosier shade than usual, “No, not yet. But I will do so without delay.”

Nutunto smiled, knowingly, “Give cousin Maedhros my love. Tell him, I expect him to get off his frozen backside and be the one to pay the next visit. I shall of course make sure he is very comfortable while he is here.”

Fingon smiled back. His wife was a treasure. He would miss her. But there was one elf, and one elf only that he trusted with the strangeness of this situation, and he needed advice urgently.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt, Fingon. You’re definitely pregnant,” Maedhros concluded, falling into a comfortable chair by the fire with a soft thunk, very baffled and slightly amused.

“But I’m an ellon, not an elleth!” Fingon protested.

“I know, Fingon. I’m rather intimately aware of that fact. Do you know you once peed in my hair while aunt Anairë was changing you?”

“I have a wife! A wife, Maedhros! What is she going to think?” Fingon continued, pausing in the path he paced before the fire and turning toward Maedhros to gesticulate as he spoke.

Maedhros suspected he’d stopped paying attention to anything he said after the word “pregnant”. He replied anyway.

“She’ll probably panic a whole lot less than you are right now. Nutunto’s a very open-minded and accepting elleth.”

Fingon took up his pacing again, “Oh Manwë, what will father say?”

“He’ll probably be pleased to have a grandchild that he can actually visit and dote upon I imagine. Turgon and Idril disappearing with no trace was very hard on him,” Maedhros replied, very reasonably he thought.

Fingon groaned. Either he had doubts that Fingolfin would take the news quite so calmly, or he’d just thought of another horrifying implication.

“How did this even happen? I’m not even supposed to be able to become pregnant,” Fingon complained despairingly, flopping himself into the armchair next to Maedhros’s.

“Valar knows,” Maedhros said, pouring himself a stiff drink.

“Valar….” Fingon mused, staring straight past the fire at something that clearly didn’t exist in the physical plane, “yes, it must be some twisted idea of theirs.”

Maehdros groaned, “Don’t start. I’m not in the mood for speculation or conspiracy theories.”

Fingon continued to stare silently past the flames for an interminably long time, then quite suddenly his brain seemed to catch up on processing Maedhros’s side of the conversation.

“Did I really pee in your hair when we were children? I must have had remarkably good aim.”

Maedhros snorted, “truly, you did.”

Fingon cracked a wide grin and chortled long at the thought, his laughter ending abruptly as he admitted, “oh dear, I think I might have peed myself again, just a little bit.”

Maedhros threw back his head and positively cackled at that.

Fingon wasn’t far off the mark about Valar involvement, as he would find out that night, though Irmo certainly didn’t think of the idea as twisted.

Fingon, Irmo called to him in the dream from between the trees in the softly lit gardens of Lórien. Fingon, it is my joy to deliver some rather important and fortuitous news.

What? That I’m pregnant? Dream Fingon huffed.

Irmo looked rather taken aback. How…

How did I know?! Babies tend to announce themselves with a rounding out of one’s gut after a few months. And if that was not enough of a clue, the damnable fluttering certainly gave it away. The kicks are very distracting.

Oh. Yes, well, continued Irmo, you’re going to become pregnant and give birth to a son.

I already am pregnant! Dream Fingon yelled, fists balled up.

Yes, of course. And your son will become the High King of the Noldor after you and your father before you. And the name you shall call him by is Ereinion.

Pray tell, Dream Fingon demanded, why did you not think it fit to give me a son in the usual manner? Via, oh, I don’t know… my lovely wife?

Irmo looked distinctly confused.

You do realise I have a wife?

Irmo coughed slightly, well, yes. But are you not also in love with Maitimo? Would you not prefer to have a child with him? The idea has certain strategic advantages.

No, I would not prefer a child with Maedhros, you idiot, Dream Fingon was truly fuming now, I only want one with Nutunto! Maedhros and I have never been lovers, despite what everyone seems to think.

You keep telling yourself that, Irmo said, rolling his eyes, anyhow, the Valar have decided that a descendant of the two of you, the eldest two sons of the two elder Noldorin houses of Lords, would surely solidify the legitimacy of the child’s claim. With all the dying and passing of kingship business, it does pay to be careful.

Dream Fingon slapped his palm to his forehead, wondering if the Valar had any clue how reproduction worked at all.

And we’ve given this child all the best qualities from all the Lordly Noldorin families, so there is no doubt they will be an effective ruler. Irmo seemed rather proud of that last point.

Oh Eru, we’re doomed. Fingon concluded. Unfortunately, he was quite right. Rather fortuitously, Irmo was also right.

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