Whatever You Say, Ace by Isilme_among_the_stars  

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Seven

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“We have to tell your wife,” Maedhros burst into Fingon’s chamber the next morning while he was still abed.

Fingon hurriedly pulled the eiderdown right up to his chin.

“Valar, Maehdros, I’m not even dressed yet. Couldn’t you have waited until after breakfast?”

“Oh sorry,” Maedhros said absently, turning his back to afford Fingon a modicum of privacy, “tell me when you’re decent. But as I was saying, we should let Nutunto in on this, I think she would be a great help.”

“I find myself unable to discuss the matter before I am properly clothed. Kindly shut up while I find my pants,” Fingon sounded rather unimpressed.

“Here,” Maehdros said, tossing him the trousers that lay in a crumpled heap where Fingon had haphazardly discarded them the night before. He did so without turning. They landed on Fingon’s head. “I don’t know why you’re so upset; it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. It’s just skin. I’m perfectly capable of having an intelligent conversation with you whether you have clothes on or not. I won’t look at you any differently.”

“I know,” Fingon replied, lacing the trousers as quickly as he dared, “its very disconcerting. You might see little difference in a person, raiment or no, but I can assure you most people do.”

Maedhros frowned, “Would you rather I was like most people?”

“No, I like you just the way you are,” Fingon’s voice was softer, though it was unclear if that was because he was less pissed off, or if it were merely muffled by the tunic he pulled over his head, “how many ellyn are lucky enough to have both a fabulous wife, and whatever it is we have going on here?”

“You mean that?”

“Yes. Now you may turn around, I am appropriately garmented.”

Maedhros turned. Fingon positively glowed. His cheeks had a lovely, hale rosiness to them and his hair was thicker and shinier than ever. Maedhros wished he were still able to braid it.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t look at me any differently,” Fingon accused, narrow-eyed.

“I’m not. It’s just… you look very well. Pregnancy seems to suit you.”

Fingon snorted, “right. What were you saying about Nutunto?”

Maehdros shook himself, “yes, Nutunto, we should summon her to join us as soon as practicable.”

“Why, pray tell?” Fingon did not look convinced. “I was rather hoping I could hole myself up here until the problem goes away and no one else any the wiser.”

“The problem isn’t just going to go away Fingon! How exactly are you planning to explain the presence of an infant when you do finally return home?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Nutunto at least is a rather plausible excuse for that.”

“True. Fine. But you’re going to have to formulate some plausible reason for her to do so. You know I’m not good at fibbing. And don’t make it embarrassing! Please?”

“I could invite Maglor and his wife,” Maedhros teased, “Etsenima is positively starved for female company over at the Gap. I’m sure she’d be delighted with Nutunto’s attentions.”

Fingon groaned, “as soon as Maglor gets word, then everyone will know. Finrod will be the first he’ll tell and then our golden cousin will insist on following me around taking notes with parchment and quill permanently attached to his fingers, so he doesn’t miss a single detail.”

Maedhros made his voice high and melodious and put on an expression of mock scrutiny, “Oh, how interesting Fingon! I do believe you’ve grown another inch around the middle just this week! How does it feel to have a child kicking inside of you?”

“Oh no, you’re going to make me wet myself again,” Fingon cried, doubled over in laughter, “now there’s a juicy detail for cousin Finrod’s scientifically enquiring mind: pregnancy appears to have deleterious effect on bladder capacity and control.”

“Never fear, I shan’t invite my big-mouthed brother in truth. But it does make for a nice pretense,” Maehdros reassured him.

“It was the Valar,” Fingon revealed after he had recovered from the fit of laughter.

Maedhros raised an eyebrow.

“Irmo came to me in a dream last night. He seemed very pleased with their cleverness.”

“Did they put Aulë in charge? The Naugrim have a very interesting mythology of origin, incidentally. Caranthir’s correspondence on the matter was most amusing. I shall have to dig out his letters for you.”

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Irmo was back a few nights later.

Fingon, he called, interrupting a rather pleasant dream in which he basked in a sunny field while Nutunto drew near and-

Fingon! Irmo yelled sharply.

Oh good, you’re back. I have some questions.

You do? I didn’t anticipate this… Irmo seemed rather caught off guard.

Yes, I do, Dream Fingon’s grin was positively malicious. His voice grew louder and angrier the longer he talked. Firstly, which one of you idiots came up with this “brilliant” idea? Secondly, how did you plan for me to actually give birth? I’m not exactly equipped with the right infrastructure, if you take my meaning? Thirdly, you can knock this ridiculous shit off at once and give the child to my wife to nurture. I’m sure the poor little fëa would be much happier growing there in the usual way, than in whatever abomination it is you have created here.

Are you quite done? Irmo asked, arms folded over his chest.

No! I’m not, Dream Fingon continued, I want it known that I’m very, very angry, and you can’t just go making an ellon pregnant without their consent. Nor an elleth either, for that matter. I hate you all.

You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

No, I don’t think!

Quite, Irmo agreed, you don’t think, do you? You’re driven purely by hormones presently. Sorry about that, by the way, but it couldn’t be helped. An unfortunate consequence of successful gestation.

Dream Fingon glared his best glare, Answer my questions.

That “poor little fëa” has already become quite attached to you. Transfer is not possible. As for birthing, I will consult Yavanna and get back to you in due course.

Yavanna dreamt this up? But she does plants! Do I look like a plant?

Irmo ignored that. Did the ridiculous elf think he couldn’t tell the difference? Plants were never this much trouble. It was a group effort. Her and Lord Aulë have been workshopping the finer points.

I knew it! Why did you want to talk to me, out of curiosity?

The child’s name. We’re a bit concerned Ereinion isn’t clear enough. You must name him Finwain Ereinion.

Dream Fingon’s jaw dropped. You can’t be serious? New Finwe, Scion of Kings? How pretentious can you get? And my cousins all thought their names were bad…