Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me by ArizonaPoppy  

Chapter 1 of 1

The version of the song "Why Don't You Do Right" is the Amy Irving slower setting from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" rather than the famous Peggy Lee 1940s version. And in my imagination it is probably sung by Hwasa. 

"Pardon me, may I cut in?”

Andreth froze, looking up at her dance partner’s impassive face. She nodded minutely, then turned to the interloper. “Finrod!” she exclaimed in delight. “What brings you here?”

“You know I couldn’t resist the chance to slum it with ordinary folk. And imagine my surprise, I saw you here!” Finrod swung her out into the main circle of the dance floor as the band changed songs. 

Andreth tipped her head back to look up into Finrod’s face. His eyes twinkled. She would have to believe him. “And Amarië? She wouldn’t come dancing with you?”

Only a slight tensing of Finrod’s muscles gave him away. “She’s rusticating on the estate in Valinor. Knitting socks and scarves and jumpers by the score, pining away for me but completely safe.” He whispered conspiratorially: “Digging bunkers and counting rice and salted meat rations aren’t her thing.” 

They didn’t talk for a few minutes, focusing on the intricate footwork of the Beleriand Shuffle. Andreth lost herself in the exhilaration of a partner with whom she had utmost trust. The two dancers instinctively knew which way to go, their feet moving in perfect parallel. 

Emeldir raised an eyebrow at Andreth as they twirled past her coworkers. Andreth would have plenty of explaining to do tonight back at the nurses’ dormitory.   

The song ended in a flourish of horns and Finrod spun Andreth under his arm and against his chest. Out of breath, she heard his heart pounding equally fast to hers. She pushed herself away and applauded with the other dancers. 

The band changed to a slower, mournful, minor key. The spotlight focused on the female soloist, a thin dark-haired contralto. 

You had plenty money in 1922

You let other women make a fool of you, the singer crooned

Finrod and Andreth shifted to accommodate the slower pace. She took one of his hands while Finrod’s other hand rested politely on her waist.  

If she squinted in the dim corners of the club, Andreth could have mistaken him for his brother. And yet Finrod was not Aegnor. Although they were much alike in their faces, the differences were still there. Finrod’s hair was pulled back in elaborate braids, exposing the points of his ears. Aegnor’s hair always hung down straight along his back. Had Aegnor cut it before going to the Siege as a sign of his resolve?

Now if you had prepared twenty years ago

You wouldn’t be a-wanderin’ now from door to door 

“Have you heard from Aegnor recently?” Andreth asked. 

Finrod paused for a moment before answering. “He’s in Dorthonion still. Near the forests where we used to camp.” He broke off.

Andreth didn’t have to finish the thought. Near the Aeluin. Finrod pulled Andreth in closer, almost embracing her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his solid chest. There was no fantasy here. No squinting could change Finrod’s scent of cedar into Aegnor’s juniper. Or the feel of Amarië’s ring against Andreth’s palm. She was dancing with Finrod; no make-believe could change it to Aegnor.   

Why don’t you do right?

Like some other men do.

“I’m so sorry, Andreth,” Finrod murmured, tucking her head under his chin. 

Chapter End Notes

In my mind I imagine them dancing the Collegiate Shag to start. (Before you clutch your pearls, I mean "shag" in the American sense of fancy footwork style of dance not the British sense!)