Black on white, stark and honest by Fiamma Galathon  

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High King of The Rumor Mill

Have one serving of confused Nolo! And the Beleriandic Rumor Mill feat. a mutlitude of very confusing/ed royals.

Feast my children and avoid papercuts!

Fingolfin thought himself not a gossip person. 

It was of course unavoidable that, as a High King, he came in contact with gossip, but he tried his best not to pay heed to it.

He had his sister for it. Lalwen was delighted to be able to comb through the latest gossip and find useful information.

So it was exceedingly rare he found himself listening to the whispers of the servants.

But how could he not, when his ears caught ‘Lady Aredhel’ and ‘alive’ and ‘child’?

Fingolfin fancied himself to be a decent father. It was only his duty to find out about whatever could have happened to his daughter. 

They had no news from Turgon and her since Vinyamar was abandoned.

He only prayed nobody caught him sneaking around the castle like a elfling up to no good as he chased the rumors.

Near the servant quarters he hid under the ceiling, crouched on the support beam like a thief in the night.

Two maids were talking. He tuned in, ready to wait several hours for any relevant information.

Fortune was in his favor, apparently.

-Oh, you won’t believe what I heard!- the young elleth whispered excitedly to her friend. - The runners from Himring say that the Lords of Himlad, you know, them, right? Well, they apparently have a child!-

-How?- the other maid blinked at her incredulously. - Neither of them is married the rumor has!-

-Oh, I know, right? But the Smith has a son already, doesn’t he? - 

-...are you implying…?- she looked at her with huge eyes, voice going thin. Fingolfin frowned. He did not get the implication.

-Yes! Or that’s what the stablehands said the last regiment told them in passing.- the maid grinned madly, walking away with her friend who was looking somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. 

The king frowned harder. No letters came from Himring yet, and surely the birth of another child in the family would not go unremarked by Maedhros. 

An hour and not less than seven whispered conversations later Fingolfin was ready to drink himself into oblivion.

The theories ranged from his daughter marrying an orc, to Celegorm somehow getting pregnant. 

Celegorm could in fact very much not get pregnant, and he knew that because he had changed his diapers enough times to remember that little fact.

He dragged himself back to his office to find the strongest bottle of whisky he had. Opening the door he groaned loudly, letting his head fall against the doorframe with a thump. On the desk lay a missive from Himlad, brought via a Himring courier. 

Fingolfin took a moment to appreciate his own idiocy and lack of patience before he sat down and opened the battered letter.

He read it over once. Then twice. 

Looked into the distance for a troubling amount of time. Read it again. 

Found the folded piece of paper that doubled as a postscriptum. Read that. 

The following howl startled the birds living in the rafters. 

Fingolfin got up and took a hearty swing straight out of the bottle of his strongest whiskey.

*******

The letter brought by the Himring courier to Hithlum on 27th of Tuilë, delivered to the High King’s Office;

From Tylekormo Turkafinwë Feanorion known as Celegorm Lord of Himlad and Lady of the House of the White Tower Írissë Aredhel Nolofinwiel to His Majesty High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, Nolofinwë Finwion known as Fingolfin;

Hiya, Uncle. So good news, we found Aredhel. Well, she found herself, I just brought her back to Aglon. She is in mostly good health, even! Bad news, a Doriathrim noble had kept her captive for four years. Good news, he is now very much dead. As the official version of events states, a rogue band of orcs caught and eviscerated him, dumping his body into the Celon. They apparently had a taste for torture of a specific kind, the body was found without his genitals. 

Celegorm had drawn there a smiley face and a pair of hunting knives. 

Bad news again, we don’t know how this will impact the opinion of our dear Greycloak. So, yeah, that’s mostly it. Ah, we also got a new addition, but that’s kind of not my fault this time.

The writing changed there abruptly, from a barely legible chicken scratch to the elegant, sweeping cursive of one of his children.

All right, Father, disregard anything Tyleko said until now. I’m fine, I’m alive, I’m well and safe. The boys are taking good care of me. I promise to write a more hearty letter later, but this goes via Himring couriers, so I need to keep it short. Turko and Idril are also safe, we had left for a hidden city prompted by Ulmo’s advice, do not worry about him. The city in question is called Gondolin, just so you know., but now I will stay in Aglon for the foreseeable future. Pass my best regards to Finno, please! 

Your loving daughter, Aredhel.

The piece of paper characteristic for a Himring courrier ended there, but an additional short note in the cramped, stilted handwriting of Maedhros was attached to it, folded inconspicuously in the corner.

Event report: Aredhel found running from Nan Elmoth around 40th of Corië by Celegorm, brought to Ost Aglon with only minor mind-strain. She had a four-month boy with herself, Celegorm seemed to have taken him in as his own. Curvo and Tylepë are stubbornly silent on the matter. Congratulations, Uncle.  - Maedhros of Himring

*******

Fingon found his father crying in his office, clutching a piece of paper like a lifeline. He stopped in the doorway. 

- Atto? - he whispered softly after a moment, stepping inside. His father looked up at him, and gave him a brilliant smile, even as tears ran down his cheeks. 

-Aredhel. They found her alive.- he choked out after a second, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. - And she has a baby boy. -

Fingon blinked at his father. - Yes. And?- 

- Yonya …? Wait, you knew?!- Fingolfin rose to his feet, eyes suddenly huge.

Fingon grinned sheepishly, holding his own letter from the courier up. - I got to know now, but I had some informations beforehand, if barely.-

His father smiled, shaking his head. -I finally beat Feanaro to something! I was first to have two grandchildren. Ha!- 

-Well, uh, atto. Read the letter again. - Fingon winced. Fingolfin blinked at him. Looked at the letter. 

-No! Ah, fuck!- he swore, throwing the letter down on the desk. -It’s a tie again!-

Fingon made the mistake of laughing at that. 

-Oh, do not chuckle there, son mine. Only you remain of my children yet to provide me with a grandchild, and you most of them need heirs.- his father narrowed his eyes at him.

He chuckled again, nervously this time.

Chapter End Notes

Fingon, furiosly scribbling to Maedhros; Help my father wants me to get a child, what do I do???
Maedhros, replying a few days later: What phenotype and age range you would like, love? Give me a week.

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