The rings were never the best event for Fingon, who stared up at them with minor trepidation before leaping up into the air and grasping hold of his gymnastic nemesis. His breathing stayed controlled; practiced. He hardly needed to think of his intake of air when his mind focused on the kicks and swings. He held himself parallel to the ground for a few moments in order to gain the applause of the audience, then immediately brought himself up into a more difficult position with his legs up in the air, perpendicular to what he had been doing. A slight miss on one of the next moves threw off his concentration. He held the next element a little longer in order to reset himself, despite knowing he would lose points for it.

In the crowd, he could feel everyone who was watching. His parents and siblings had a view of him from seats near the front of the arena. Somewhere else, he knew that his uncle and cousins were milling about the observation area. He blocked them all out, and they became lost in a sea of people.

He dropped back down to the mat after a triple spin. It was a tricky dismount, and one that should have boosted his score back up – unfortunately, his landing was abysmal. A tiny step back was unacceptable, and as he pulled his foot back into place he dragged part of the mat with him. His head was bowed as he returned to his teammates.

“Good job, good job.” A friendly pat on the shoulder from his coach did nothing to lighten his mood as Fingon sat down on the bench and grabbed a towel from one of his teammates. He halfheartedly returned the smile from his coach and waited for his scores to come in.

A few minutes later, he tried not to frown too much as the numbers were announced. It was better than expected, but not as good as was hoped for. Another slap on the back and a “You did good,” came from the coach.

Good, but not great. Fingon took a moment to collect himself before he looked up to where he could sense someone watching him. Maedhros gave him a nod and smiled. Fingon sighed and waved slightly before watching his final teammate compete on the same apparatus that had given him such trouble. A slip worse than his came almost at the start of the routine – his teammate fell from the bars. The collective groan that rose up from the team caused another team to begin a little pre-victory celebration at the benches they were sitting at, while two other teams looked hopeful. A perfect landing did nothing to boost the confidence of the team Fingon was on, and the scores told the whole story: They scored too low to place first, or even second. Third was possible, but it meant a nearly flawless routine from their final member.

Fingon sat with his head bowed the entire time, not daring to look up. Three times, the audience whistled and applauded, but it still did not convince Fingon that they were safe. Even when his team captain began to clap after the dismount, Fingon held his breath. When the scores were read, he let out a relieved sigh. It was not what they wanted, but it was better than leaving empty handed. At least thirty other teams were taking nothing home; a bronze was better than that.

There was a brief intermission for the center of the arena to be cleared, during which the stage was set for the medal ceremony which was to take place. Fingon waited patiently through the presentation of the individual awards, and then joined his team on the stage as they received recognition for their third place win. There was much congratulating by everyone as the audience applauded the winners and then began to exit the arena.

“Alright, everyone. Listen up.” The coach waited for the team to gather around. “I know that we were hoping for a little more, but I am proud of what we accomplished today. They always talk about how the older teams might have the experience but never manage to win the medals. Thank you for proving ‘them’ wrong. Next year is going to be different; we are losing two of our anchors,” he said in reference to the captain and to Fingon. “I wish we could keep them on, but rules are rules. That being said, I want to congratulate Omarom on his new position. He is going to be taking the reins as my replacement next year when I move to the gymnastics committee. Thank you for letting this last year for me be one of my best. I am certain that I will see good things with this team in the future.”

The teammates congratulated their current coach, their new coach, and each other, though Fingon shook hands and hugged the others in a somewhat shocked state of being. He had not expected the changes, though they would not affect him. At the moment, his own concerns were over what he was going to be doing now that his short career in gymnastics had come to an end.

“Fin!”

Fingon turned around and waved to his siblings, who had entered the main part of the arena. Turgon gave him a wave while Aredhel ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “You did great! I loved your work on the floor exercises. The judges cheated you out of half a point, you know.”

“Maybe they saw a mistake that you did not,” said Fingon.

“Not likely. You know they like the younger teams.” Aredhel waited for Turgon to join them and then said, “Father said we should ask if you wanted to go with us to The Noble Thief for lunch.”

“I need to change, and I could use a bath,” said Fingon. “It would be a little bit of a wait. Maybe I should join you afterwards.”

“We would not mind waiting,” said Aredhel.

Turgon stood behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You might not mind waiting, but I am hungry. I think Argon is, too.”

Aredhel rolled her eyes. “You could stand to wait a little while.” She poked his tummy for emphasis.

He pinched her arm back. “Alright; I could, but I do not want to.”

“What if I go and change, and then I will meet you there. If you are still eating, I will eat with you and if not I will get something later,” suggested Fingon.

“I could wait with you,” said Aredhel. “Then, if you are late, you can have something to eat with me.”

“I doubt father would appreciate that.” Turgon gave Aredhel a wary look. “He was quite specific that he wanted both of us to return.”

“I am sure if Aredhel stayed and you went back, that father would not be very upset,” reasoned Fingon. “However, I need to bathe, and Aredhel would not be able to follow me there. So, if one of you could just let father know that I cannot leave yet and that I will attempt to join you soon I would appreciate it.”

Aredhel nodded in agreement, and Turgon shrugged. “Do you want me to tell father that?”

“Please, if you would.” Fingon caught sight of someone looking at him from across the room and hurriedly walked his siblings toward one of the doors. “If Argon is hungry, there is no doubt that he will get fussy if he does not eat soon. You should probably go with mother and father.”

“Alright, alright.” Turgon looped his arm around Aredhel’s. “Do not take too long; you know that father will wait.”

“I know, I know. See you soon.” Fingon waited until his brother and sister were gone before making his way across the room to speak to his uncle, who had been watching the exchange. “Good to see you today, uncle.” Of all of the nieces and nephews that Feanor had, it was only Fingon who would approach him first and speak to him willingly. They both had a mind for perfection, and that seemed to be enough of a bond.

Feanor nodded. “I enjoyed your performance. It is a shame it will be your last in this venue. I much enjoyed the exhibitions of your skills.”

“Thank you.” Fingon shifted his weight uneasily to his other foot. “I was under the impression that Maedhros was going to stop down here.”

“You were busy with your family,” explained Feanor. “He went back to the ready area to await you. I came to deliver that message, and to invite you to dinner. We are having an early supper this evening, if you are not required to return home immediately.”

“That... I would like to come, thank you.” Fingon bit his lip. “I may be a little late, as I need to see my parents. I... oh, maybe that will not work,” he apologized. “I came with them, and I do not have my horse.”

“Then you will have to stay the night,” answered Feanor simply. “I will let your father know.”

“I can tell him,” Fingon said quickly.

Feanor smirked. “Probably a better idea. Until tonight.”

Fingon scanned the room until he saw another of his relatives. The crowd was thinned now, but he still needed to navigate around a number of people in order to get to his destination. “Finrod! How good to see you! And Artanis, I did not know that you were going to be here today. I could have found better seats for you.”

“We were invited by Ehtele; his parents had three seats, but they could not make it. Of course, Nana insisted upon an escort, else I would have come on my own,” added Artanis.

“Chaperone, not escort,” murmured Finrod for only Fingon to hear while his young sister greeted a couple passing by. A little louder he said, “We were about to leave; I promised I would have her home soon after the competition was over. She wished to congratulate you before we left.”

“Yes; Congratulations! I know you probably wanted a silver or gold, but bronze is nothing to scoff at.” Artanis gave her cousin a hug and then excused herself to speak to another friend of hers for a moment.

Fingon tugged on Finrod’s sleeve and motioned with his head to an empty area next to the pommel horse. They strolled over and Finrod leaned nonchalantly against the apparatus. “Speak,” he said.

“I need a favor.”

“From me?”

Fingon paced around the horse nervously. “Uncle asked me to dinner and to spend the night; I did not want to decline, because of... him,” Fingon settled on, not wanting to announce the name of his lover in public, no matter how safe he believed the conversation to be. “I know my parents will not allow it. Can I tell them that I am going to stay the night by you?”

Finrod rubbed the back of his neck. Of all of Finwe’s grandchildren, he was the first to have moved out of the house of his parents, though he frequently spent time at his birthplace anyhow. “I intend to stay at home when I take Artanis back. Why not tell your father you are staying at grandfather’s house?”

“He would know. Something would be said later, and he would know.”

“He could still find out about this later,” reminded Finrod.

“Finrod, I am running out of ideas. Please? If I am caught, I will tell him that I just made it up. You can deny it all. I just need something to tell him as to why I am not going to be coming home tonight,” begged Fingon.

With a sigh, Finrod braced his hands on the pommel horse and lifted himself up onto it. He swung his legs back and forth as soon as he was sitting comfortably on it. “You really should think about moving out. How far past your majority are you now?”

Fingon gave Finrod a withering look.

“Oh, damn, that is right... this is your last year competing, then.”

The pacing stopped and Fingon lifted himself onto the horse next to Finrod. “Please? It has been over two years since I have had a chance to be alone with him.”

“Oh, my. Well...” Finrod shook his head. “Go ahead. Tell your father you are spending the night by me. I hope you are able to sort things out for yourself, though. I need to get Artanis home; I will see you later.” Finrod hopped off of the horse. “Good luck, right?”

“Thanks. Thank you. I appreciate this.” Fingon slid off of the horse and clasped his cousin’s arm. “I really do.”

“I know.” Finrod left to collect his sister.

Fingon watched his cousins leave and then headed to the underground area of the arena where rooms for changing were located. There was an artificially made waterfall as well that was used to shower off. Fingon stopped briefly in the room assigned to his team in order to remove his uniform and grab a towel. The rest of his team had already packed up and left, including the coach. He wrapped the towel around his waist for modesty and weaved through the tunnels to the waterfall.

A few competitors were still washing up or drying off, all of them standing a good distance away from one another. There were some alcoves carved into the rock – the arena had been built upon a series of caves – and in one of them, Fingon noticed an elf with striking red hair and too many muscles to be a gymnast. He smiled but resisted the urge to wave or approach too quickly.

For so many reasons, they had agreed to be discrete. They were cousins; their fathers seemed to hate each other; there was a stigma attached to their relationship regardless of their prior relation to one another. It was just better this way. Fingon nodded to Maedhros and leaned against the stone. “Good day.”

“Same here. I thought maybe you got lost.”

“I hardly think I could get lost down here. I just need to clean up. Hold my towel for me.” Fingon unwrapped his towel, fighting not to fumble with his fingers. He tossed it haphazardly toward his cousin and walked down the slope to the water. Maedhros caught it with one hand, wadded it up, and used it to cushion his head against the rock as he waited and discretely watched Fingon out of the corner of his eye.

Everyone else was gone before Fingon was finished, and Maedhros meandered his way closer to the water in order to converse with Fingon. He sat down on the ground and folded the towel in his lap. “I heard that you were offered a position as an assistant coach for the Red Fern team.”

“They came to me a few weeks ago. I told them I needed to wait until after the competition to give them an answer. It includes temporary room and board, and then a nice salary, but it would be pretty far west. The travel back here would be beastly.”

“We could all come and visit you, though.”

“True.” Fingon ducked under the water to rinse himself off. When he half-emerged, he said, “Even though the title is assistant coach, I would also be helping with recruitment. I would have a bit of traveling to do.”

“Sounds interesting; you would have a lot of work on your hands, but I would think it would be very rewarding for you.”

“I suppose.” Fingon stepped out from under the water and wrung out his hair. “I just want to wait and see if any of the other teams will offer a position to me before I take this one. Some of the older teams are a little more competitive.”

“Red Fern has a good program, though,” reminded Maedhros. “They only take very skilled athletes.”

“I know, but they have a lower age limit than the official one,” Fingon explained. “That age limit is completely unfair to begin with. An even lower one is just insane. My emotions might get in the way of my job. I just want to make sure the team I go with is the right fit for me.”

Maedhros handed the towel to Fingon when he approached. “I can understand that. Have you considered going to one of the teams instead of waiting for them to come to you?”

“No; I hate to make it seem like I need a job.”

“But you sort of do need a job. Or something. I doubt your father is going to be happy with you if you do nothing for the rest of your life.”

“I have no intention of that,” snapped Fingon. He pursed his lips as Maedhros arched an eyebrow. “Sorry. I have been listening to everyone the last few months telling me what I should and should not do. I swear the stress of that made it very difficult to concentrate today. I think I could have done much better without that in the back of my mind.”

“I understand.” Maedhros stood up and followed Fingon back through the tunnels until they reached the team room. “Did father tell you about dinner?”

“Yes, but I promised my father to have lunch with the family. Once I am done there, I will come to the house.”

“Did he... tell you about the other idea?” Maedhros sounded very hopeful, and Fingon smiled.

“He did. I needed to find a suitable lie to tell my father. It is all arranged,” Fingon assured Maedhros.

Maedhros grinned. “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you later.” His eyes swept through the room, and he quickly pulled Fingon into the far corner away from the door. “I have missed seeing you.” He growled softly and pressed Fingon back against the wall. They kissed and groped one another indecently for a few moments, stepping away only because they did not wish to take the chance someone might enter and see them. “Sit across from me at dinner,” said Maedhros.

“Not next to you?” questioned Fingon.

“Across from me.” His lips curled into a smile. “Until then.”

Fingon quickly dressed once Maedhros was gone. Fear of facing his father and excitement for what was to come later mingled together, and he left so fast he forgot his uniform in the room. It was not until his hand was on the handle of the front door of The Noble Thief that he remembered. He paused, laughed at his inattentiveness and the fact he would have no use for it any longer, and entered the pub.

Fingolfin drummed his fingers against the side of the table. “Did you remember to tell your brother where we were going to meet?”

“Of course.” Turgon was much more relaxed than his father was. He leisurely stirred sugar into his cup of tea and calmly tapped the spoon against the side before setting it down upon the saucer just so. “I even wrote it down, in case I forgot.”

“And I heard him,” piped up Aredhel, who was currently trying to coax a fussing Argon to stay on her lap until their mother returned. “Fingon probably just had to wait his turn to take a bath. He did stink a li—ow, ow, ow...”

Turgon walked around the table in order to help Aredhel untangle Argon’s hands from her hair. “He may have stayed to say goodbye to his teammates or his coach. How many years has he been with that team?”

“A long time,” stated Fingolfin. “Longer than he spent with any other team he has been with.”

“They were probably like family to him,” reasoned Turgon as he sat back down again. “If I were him – oh, I would be here, for there he is.”

Fingolfin turned to see his eldest son enter the pub and glance around. Aredhel lifted an arm into the air and waved; Argon followed suit. It did not take Fingon long to spot them and make his way over. “What took you so long?” asked Fingolfin as his son joined the family at the table.

“Sorry, sir. I just had some last minute things to do,” mumbled Fingon as he took charge of Argon.

“That is to be expected,” admitted Fingolfin. “Now that you are here, we can finally order.” Fingolfin motioned for the server to come forth from where he was leaned against a counter near the bar.

“Oh, I did not mean to hold everyone up.” Fingon smiled pleasantly when Argon grabbed his nose and held it, causing a more nasally sound. “In fact, I am not even all that hungry.”

This bit of information seemed to elude Fingolfin, who was already ordering for the family. “Stew for all of us, except for the baby. Bread, of course, and greens on the side with carrots. If you have any of the roasted mushrooms left, we will take two orders of those. We will also need another carafe of wine with dinner, and tea for my son who just arrived.” The server nodded as he listened and hurried away to retrieve the food. “You should have asked your coach to dine with us,” said Fingolfin once the server was gone.

“I suppose I could have, but I think he was busy. He and the rest of the team were already gone by the time I made it to the meet room.” Fingon caught the warning look from Turgon a little too late, and he felt he would have hit his head against the top of the table in irritation at his own stupidity if they were not in such a public place.

“If your teammates were gone, what took you so damn long?” demanded Fingolfin.

Turgon cleared his throat and said in his brother’s defense, “I know Fingon did not wish you to know of it, but he was presented with an offer from the Red Fern team to join them as an assistant. He did not want to tell you in case they rescinded their offer; obviously, he would have been in discussion with them.”

“Is that true?” asked Fingolfin. Fingon nodded meekly. “This is excellent news, worthy of celebration. To be honest, your mother and I were beginning to worry just where this particular path was going to take you. The opportunities are limited. Knowing that you have this position now will ease her mind.”

“I... I did not accept the position yet,” said Fingon.

Fingolfin looked confused and a little angry. “Why not?” he demanded.

“Well, I...” Fingon glanced to Turgon for assistance.

“Well, he obviously wants to see what other offers might come up first, father.” Turgon sipped his tea and added, “He would not want to take this position too hastily. Another might come up that would be better suited, or closer to home, or even a higher position. He would not want to have to go back and resign after only a day or two.”

“On the other hand, he should make sure he does not lose this opportunity.” Fingolfin began to drum his fingers again. “Do not be hasty, Fin, but do not allow this to slip through your fingers. What did they say to you about it today?”

“Uhh...” Before Fingon had to stumble his way through the lie his brother created for him, their mother rejoined them.

“Fingon, we are so proud of you!” she exclaimed as she sat down. She took hold of his free hand and squeezed it. “You did very well today.”

He smiled in reply as the server returned with their food. As long as people were eating, it would be very difficult for questions to be asked or answered. Although he was not very hungry, Fingon settled Argon onto his lap and slowly ate, thoroughly chewing all of his food. He simply nodded or shook his head in reply to everything, and at the end of the meal when he was able to catch Turgon’s gaze unseen to everyone else, gave him a thankful look. Turgon smirked and shrugged.

As the family was leaving, Fingon suddenly let out a groan. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to mention – I was going to stay here at cousin Finrod's house tonight.”

“Really? Why?” questioned his father.

“I have a meeting in the morning with the Red Fern coach,” fibbed Fingon. He had practiced the story in his head throughout dinner, and hoped he could remember it all now. “We were going to have a longer discussion today, but he did not have time. So he asked that I meet with him in the morning, but if I go home now, I would hardly have a chance to rest before I would have to start out again.”

Argon had just been handed to Fingolfin as Fingon began his explanation, so there was much nodding and only a minimal amount of concentration on Fingolfin’s part. “How are you going to get back home tomorrow?”

“I have the ability to walk,” said Fingon.

“You could wait a few days until we come back for your grandfather’s celebration,” suggested Anaire. “I assume you were going to go to it.”

Before Fingon could answer in the affirmative, Fingolfin shook his head. “He does not want to impose upon Finrod for that long. I can have Turgon bring back a horse in the afternoon, and you can ride back after your meeting.”

Fingolfin started for the door as Fingon bowed his head and nodded. A moment later, Fingon felt someone kick him. He looked to see Turgon give him a look that said ‘are you really going to stand for that?’

Often, it was Turgon who came to the aid of his older brother. Fingon had hoped, in fact, that Turgon might come up with a reason or excuse or something to prolong his stay. Instead, Fingon was being made to deal with it himself. He floundered for an idea, and a minute later bounded out of the pub and chased after his father. “What if they ask me to start right away?” he shouted.

Fingolfin stopped and turned around. “Then Turgon will simply ride back again without you.”

“It seems unfair for Turgon to waste his time, especially if we are all going to be at grandfather’s in just a few days. I will see if Finrod will allow me to stay longer,” said Fingon.

“Fin, you need to be a considerate guest. Asking for a day is one thing; inviting yourself for a week is another.”

“Then what if I stayed with... grandfather and grandmother?” Fingon nearly dropped his uncle’s name, but held his tongue. “I could help with the preparations in the days before – grandmother always says she could use an extra pair of hands.”

Fingolfin frowned, but considered the idea. “As long as you promise to use your time wisely and help out. That is, if you are not required to start your work with the Red Fern team.”

“Of course,” agreed Fingon. He could feel himself sweating and turning a little red, and was glad his father had to deal with Argon’s squirming.

“Alright, then, but make sure you are not a pest,” warned Fingolfin. Their carriage pulled up, and he entered into it with the baby. “We will see you in a few days.”

The last to enter the carriage was Turgon, who shook his head and sighed. “See you later.” He embraced his brother and discretely asked in a low voice, “Where are you really going to be?”

Fingon tried not to blush. “With Maedhros. I mean, at Uncle Feanor’s house,” he quickly corrected.

Turgon sighed. “Be careful.” He did not elaborate, but instead patted Fingon’s back and joined the rest of the family.

Fingon waited until he was positive that the carriage was too far away to see his route before switching his course to take him down the path that would lead to the house of Feanor. In the pit of his stomach, he felt a little sick. In part it was due to the lies he had told his father, but mostly he had eaten too much with his family to keep from having to talk during the meal. He waited until he was some ways down the street before ducking down a familiar lane with a glen across from the residential side. He veered across and into the clearing, and paused when he reached a large oak tree.

Casually, he leaned against it. He looked around to be sure that no one was watching him. As soon as he felt that the coast was clear, he faced the tree and braced himself with one hand against the trunk.

Long years ago, he had learned a sort of trick from some of the members of another gymnastic team he had been part of. For purposes of training, they needed to stay in top form, but they were younger at the time and their parents would expect them to eat full meals. In order to manage both tasks, they would do as their parents said and then go out for a walk in the garden afterwards. Once there, they would force themselves to expel the food they had eaten.

The first few times, Fingon had needed to stick his finger into his throat to cause the reaction. It was rather unpleasant and he had scratched the sensitive skin inside of his mouth doing so. From talking to others, he learned that conjuring up certain images would produce the same results.

He stood now, doing as he had done many times after dinners or lunches that he felt he did not need. A disgusting mixture of stew, half-digested bread, and the remains of his breakfast splattered on the grass. A few times he spat on the ground to rid his mouth of the foul taste. Now that he felt better, he back tracked his steps and continued down the path to his destination.

At the door of his uncle’s house, he was welcomed before he even entered. The twins were playing on the porch under the watchful eyes of Caranthir, and the little ones ran up to Fingon and hugged him around the knees, nearly toppling him over. Caranthir waved, and then ducked into the house to call for the others. A sound like a stampede could be heard coming from the stairway inside as the rest of the brothers raced down to greet Fingon – all except Celegorm, whom Fingon caught looking down upon him from the front bedroom window.

It was hard to determine who was asking which questions as they came so quickly and each atop the other, but Fingon tried his best to answer them all.

“How long are you staying?”

“At least until morning.”

“Where is Turgon?”

“He had things to do.”

“Do you think the competition was rigged? I do.”

That one came from Caranthir, and Fingon was well used to the middle brother’s constant paranoia over just about everything. “I think it was judged fairly.”

“Will you stop making so much noise?!”

Everyone looked up to see Celegorm, on the second floor, glowering down upon them all as he leaned out of the window.

“Sorry,” called up Fingon as the drapery was drawn to block the sight of them. He sighed, but Maglor patted him on the back.

“He is in one of his moods again,” whispered the second eldest brother. “Father would not allow him to go hunting tonight. He is to wait until morning, and no doubt it was because he wanted the whole family here for when you arrived.”

“I really do not mind if Celegorm goes hunting,” said Fingon, and it was true that he would actually have preferred not to have Celegorm in the house when he was there. He and the hunter had never gotten on as well as he did with the rest of his half-cousins, though the reasons seemed a little vague other than the fact that they just happened to have a mutual dislike for one another.

“Dinner!” called Nerdanel from the doorway, and the stampede reversed back indoors. Only Maedhros remained with Fingon, who took a step toward the house but was pulled back.

“Give it a moment,” said Maedhros, and after a few seconds, he embraced Fingon and nuzzled his neck. “I started to worry that your father would not let you come.”

“He thinks I am at Finrod's house,” explained Fingon.

“As long as you are here with me, he can think you at the top of Taniquetil for all I care.” Maedhros gave his lover one final squeeze before standing back. “We should go inside before mother sends someone to fetch us.”

Fingon nodded, and followed Maedhros within. There was an abundance of noise from the dining room, where a fight had erupted over where Caranthir was to sit. His apparent ‘usual seat’ had been taken by Celegorm, who had arrived first and decided to be the bearer of discord. Maglor was attempting reason, while Curufin added fuel to the fire by tossing in some snarky remarks.

Before the dispute led to blows, Feanor appeared and set to sorting things out. On one side, the argument that Celegorm arrived first, and on the other, Caranthir’s ritual to always sit to the right of their mother’s chair. Feanor fixed the problem by dragging the chair Celegorm was sitting on (with Celegorm still on it) over one seat and placing an empty chair where it had been. “There,” stated Feanor sternly as he left to go to the kitchen and help Nerdanel bring the food into the dining room.

Neither ended up getting their way, for Caranthir now refused to sit next to Celegorm lest the elder poke him during dinner or ‘accidentally’ spill the gravy onto his leg, and so sat in another seat far away. Celegorm lost his chance to take the new seat beside their mother as Maedhros slid onto it, and as no one challenged Maedhros, the subject was dropped.

The rest of the brothers took seats around the large oval table. Once the food was placed at the center of the table, Feanor sat at one end with Nerdanel down at the other. Between on either side were their sons, joined now by Fingon. As requested, he sat across from Maedhros instead of next to him.

Normally, they would have sat as close as possible, to allow them to discretely touch one another on the arm. At first, Fingon imagined that perhaps Maedhros wanted to be able to touch feet under the table. Despite the fact they were both tall, the table was also wide, and would not allow this unless they were both slouched down quite indecently.

The meal was served, and after a few brief words of thanks, the focus turned to the food. Unlike Fingon’s own home, where conversation flowed around the dinner table, typically from the ladies of the household, there was almost no talking here. On occasion someone might ask for the salt to be passed, or if a particular thing on a plate was going to be eaten, but any etiquette which might have been observed elsewhere was forgotten here. Most of the time, heads were bowed, but as Fingon looked across the table, he saw that one pair of eyes was on him. The reason that Maedhros wished him on the other side of the table was clear – he provided his cousin with a pleasant view throughout the meal. Maedhros winked at him, and Fingon shyly bowed his head.

Fingon ate his food slowly, but hoped it was not too slow as to displease his aunt and uncle. He was alarmed when it seemed suddenly and very soon into the meal, Celegorm cleared his throat and asked, “May I be excused? I have finished.”

All eyes looked down the table to Feanor, who was only just buttering his bread. The head of the household finished his task, glanced momentarily at his wife, and then looked at Celegorm. “No,” he said simply before biting into the bread.

“But I am done eating,” stated Celegorm. “I have no reason to be here.”

“Your reason to remain is to be polite to our guest,” scolded Feanor. The butter knife was still in his hand and he used it to punctuate the air to make his point as he spoke. “I know what your plan is, Celegorm. I saw you take the rope up to your room earlier. I am not so blind I do not know what is going on in my own house – this is why they give parents a set of eyes in the back of their heads, so that they can watch their children a little better. You can wait to go hunting until everyone has finished, and then you will not have to climb down the side of the house and scuff up the bricks.”

Celegorm was on his feet and slammed his fist down onto the table. “This is ridiculous! Why do I have to stay – I do not care if he is here or not. I am not the one who wishes him to be here,” he added as he turned his head and gave his oldest brother a dark look.

“Sit down,” ground out Feanor. The knife was pointed at the seat of the hastily vacated chair for further emphasis, and Celegorm grudgingly sat. “I will not have you act this way in front of guests, be they mine, or one of your brother’s, but especially not mine. I was the one who asked your cousin to have dinner with us this evening, and I thoroughly apologize to him for your behavior.”

Fingon mumbled something about it being fine and not to worry, but Feanor held up a hand and Fingon silenced himself. “You will apologize to your cousin, Celegorm, and then you will stay here until everyone has eaten, after which you will wash all of the dishes.”

“But it is Maglor’s turn – I did dishes yesterday. This is not fair!” shouted Celegorm.

Feanor smiled politely as he stood up, which finally led to Celegorm looking a little remorseful – not so much for his actions, but more for pushing things to a point that had gone too far and not won. “Excuse us a moment,” said Feanor calmly to the rest of his family. He walked up to the chair that Celegorm was sitting on and yanked his son up out of it, then marched him briskly out of the room, and soon after, out the back door.

The meal resumed upon Nerdanel’s request, though Fingon did little more than push the food around his plate and look at the empty chairs at the table. It was odd, he observed, that through most of the disagreement, the Ambarussa twins had continued to quietly eat, as if this sort of thing was commonplace at mealtime.

When Feanor returned, it was without Celegorm. “Maglor, you will need to clean the dishes tonight,” was all he said before he sat down and began to eat again.

“Is the guest room ready for Fingon to use?” asked Feanor.

Nerdanel gave her husband an odd look. “What guest room? The one you turned into a nursery for the Ambarussas?”

“I forgot about that,” muttered Feanor somewhat unconvincingly. He turned back to Fingon and stated plainly, “I suppose you shall have to share a room with one of your cousins. Maedhros would be most logical; he has the settee in his room.”

Fingon glanced at Maedhros, who looked a little uncertain. “I would not want to be an inconvenience.”

“It would not be a bother,” said Maedhros quickly. “I will go and get some extra sheets from the linen closet.”

“I think I have some extra pillows in the drawers under our bed.” Nerdanel hurried away down the hall, leaving Fingon and Feanor alone.

“I hope it will not be a problem for you to sleep with Maedhros. In his room, that is.” Feanor very carefully kept from smiling, but he snuck his worried nephew a wink as Maedhros returned with an armful of blankets and sheets. “Good night,” added Feanor as his wife returned.

Nerdanel walked purposefully past and into her eldest son’s room. She fussed with the pillows until satisfied and did the same with the blankets until Maedhros admonished her by reminding her that he, too, could make a bed. “Call if you need anything, dear, anything at all,” said Nerdanel. She gave Fingon’s cheek a pat and made sure he saw the knowing look she gave him before she exited the room.

As soon as they were alone, Fingon dropped himself down onto the bed and looked up at Maedhros accusatorily. “You told them.”

“Told who what?” Maedhros diligently made up the settee. Despite the fact they both knew it would never be used, he tucked the sheets in and fluffed the pillows yet again.

Fingon stood up and wedged himself between Maedhros and the couch. “You told your parents about us.”

Maedhros looked away and finally nodded with his eyes closed.

“When?” Fingon’s voice jumped nearly two octaves. “I thought we promised not to say anything to anyone?”

“I... I had to see you, and... mother asked me if I could watch the Ambarussas so that she and father could go to see the competition. I tried to get them to leave the twins with Maglor, but he was busy, and then Caranthir, and then... the conversation just led to it. I was baited,” added Maedhros as Fingon wandered away from him. Maedhros switched tactics. “There are a lot of people who already know, or, they think they know. Eventually, everyone is going to know.”

“Not if you learn to keep your mouth shut!” Fingon stood at the window with his arms crossed over his chest. “My father will have a royal fit if he finds out.”

“Your father is going to have to come to grips with the reality that his son – that both of his sons, in fact – are grown and should be treated as adults. That he still acts as if you are seven and Turgon is two, and that the two of you allow for it, is astounding.”

Fingon snorted and shook his head. “My father is protective, and while I live beneath his roof I plan to respect that.”

Maedhros joined Fingon at the window and placed his hands upon Fingon’s shoulders. Although the elder was extremely tall for an elf, Fingon was taller than average as well. Maedhros barely had to dip his head to kiss Fingon’s neck. “I did not mean to upset you. If you want to sleep on the settee, I would not blame you.”

Fingon took a quick glance over his shoulder across the room. “It does look cozy, but I need somewhere to stretch out. I know – you take the settee, and I will sleep in the bed.” He turned back to the window with a smirk unseen by his cousin.

Maedhros blinked in surprise. “Well, if you would rather I not... I did not mean any offence.”

At the window, Fingon snorted, but secretly grinned to himself.

Quietly, Maedhros went to the settee. He shrugged himself out of his clothing and sat down with a sigh. “Sweet dreams,” he said hesitantly. “I hope you sleep well.”

Fingon counted to ten and then turned around. The sight he saw was far too adorable not to memorize. Maedhros, whose height exceeded his own father, was draped across a sofa far too small for his frame. His legs were bent and hanging over one end, and his head was propped up on the arm. “I suppose you could sleep in the bed with me, if you promise me one thing.”

“What is it that you want of me?” asked Maedhros, now seeing the smile on Fingon’s face. He was already pushing back the sheet that covered him.

“You know what I want,” said Fingon as he backed up against the bed. When his knees made contact, he sat down on the edge. Maedhros left the settee, and crawled willingly over on his hands and knees.

---

Minutes later, they were snuggled against one another in bed, still too young and inexperienced not to rush things. They laughed quietly about it without mentioning a thing, and spent some time catching up before they slept. Fingon’s training for the competition had been the focus for him during the previous year, while Maedhros had his apprenticeship taking up the majority of his time. Neither of them was much for writing letters, so correspondence had been limited to a message here and there passed along by Turgon or Maglor, and meetings had been irregular at best.

Fingon slid out of bed to relieve himself in the chamber pot, and when he returned was unexpectedly pulled down and wrestled onto his side. “This is nice,” decided Maedhros as he wound one leg around Fingon’s thigh. “I rather like this position,” he added as he ground against his lover’s back.

There was a little scramble and tussle as they each attempted to best the other. Fingon used the headboard for leverage and shoved back to dislodge Maehdros before pouncing him; Maedhros took advantage of the move and momentum to roll from his back to end of the bed so that Fingon was beneath him now. They continued their rough play until a sharp knock on the door made them freeze.

“The twins just woke up and thought that there was a bear in the room,” whispered Feanor. “They are going to come and sleep in the room with your mother and I, but do try to keep the noise down.”

“Sorry,” whispered Maedhros back. Fingon pulled the bit of sheet he could reach over his head, mortified.

Feanor made sure he could be heard leaving the door to walk down the hallway. Fingon peeked from behind the cloth and Maedhros grinned back at him. “This is not funny,” scolded Fingon. “I do not want your father to stop letting me come here because I cause disturbances.”

“Father likes you,” Maedhros assured his cousin. “You have nothing to worry about... except maybe this!” he said as he flipped Fingon onto his stomach and pressed himself down against him. “Mmm... I love having you in my bed.” Maedhros nipped at the back of Fingon’s neck and shoulders, while Fingon closed his eyes and gently groaned in pleasure. “I wish you could be a permanent resident.”

“I should like to be able to get out of the bed some of the time,” said Fingon, though his response was mumbled as Maedhros kissed his way down his back.

“Maybe I would let you out once in a while,” conceded Maedhros. He lowered himself down onto the floor next to the bed and knelt there to get a better look at Fingon’s nude form. His lover was stretched out, head rested in his arms. Maedhros took hold of the sheet that was under his cousin and pulled it toward him until Fingon’s legs were off the side of the bed positioned on either side of him.

The thighs were too inviting not to grope and nibble; Fingon moaned appreciatively. There were two finely sculpted legs to worship, and Maedhros did his best to pay homage. When he took note of how Fingon rocked his hips against the bed, Maedhros slid his hand under to fondle what was hidden from him; Fingon rubbed against Maehdros’ palm.

“See what you think of this,” said Maedhros. He pulled his hand back, and then kept his thumb out as his fingers slipped back underneath. His thumb slid along the cleft of Fingon’s backside, and playfully poked at his entrance.

Fingon clenched up, his muscles firm. He crawled away just a little before he sat up and faced Maedhros. “Please do not do that,” he said in no uncertain terms.

“Why do you not like that?” pressed Maedhros.

The sheets were pulled up so that Fingon could cover himself. “You do not like it, either. I have never tried to force the subject with you. I would just rather you not do that to me. Is that so much to ask?”

“No, but...” Maedhros got back up onto the bed. The blankets were repositioned and cautiously, Maedhros pulled Fingon into his arms. When there was no resistance, he snuggled him as well. “I just thought you might like it, and that we might try to do something like that some time. A lot of couples like us do that, at least once in a while.”

“I do not enjoy it when you try to shove your finger in there, and I doubt I would enjoy it if you shoved... I would rather you not do that anymore,” Fingon reiterated.

Maedhros nuzzled Fingon’s shoulder. “I will not do anything that will make you uncomfortable. Maybe someday, you will change your mind.”

“Maybe,” said Fingon, but he was quite doubtful of it.

When it came time the next day for breakfast, there was one less chair pulled up to the table and no sign of Celegorm either. Nothing was mentioned regarding this, but Maedhros later assured Fingon that Celegorm was either hunting in the woods somewhere or had been sent to Grandfather Mahtan’s house to cool off a little. It seemed not uncommon for Celegorm to have sudden bursts of anger for no good reason that neither Nerdanel nor Feanor quite knew how to control, and the best way to handle the situation was to let the problem go elsewhere.

As Fingon helped Maedhros to clear the breakfast dishes away, Feanor said, “I suppose your parents will want you to return eventually. Shall I send you and Maedhros off on horses, or in a carriage?”

The plan Fingon had come up with the day before came to mind again, and he shook his head. “I am to stay in the city and help with grandfather’s upcoming celebration.”

“What a selfless act. I am proud of the charity of your time,” said Feanor. He winked at Fingon, and the young elf knew he was found out. However, being discovered by his uncle was not something to worry about, he soon realized. “Maedhros, if you have no plans for the next week, why not go with your cousin and offer your aid as well?”

Fingon and Maedhros glanced at one another, and then looked up at Feanor. “Really? I thought I was supposed to help you in the forge tomorrow,” said Maedhros.

“It can wait, or I can have Curufin help me,” said Feanor. “You should go and pack, then, Maedhros, I can take care of these few extra plates with Fingon.” He lifted the stack from his son’s hands before Maedhros could object. Once Maedhros was out of the room, Feanor looked at Fingon and said, “Oh, but you did not bring anything along with you for travel, unless I am mistaken.”

“I... right, I came directly from the competition,” Fingon remembered. The real story spilled forth, and Feanor laughed at how his half-brother had been deceived.

“Very clever,” he commended. “However, it still does not solve the trouble that you have no other clothing than what you have on your back. When you and Maedhros leave, stop at the marketplace and buy a few things. Have them put it on my credit.”

“That is very generous, uncle, but I—“

“—will be very appreciative and do as you are told, or I will lock you in the tool shed as I did with Celegorm.”

Fingon stood absolutely still, clutching the plates, his eyes wide. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered.

Feanor gave a stern nod as he deposited the plates onto the counter, but it was not long before he was smirking. “You do not really think I would do that to one of my own sons, do you?”

“Uhh... n—uhh, well...”

“I tossed him in there for five minutes and stood against the door until he stopped thrashing about and had calmed down. He has a tendency to hit or bite me otherwise. Then we had a long talk, and he still got to go hunting as he wanted. I would never lock them in the shed, and I would not hold them there long unless there was reason to. In fact, Celegorm is the only one who has ever given me enough trouble to be tossed into there for any amount of time.” When Maedhros returned, Feanor walked the pair to the door and gave Maedhros specific instruction that Fingon was not to simply buy the least expensive items found. “Do not scandalize your grandfather,” warned Feanor to Fingon. “Your grandmother... do what you wish,” he added tersely, the word grandmother sounding more like a curse than a title. “Farewell; we shall see you in a week,” he said cheerfully before shutting the door and leaving the pair on the porch.

They headed down the path toward the market, and Fingon asked, “Why is it that our fathers hate each other?”

“Sibling rivalry,” answered Maedhros easily, as if it was not the first time someone had posed the question.

“That seems so silly,” decided Fingon.

Maedhros considered this. “You must have disputes with Turgon at times, and even Aredhel.”

“Not really. Sure, we argue or disagree, but nothing like our fathers do. Sometimes I wonder if it will come to blows one day.”

“It has already, from what I am told,” said Maedhros. “When they were much younger, but they did get into a few fist fights. Actually, a few might be an understatement. Imagine Celegorm’s antics from last night, but ten times worse. Speaking of Celegorm, there is a case of sibling rivalry for you. He truly dislikes Maglor and I; he hates Caranthir passionately, and he seems to tolerate the twins, but I do wonder what will happen when they are grown.”

“Why does Celegorm hate Caranthir? That seems even more ridiculous than our fathers’ dislike for one another.” Fingon could see the marketplace coming into view, and it was obviously larger than the one he visited on the side of Valimar that his family lived on. The tents looked newer, and some of the structures appeared permanent as well. “You do not think we will cross paths with Celegorm on our way, do you?”

“I very much doubt we will,” replied Maedhros. “As for why Celegorm is as he is... he was used to being the little one for longer than the rest of us. He actually quite certainly believed he was going to be the last child – you know what they say about three children in the family.”

“One for mother, one for father, one to keep them all together,” recited Fingon from a nursery rhyme every Elven child had heard growing up.

Maedhros nodded. “Growing up, when he heard that, he used to shout ‘that one is me!’ when someone read the last part. Since I was constantly in the forge with father, and Maglor had interests similar to mother, Celegorm just thought he was that final piece to the puzzle. And then, oh my word, you should have been there when we found out Caranthir was on his way.”

“What happened?” asked Fingon.

They paused at one of the benches along the path. “Forgive me for stopping; I do not want to retell this tale in the midst of the market.”

“We can wait until we reach grandfather’s house,” offered Fingon.

“No, I might not remember to tell you if we wait that long.” Maedhros set his pack onto the bench, while he and Fingon remained standing. “Celegorm thought at first it was a joke. When mother’s stomach began to swell months later, he became less outgoing and retreated more and more to his room and to the forest. At one point, he kept making these horrible sarcastic suggestions, like, ‘It would be just terrible if mother took a tumble down the stairs and lost the baby’. He actually set some traps in the yard in hopes she would fall into them and hurt herself. Father found and destroyed most of them. Then, when Caranthir was born, Celegorm declared he was the ugliest baby ever and that it would be a blessing to the child if he was drowned in the well.”

Fingon covered his mouth in disbelief. “No,” he said. “He could not have been so cruel.”

“Oh, but he was,” Maedhros assured him. “He was extremely upset. Then, when Caranthir started to get older, grandfather took such a liking to him. As you know, Caranthir is practically a spitting image of grandfather, just a little taller and minus the mole on grandfather’s chin. Celegorm was furious, and when mother started to dress Caranthir in Celegorm’s old clothes and give him Celegorm’s old toys to play with, it was the final straw. Celegorm used every opportunity to make Caranthir upset, and he would laugh if he could make Caranthir cry. It got so bad at one point that father sent Caranthir away for a few weeks to stay at Grandfather Mahtan’s house. To this day, I think Caranthir prefers it there, where he is at least an individual and not overlooked as one of seven.”

“Is he really overlooked, as you say? I cannot imagine that your father is neglecting any of you,” Fingon said.

The pack was hoisted back up again. “Not neglected, no, not in the sense that father is sure we are all fed and clothed and have all the necessities that we need. However, it is easy for him to spend time with me, and with Curufin and Caranthir, because we share his interests and have skills we can use in the forge and in his workshop. Maglor is content with mother, studying his music and singing with her in the garden. Right now, the twins are too young to know quite what they want to do, but they enjoy playing in the garden while Maglor is practicing, or sitting and reading when mother works on her stitchery or mending clothes or something of that sort. Anyhow, the twins have each other, and they are very close. I do not see that bond breaking.”

“But Celegorm wants to be out in the forest hunting,” said Fingon.

“Exactly. It is a very good thing your sister came along, because I honestly do not know what we were going to do with him otherwise.”

“Oh?”

They started down the path again as Maedhros said, “Your sister has brought a little peace to the family. Celegorm has a hunting companion, and does not feel so left out of things. Still, those scuffles like the one you witnessed last night still occur.” They were not far from the market, so they both decided to resume the private conversation later, and now discussed the outcome of the competition the previous day.

Since the event was so fresh in everyone’s minds, Fingon was recognized by more than a few people out shopping. Some of them merely smiled as he passed by, or nudged their companions and motioned for them to look. A few, mostly young ellyth, approached the pair and held a brief conversation with the gymnast. Though the competition results were not all that favorable for Fingon, his overall career had a number of high points. The ellyth were all able to recall their favorite moments, or a particular trophy or accolade, and so the excursion through the market took far longer than anticipated. Maedhros tried to step back every time someone came up to Fingon, not wanting to ruin the moments or make his partner feel rushed. It also allowed Maedhros to hide his laughter each time an ellyth began to flirt, and Fingon blushed and stumbled through the rest of the conversation.

“Should we pick out one of those for you to take home, too?” teased Maedhros when he first had a chance to whisper into his cousin’s ear.

“Shut up,” replied Fingon as he blushed and hid his smile.

There were many vendors in the market selling clothes, and Fingon strolled through all of their booths before considering which ones he wanted to go back to. Maedhros, on the other hand, purchased things as he saw them. Everything went onto his father’s credit, and everyone knew who he was. Here and there, they would happen to stop by a confectioner or a fruit stand, and the proprietors would already begin to gather items long before Maedhros reached them, quite familiar with the tastes of the prince’s eldest son.

At midday, they stopped to eat and watch a group of musicians and a juggler perform. Fingon had not yet purchased anything, while Maedhros had two bulging sacks with him. “Was there nothing you found that interested you?” asked Maedhros.

“There were a few items,” Fingon said, “but everything here is so expensive.”

“You need not worry about the prices,” Maedhros assured him. “My father will pay for everything.”

“I do not want to make him pay for too much,” insisted Fingon. “He has been quite generous already.”

Maedhros smiled. “He wants you to find some things that you like. If you knew how much people pay for just one of those gems he polishes, you would not feel bad about taking the money at all.”

“I understand that, but I still want to spend his money wisely.”

There was a snort from Maedhros. “Why? He never does.”

“I guess it is different since I am just his nephew.”

“A nephew, yes, but he treats you like one of us. He wishes at times that you were his son... he thinks you would be better off that way, although then our relationship would be even stranger than it already is.”

“Aye,” agreed Fingon.

Maedhros picked up a carrot and bit off the end. “Would you indulge me? If you are uncertain about spending his money and picking things out, will you allow me to choose some clothing for you?”

Fingon considered the idea. “I suppose,” he said. “I trust your judgment.”

“Good. Once we have finished, I know exactly where to take you.”

Following lunch, Maedhros led Fingon to one of the shops that were permanently built within the marketplace. A bell on the door rang as they entered, and the shop was empty until a calm looking ellon pushed back a curtain that separated the front from the back and gave them a serious look. “Good day,” said Maedhros, and the tailor nodded in recognition. “My father sent us to buy a few things for my cousin; are the garments in the window for sale?”

“Certainly,” replied the tailor. “Which ones are you interested in?”

Maedhros pointed to a jerkin made of dark blue fabric, paired with a black shirt and black leggings. “We would be interested in seeing belts for that as well,” added Maedhros as the tailor went to the window to retrieve the items.

With a nod, the tailor draped each garment carefully over his arm, and then motioned with his hand to the curtain he had appeared from behind. “You may try them on in the chamber back here. Follow me, please.”

Fingon nervously followed when prodded gently by Maedhros, and was glad when he looked over his shoulder to see that Maedhros was following him. They curtain was held back for them, and they were led in further to a spot with a few chairs. Mirrors surrounded the entire space on three sides. “You need to undress, if you are to try these on,” said the tailor when no one moved for a few moments.

“Right,” said Fingon, and he slowly took off his tunic, and then his shirt, waiting for something to be said. He was slender, there was no doubt in that, but he had been scolded more than once by his mother for not eating enough. His muscled arms and legs from so much training could not hide the fact that there was nothing but skin between his ribs and open air. The tailor said nothing as he knelt down and held the leggings so that they could be stepped into.

As it turned out, the leggings had to be taken in around the waist and let out at the cuffs; the shirt and tunic posed similar problems, but as Maedhros had suggested, a belt fixed this predicament. The tailor was making his final notes on the adjustments when the bell at the door rang. “Just a moment; I will be right back with you,” he apologized before leaving the room to tend to the new set of customers.

Fingon rocked back and forth on his heels while Maedhros stood up and circled him. “Does it look good on me? I usually do not wear anything so fancy,” said Fingon.

“It looks great on you.” Maedhros pulled a bolt of fabric that was sitting on a shelf out and held it up in front of Fingon. “I think I am going to have him make you another set, in another color. Maybe burgundy.” He set aside the fabric and pulled another of his selected color off of the shelf.

“Do you think you should be doing that? He might have that set up in a particular way,” warned Fingon.

Maedhros did not heed the warning. “I will put them back. Besides, I think he should be happy that I am making such a purchase. His wares are not cheap.”

“Maybe we should not buy this, then,” fretted Fingon. “I do not want to ungratefully spend your father’s money.”

“Relax. You should see the prices on the clothing that Celegorm wears and then ruins when he hunts. It is fine.” Maedhros brought over a bolt of deep green velvet and held it up. “This is nice. Maybe we should have him do one in green and one in burgundy.”

“Maedhros, that is too expensive,” hissed Fingon now that he had found and read the price tag dangling from one sleeve.

His cousin shushed him and set the two bolts he preferred onto a chair. “My dear, you worry too much. Look how lovely you are in this outfit.” Maedhros came around behind Fingon and wrapped his arms loosely around his torso. “You look quite princely in this.” He lowered his voice and whispered to his cousin, “I wish there was no chance of the tailor coming back for a while, for I would ravish you here on this floor.”

“Maedhros...” replied Fingon warningly.

A hand slid down and caressed between Fingon’s legs. “I love this fabric,” crooned Maedhros into his lover’s ear. “So soft... you like it too, right?”

“Hmmm... mmmhmm,” he agreed.

Maedhros whispered a few things into his cousin’s ear that left a blush that remained when the tailor returned. As Maedhros gave a list of what he wished to order, Fingon kept silent and hoped that the bulge in the yet to be mended leggings was not noticed.

They left the shop a little while later, carrying with them two packages in addition to the sacks of goods that Maedhros bought earlier. It would be another hour until the pants would be ready, so they ventured through the scattered booths again to inspect the various crafts and to purchase a few shirts and a pair of pants of lesser quality for Fingon.

It was there that they ran into someone who was looking for them, or for one of them at least. “Fingon Fingolfinion, I have been trying to find you,” said the sandy-haired ellon. His hair was windblown from riding and he thrust his hand out toward the youth. “Ardim, Coach of the Red Ferns. I heard you will be joining us.”

“I... well, yes, I was considering the offer that was made,” he said as he clasped the coach’s arm. “I did not have a chance to speak to anyone about it yesterday.”

“I know,” said the coach. “I just came back from your house. I was hoping to find you there this morning, so I arrived early. Your mother is a lovely lady; makes excellent scones. I stayed for early tea and spoke to your parents. It seems there was a little miscommunication; I was told we were supposed to meet here in the city, but I must have neglected to write that appointment down. It was a good thing I called upon you before leaving for home to make the offer to someone else. They told me how excited you were to begin assisting us, especially since your own team did not think to offer you a position.”

“They did?” Fingon blinked and tried not to look too horrified. His plan to stall for time had been foiled by his father. It seemed the decision had been made for him.

“Yes, they did. I was glad to learn of your answer. Now, your mother said that you had a family commitment to attend to for the next few weeks. I strongly believe in keeping promises, so I see no reason for you to miss this celebration. I will expect you to start work as soon as you are able to. You do know we are located quite a ways west, correct?” asked Ardim.

Fingon nodded. “Yes, I had been at the gym twice for local meets when I was with the Poison Fist,” he said in reference to the team that had first recruited him. “I know that you have a dormitory for those who are not from the region.”

“We do, but we try to reserve the dorms for our students and team members. Of course, you will be allowed to stay there to begin with, but eventually you would be advised to find your own living arrangements in the area.”

“I see. I will get to work on that immediately.”

Ardim smiled, somewhat. It was actually hard to tell if he was smiling or just had a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Good idea. I have a copy of the key for you,” he said as he pulled a thin chain with a key attached to it from his pocket. “Do not lose this. Guard it with your life. In fact, put it around your neck this instant and do not remove it even when you sleep or bathe.”

Fingon would have laughed at how serious Ardim was, except for the fact that he was deadly serious about it. Not only did Fingon put the chain around his neck, but he also tucked the key down the front of his shirt. “Thank you, Ardim,” he said.

“Another thing,” added Ardim sternly. “You call me coach if you have to; otherwise, you call me sir. I expect complete respect from everyone in the gym. There is no familiarity between myself and the rest of the team. That includes assistants as well. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Fingon.

“Good.” Ardim extended his arm to Maedhros now that he noticed that he was not about to go anywhere. “Ardim, coach of the Red Fern team.”

“So I have heard,” said Maedhros. “Maedhros, son of Feanor. Nice to meet you, Ardim,” he said, enunciating Ardim’s name. Fingon held back a snicker.

“Likewise.” Ardim clasped Fingon’s arm again. “Welcome to our team, Fingon.”

The remainder of the time in the market was spent sitting on a bench near the tailor awaiting the final package. Fingon moped, and Maedhros tried to cheer him up with a bag of toasted pumpkin seeds and a visit from a mime who tried his best to get Fingon to smile. After sending the street performer on his way with a few coins, Maedhros settled back down on the seat next to his cousin. “Did I ever tell you the story of how we told Celegorm where he came from?”

Fingon sighed heavily. He appreciated the attempts that Maedhros was making to cheer him up, but the impending doom of having been enlisted without his actual consent still upset him. “No, you did not.”

“You are going to like this one. So, one day, Celegorm asks Maglor and I where babies come from. Well, we wanted to have a little fun with him, so we made up this whole story on how babies come from their parents loving each other so much and then they go out to the river and wait for a lily pad with a baby to come floating by, and they take it home with them. So, Celegorm wanted to know if we still had his lily pad, so we took him out to the pond behind the house. There were two huge lily pads there, and just a few little tiny ones. He asks, ‘which one is mine?’...”

***

“This one is mine,” said Maglor. He crouched down next to the pond and reached over to touch the light green leaf floating in the water. His eyes took it in fondly, as if he was recalling it from memory long past. “It is like a second home to me.”

Maedhros fought back his laughter as he pointed to the lily pad further out. “That one was mine,” he said as little Celegorm looked around frantically. There was a frog on it now, and it croaked at the elves on the shore.

“Where is mine, Maedhros? Where is it?” Celegorm ran around the side of the pond and tugged on Maglor’s hand. “I want to see mine, too!”

“Wait... Maglor...” Maedhros waited until he had the attention of both brothers. “Did... did you remember... oh...” Maedhros became very quiet and looked down at the ground.

“What? What is it?” Celegorm ran back to the oldest brother. “Where is mine? Is it gone?”

“Well... I just remembered... but we should maybe go back to the house,” suggested Maedhros. As he turned, he felt Celegorm grab around his leg.

“Tell me!” shouted Celegorm. “Tell me, where is mine?!”

“You do not have one,” said Maedhros. “You... you were not found in the river.”

“Where was I found?” asked Celegorm, his eyes wide and questioning.

Maedhros pointed toward the shed. “You were found in an ugly wooden box, next to the garbage heap. I think someone dumped you there because they did not want you. Of course, nana and ada felt bad, and you cried very loudly, so they brought you inside. Now, you have been here so long, I guess they are just going to keep you.”

Celegorm narrowed his eyes and pouted. “That is not true,” he argued. He looked to Maglor, who simply nodded at the unseen prodding from Maedhros. “Well... where is this box, then?”

“Come. I think father kept it.” Maedhros walked swiftly to the shed, which meant that Celegorm had to run to keep up. Maglor checked around to be sure that their parents were not around before he followed.

The shed was dark, for many things were piled up along the walls and up to the windows. Celegorm tried to look past Maedhros, but could not see around the stacks of crates and piles of wood. “Ah, here it is... are you sure you want to see it, Celegorm?”

“Of course I do!” Celegorm backed up a little so that Maedhros could turn around, and looked skeptically at the box presented to him. It was filled with cobwebs and crusty leaves from a year or two ago. There was a crack down one side and a chunk missing from the corner. Celegorm reached out his hand and touched the side of the box. “This could be any old box,” he said. “How do you know this one is my box? How do I know you are even telling the truth?”

Maedhros looked down at the box. “It is just big enough for you to fit inside.”

Celegorm looked again and made a face. “That proves nothing.”

“Hmm. I guess you are right. Maybe this is not the right one.” Maedhros started to inspect the box, turning it to one side, and then rotating it again. As he did so, the writing on the opposite side became visible to Celegorm, who saw his name written on it.

“It is my box,” he said, his eyes filling with tears.

The box was turned back and Maedhros looked at the writing in surprise as if he had not been the one to hastily scribble it on with a piece of coal just a few moments ago. He set the box down on the floor of the shed and carefully stepped around his youngest brother. “See? We were telling the truth.”

***

“And you left him out there with it?” questioned Fingon in horror.

Maedhros was still laughing as he nodded and stamped his foot on the ground. “The look on his face was priceless! He was out there all night sitting in the shed next to the box crying about it. It was too funny – you should have been there.”

“That is sick,” replied Fingon. “It disturbs me – did Maglor think that was funny, too?”

“Of course.” Maedhros stopped laughing. His mouth twisted into a half-frown. “Did you never do such things to Aredhel with Turgon? Or to Turgon?”

“No, and I would never dream to.” Fingon saw the door of the shop open, and he walked over to retrieve the package from the tailor. “I think it is time for us to go,” he said, and Maedhros nodded in agreement.

The trip to Finwe’s house was quiet and slightly uncomfortable, but nothing more was said regarding their final discussion at the market. The leaves were just beginning to turn color, and they enjoyed the view silently as they walked. Fingon hoped that they would hold to the trees until he had made the transition to his home near the Red Fern team gymnasium, wherever that was. The different trees in the west varied in color from the ones on the coast, and autumn was Fingon’s favorite season.

As the pair approached the house of their grandfather, the servants working in the garden stopped to wave or greet them. Maedhros nodded and shouted back to them; Fingon smiled or waved shyly. He had not spent as much time growing up on the estate, while Maedhros had lived in the house during the summers of his childhood. When they reached the steps leading up into the house, they found that they were somewhat anticipated: Their grandfather stood at the door, and beside him, Indis.

Fingon climbed the steps first, giving each of his grandparents a warm hug. “I hope you do not mind us coming a little early,” he said. “We thought we could help.”

“You are always welcome here,” Finwe reminded them. They were words he often said. It was known to all of his children and grandchildren that they were expected to pay a visit whenever they wished. He enjoyed seeing his progeny and talking to them about their travels and adventures. It was his wont to stay and oversee the estate and the plentiful acres of crops that spread out around his land.

Indis held out her hand to Maedhros as he joined them on the porch. He bowed his head and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Good afternoon, grandmother. I am glad to see you are well.”

“It is good to see you as well, Maedhros.” Indis gave him a hug, and an extra little squeeze. It was not a title that Maedhros had to give her, and it was a name he reserved for those times when his father and brothers were not around, though Maglor secretly did the same. Having never met their real grandmother, they both welcomed Indis into this position; their father, however, was far from accepting Indis into the family.

Finwe patted Maedhros on the back and clasped his arm. “We are both very appreciative of your assistance. Your father let me know that you were coming.”

“Oh... he did, did he?” Maedhros and Fingon exchanged a quick look. “Did he say anything else?”

“Not really,” replied Finwe. “Is there anything I should know?”

Fingon bit his lip and shrugged while Maedhros shook his head.

“Well, if you think of something, let me know.” Finwe opened the door and led his grandsons into the house. “I think you know where the guest rooms are, but I shall have someone take your things up for you.” He needed only make a motion, and someone appeared at his side. “The green room in the east wing,” he said, and the packages and sacks were gathered up and whisked away. Finwe turned back to the two young ellyn standing before him and said, “Your father told me that you would prefer to share a room until the festival. I hope you are both amiable to that.”

“Are you alright with that?” asked Maedhros as Fingon tried to hide his flushed face behind his cousin.

Finwe gave them both an odd look. “What is wrong with two cousins spending a few evenings together in the same room?” He waited for an answer, and when neither said anything, excused himself. “Rest, relax, and this evening we shall draw up a plan as to how you can help.”

Maedhros nodded for both of them and waited until their grandfather left the room to ask, “Do you think he knows?”

“He knows,” replied Indis behind them. “However, there are two beds in the room. No need to scandalize your father,” she said as she placed her hands on Fingon’s shoulders.

“At this rate,” sighed Fingon, “everyone is going to know before my father does.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” mused Maedhros.

“Everything looks wonderful,” commended Artanis as she and Aredhel strolled into the garden that Maedhros and Fingon had nearly finished adorning with ribbons and bows.

“Next year, I think we should come early to help, too,” Aredhel suggested as they took up residence upon a bench.

Maedhros waved his hand toward a pile of bows yet to be attached to the gates and around the trees. “There is yet still time to aid us! Quick, grab that ribbon and help!”

The young ladies giggled, and Aredhel shook her head. “Our mothers would have a royal fit if we came back with dirt on our dresses or with twigs in our hair. We practically had to promise to tiptoe over here so as not to get dirty.”

“Ah, well. It was worth a try,” said Maedhros to Fingon with a wink.

Fingon smiled as he wrapped ribbon around the trunk of an oak. “How is everyone doing, Aredhel?”

“The same as usual. Argon is still teething, Father still worries about everything, Mother still worries about him, and Turgon is as peaceful and pleasant as ever. Somehow, we managed to survive without you in the house – though, I daresay, having you back again will be a blessing,” she added.

“How so?” asked Fingon.

“Without you around, Turgon seemed to think he had to be my keeper. When Celegorm came by to invite me to hunt, he practically chased him away and scolded me for keeping company with a known troublemaker.”

Maedhros laughed loudly, and said, “That is the most accurate description of my brother I have heard in a long time.”

Aredhel frowned. “I rather like Celegorm’s... umm...”

“Waywardness,” supplied Artanis.

“No,” admonished Aredhel. “His...”

“Ability to disturb the peace?” Fingon suggested.

“Not you, too, Fin.” Aredhel let out an exasperated sigh. “He has a certain quality about him that separates him from everyone else.”

“Considering there are few jackasses wandering the city, I can see how that could be accomplished.” Maedhros shrugged at the dirty look Aredhel gave him. “Honesty, my dear, is one of my greatest qualities.”

Aredhel huffed her way out of the garden and shouted as she left, “Honesty and stupidity, I suppose!”

Now the other three were left alone, a child from each family of Finwe’s three eldest sons, and Artanis perched more on the edge of the bench and observed the winding down of the preparations. “I shall reach my majority at the end of this coming summer,” she informed them.

“Has it been that long already?” Maedhros paused to count the years, and slowly nodded. “Good. Last year we need to buy presents for you, then,” he told her.

Artanis resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at them, which she might have done the previous year. This year, her mother was more concerned than ever about making a proper lady of her and there were certain strict guidelines she was striving to follow. “I will not stand for your teasing, Maedhros. I am quite serious about my expectations as an adult.”

“Oh, really?” challenged Maedhros. “Just what expectations are those? You will likely continue to live in your father’s house, be waited upon by his servants, and live a luxurious life even I do not have the ability to afford.”

“No, I have no plans to continue to live in my father’s house,” she said adamantly. “My eldest brother already has a house of his own; if I do not marry within a year, I shall simply move to his residence so that I am more accessible to the available bachelors.”

“You? Married?” Maedhros shook his head. “No offense, but... well, I thought...”

“You thought what?” Artanis narrowed her eyes at both of them. “You thought I was like the two of you?”

Fingon blushed fiercely and turned around to inspect one of the attached bows. Maedhros tossed the remaining roll of ribbon into a bin that held their supplies and approached Artanis slowly. “I did, actually. You run around like an ellon all the time – hair up, skinned knees, bossing everyone around, throwing a punch when you have to – and you certainly lack friends of your own type, except for Aredhel, who, I daresay, is quite like a boy herself with the exception of the fact that she does have friends who are ellyth and quite often takes the extra effort to dress like one. In fact, she does not own a single pair of pants – and I know you do.”

“Just because I do not look like a lady does not mean...” Artanis stopped herself before her voice rose too high. Her hands were already balled up into fists. “There is no sense in arguing with you. The point is this: I do not intend to stay in my father’s house. I intend to find myself a husband.”

“How do you intend to do that? You can knock one unconscious and drag him to a house to live with you, but sooner or later, he will wake up.”

“Maedhros, you are horrible. Fingon, I shall never understand what you see in him.” Artanis left in the same direction Aredhel had gone, and in a much fouler mood.

Maedhros tapped Fingon on the shoulder. “Am I really that bad?”

“You get into a mood sometimes,” admitted Fingon. “As long as you never do it to me, or tease my family too harshly, who am I to begrudge you your fun?”

“Good... that makes Artanis fair game for the rest of today,” said Maedhros as he and Fingon gathered up the remaining supplies and tossed them into the bin.

The two emerged into the clearing to find the party in an uproar. Near their grandfather’s porch, Fingolfin was yelling at Celegorm, both of their faces red, while Feanor stood behind his son with hands upon his shoulder. It seemed Feanor was attempting to speak calmly, but was soon to be shouting as well. Most of the ellyth were looking under tablecloths and behind trees and chairs. Some of the ellyn stood and watched what was going on; others hurriedly gathered their arrows and bows.

Finwe emerged from the house, and silenced both of his sons with one look. Only Celegorm continued, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I TOLD you, I WAS watching him. Then I was called inside to get something, and I started to explain that I was watching the baby, and I was told he would be fine for a few moments. So I went inside to get what was needed, but it was ‘just a minute, just a minute,’, and when I tried to go back out I was told to wait! I finally took what was needed outside, and when I turned around, he was not there! Someone must have seen him by himself and picked him up or something,” Celegorm attempted to reason, but considering the position he was in, it was difficult to even speak.

“You should never have left him alone. You should have found someone else to watch him,” barked Fingolfin. “For all we know, he could have wandered off and hurt himself or even be dead right now, and it is all your fault!”

“For all you know, he could be fine!” screamed Celegorm back at his uncle.

Feanor squeezed his son’s shoulders sharply to keep the tirade from continuing. “I think we all know how safe it is here. There was likely just a little mix-up.”

“A little mix-up?” mumbled Fingolfin as he continued to glare at Celegorm.

“Obviously, he is being searched for, and will be found,” Feanor assured his brother. “However, I do not appreciate you placing the fault upon my son, when it is really your responsibility to watch your own child.” Fingolfin stood, flabbergasted, while Feanor continued. “What Celegorm is at fault for is losing his temper and acting like a child. Be assured; he will be dealt with as soon as your son is found, Fingolfin.”

Celegorm snorted in anger, but said nothing.

The twins, who had been huddled together next to Maglor, now came forth. “Father,” interrupted Maglor, “the Ambarussas have something to tell you.”

Feanor sighed, privately hating the name his wife had given to both of their youngest children. He moved away from Celegorm and crouched down before the twins. “Do you know where Argon is?”

“No,” replied the younger of the two.

“But we did see him taken,” piped up the elder.

“Who did you see take the baby?”

“A tall person,” answered the elder.

“With a long, black cape, and a big hood drawn down over his face so that we could not see it,” added the other.

Feanor gave them a stern look. “It is not good to tell lies to your father, boys.”

“But we are telling the truth,” insisted the younger. The elder nodded his head.

Feanor smiled and patted each of them on the head. “But you did not see where this person went?”

“No, he was gone quick.”

“Right when we blinked.”

“And we blinked at the same time.”

“Is that all?” Feanor nodded when his sons did. “Thank you; now run along and help your mother search for little Argon. You may be the biggest help of all, being almost as short as he is.” The twins nodded and scurried away. “I apologize; they make up the oddest stories at their age,” he said as he stood.

“We must engage search parties,” decided Finwe when it was evident that the baby was not present in the glade. “Some will search the gardens, and some the house, and others the woods.”

“Fingon and I just came from the gardens,” piped up Maedhros. “We did not see him there.”

“Be that as it may, you cannot be sure that you did not miss him. I am sure you were tending to other things. Were either of you looking for a baby when you came back?” asked their grandfather.

“No, sir,” admitted Maedhros.

“Excuse me,” interrupted a smooth, deeply melodic voice. “I was enjoying a pleasant walk in the woods, and I could not help but hear the commotion. Is anything amiss?” Melkor stood in the clearing, halfway between the porch and the edge of the woods.

“Your Excellency,” greeted Finwe. He gave a slight tilt of his head as the Ainu approached. Both Feanor and Celegorm warily stood their ground, but Fingolfin did not show any negative reaction. Though known for his terrible deeds in ages past, the newly reformed Melkor often visited among the Noldor, bringing to them gifts of retribution in the form of knowledge and ideas. Only Feanor’s family showed skepticism at his appearance.

“Is there anything I might offer assistance with?” he asked when nothing further was said.

Fingolfin stepped forward and explained the situation. “We should break into search parties and begin looking for him – there are many horrible things in the woods.” As if on cue, a wolf howled some distance away, and Anaire began to weep.

“Indeed,” agreed Melkor. “I shall help in whatever way I can. Alas, that my brother had not dulled my powers, I might have simply known your son’s location. In my current state, I can only offer to help search.”

“Your offer is appreciated. We can use whatever help we can get,” assured Finwe. “Alright, everyone, you know who we are looking for. He is still young, so unless he found a way to mount a horse, he should not be very far away.”

“Unless the hooded person stole him!” piped up Ambarussa.

“Hooded person?” questioned Melkor.

Fingolfin waved off the comment. “A story they made up,” he whispered. “Imaginative minds of the young.”

“Indeed,” said Melkor again.

Groups of three were assembled, and Maedhros and Fingon snagged Turgon to join them. They headed back to the gardens to retrace their steps. Meanwhile, Celegorm had had a hard time convincing anyone but Aredhel to come with him, as some still thought he had been the one to hide the baby in the first place. “We should go to the forest and search,” said Celegorm when it appeared no one would join them. “You and I know those woods better than anyone.”

“An excellent choice. Would you care to lead, or should I?”

Both Celegorm and Aredhel looked up behind them to see Melkor standing there. “Umm...”

“Then I shall lead,” decided Melkor, and he ushered the pair into the woods.

No one searched harder or more intensely for little Argon than his brother Turgon did. “Check around every tree and under every bush,” he instructed as he led Maedhros and Fingon through the garden. He himself was on his hands and knees in hopes of getting the perspective of his baby brother.

Behind him, Maedhros and Fingon walked down the path, each of them scanning a different side. “Do you really think Celegorm hid him?” asked Maedhros.

“Well, if he was the one watching him and no one else saw what happened, then maybe he did,” reasoned Fingon. “Argon can only crawl right now. In the time he had, there is no way he could have reached the woods. He might be here; he might be in the house. Did anyone check to see if he went under the porch?”

“Under the porch! Brilliant idea!” Turgon leaped up and ran back to the house.

Once they were alone again, Maedhros motioned for them to move off the path into the actual garden. “I do not think that Celegorm did anything.”

“He hates me,” stated Fingon. “I would not put it past him to do this.”

“Celegorm can be unkind, but he is not evil,” defended Maedhros. “He likes your sister too much to do something that would make her upset.”

“Aredhel?”

“Do you have another sister I do not know of?” teased Maedhros. “Yes, Aredhel. I am surprised you have not noticed it before.”

“Well... I suppose, now that you mention it, there are times when he seems to be more interested in her than in hunting when we are out.” Fingon nodded. “Yes, I can see it now.”

“It would be marvelous if they could be married. Then our families would link together twice.” Maedhros slipped his hand into Fingon’s. “Three times if you count our fathers, but I do not think they even consider that.”

“Which is what makes it so hard for us to even be together,” Fingon reminded his cousin.

Maedhros bowed his head and nodded. “I know. Things will get better.”

“When?” wondered Fingon.

The elder glanced around, and then pushed Fingon up against a tree. “How about now?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Maedhros, we need to find my brother.”

Roving hands slid around to grope Fingon’s backside. “You said it yourself; Argon is too young to get very far. He is probably under the porch giggling at Turgon’s attempts to fetch him. Your brother is safe; so, kiss me.”

The logical part of Fingon’s mind told him that he should resume the search, but the opportunity was much too inviting. His own hands threaded through his lover’s silky red hair and pulled his head down. As they kissed, Maedhros began to grind against Fingon, and they shifted between moans and gasps, forgetting the rest of the world.

“Just what do the two of you think you are doing?!”

At first, the pair thought that Turgon had returned. When they disengaged from one another, absolute horror colored Fingon’s face to see his father, uncle, and grandfather approaching them. Maedhros stepped away at first, but when he saw that Fingolfin meant to step forward and yank his son away, Maedhros took the initiative and pulled Fingon close to him. His arms wrapped protectively around Fingon’s waist. There was hardly any way to disguise their actions, so Maedhros boldly said, “We were doing exactly what it looked like we were doing, and as soon as we have a chance, we will be doing it again.”

“Although we appreciate your honesty,” said Feanor, “this is not the appropriate time for what you were doing.”

“There will never be an appropriate time for what they were doing!” shouted Fingolfin. “Here we have been worried about your brother, and you have been... with him! Disgusting! You are very lucky that your brother has been found.”

Fingon let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Valar,” he said.

“And no thanks to you,” added Fingolfin. “Come; we are going home. Your mother has had enough of a fright, and there is no point in staying.”

“I wish you would reconsider, Fingolfin. It will not be much of a celebration with you and your family missing,” said Finwe.

“Father, I am sorry, but I must tend to these... recent events.” Fingolfin pointed at his eldest son, who was still snuggly nestled in Maedhros’ arms. “You are to come with me. Now.”

Fingon hesitated as his father turned around. His answer came softly, but with conviction. “No.”

It seemed easier to say to his father’s back, for when Fingolfin turned and asked him to repeat his answer, Fingon shuddered. Despite his fear, he stood his ground. “I said no,” he said again. “You will have to return home without me. I am staying here.”

“That is not acceptable,” said Fingolfin angrily. “You and I need to have a talk, and we are not about to do that here. Now, we are going to return home, and that is final.”

Fingon took a deep breath and gripped Maehdros’ hands with his own. His lover gave him a gentle squeeze around the middle, as if passing on some courage to keep going. “I know you are upset with me, father, but I am an adult now and have been for some time. If you do not approve of my choice of mate, I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do to change who or what I am. I know I have disappointed you, but I need to find what makes me happy, and right now, what makes me happy is being with Maitimo.”

Fingolfin looked numb, and was at a loss for words. Finwe took the opportunity to speak. “I think we should all return to the house. There is no doubt we all wish to thank Argon’s rescuer.”

Feanor made a motion toward the path, and followed after Fingolfin and his father. Slowly, Maedhros let go of Fingon and kissed his brow. “I am proud of you,” he whispered as he took hold of his lover’s hand and walked with him back to the house.

Fingon smiled and when they caught up to his uncle asked, “Who found Argon?”

Feanor rolled his eyes and said, “Melkor.”

Out from under the porch Turgon crawled, covered in dirt and cobwebs. “Where is he?” He scrambled to stand up and raced past his mother in time to grab little Argon out of the arms of Melkor. “You are never leaving my sight again, if I can help it,” he vowed. The baby, wholly unaware of having been in any danger, gurgled appreciatively and clung to the front of Turgon’s tunic.

“Where did you find him?” asked a very grateful Anaire.

Melkor gazed long upon Turgon holding his brother before he answered. “He was just inside the woods. It looked as if he tottered off and then fell asleep from all the excitement.”

“That would be amazing, as he does not walk yet,” announced Feanor, who was just coming up the garden path with Maedhros and Fingon behind him. He stopped only when he reached Melkor and crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose next you might tell me he flew the distance.”

“No. I would have assumed then that he had crawled – which would make even more sense as to why the poor dear was asleep.” Melkor looked quite hurt at the accusation Feanor had made, and Finwe stepped in to keep the peace.

“Our thanks to you, Melkor, for your aid to us. Please, join us in our celebration. It is not much of a reward, but it is what little we might offer.”

Fingolfin plucked Argon from Turgon’s arms before the fallen Vala could answer. “Excuse us, but we are going home. Turgon, gather your things,” instructed Fingolfin.

“Yes, father,” answered Turgon dutifully.

“Fingon, you as well,” added Fingolfin. “Do not argue with me here.”

“Do not be so hasty to leave, my son,” said Finwe. “Perhaps it would be better to talk things out here, on neutral ground.”

“What sort of things?” asked Melkor curiously.

Feanor narrowed his eyes. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Again, Melkor feigned insult. “I was merely worried over your family’s wellbeing.”

“We beg your pardon, your lordship; merely a trivial matter between my sons which bears no impact upon anyone else but those parties already involved.” Finwe gave his sons a look that dared them to dispute him.

“I see,” came the hissed response from Melkor, who caught sight of Maedhros and Fingon standing very close and holding onto one another’s hand. He regained his calm tone again quickly. “I wish you luck in sorting things out. As for myself, I have business to attend to.”

“Consider the invitation open, Lord Melkor, to return as you wish,” Finwe insisted.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I shall remember that.”

Finwe now turned to Feanor and Fingolfin, who were exchanging glares and sizing one another up. “Quit that,” whispered Finwe. “I will not have you acting thus with everyone watching. Look at your sister – she is beside herself!” Some distance from them, Faniel was huddled against the gazebo, shaking nervously as she watched them. “Consider her delicate nature, shake hands, and get into that house where we can discuss this matter like civilized people.”

There was no doubt that Feanor was not fond of most of his half-siblings, but Faniel had taken a liking to him, and he to her, despite their difference in parentage. He smiled to her, a look to give her confidence that indeed everything would be alright. She was a rather fragile creature, and Feanor had once remarked that he still would have been mean to her when she was a child as he had been to the rest of his half-siblings, but it would have been like kicking a puppy to do so, and even he was not so cruel.

Fingolfin had the same fondness for their sister, and he took a minute to walk to her and show her that Argon was well. She took hold of the baby and snuggled him while Fingolfin walked back to the house. “Let us go, then.” He herded Fingon and Maedhros up the porch steps and into the house. Feanor and Finwe trailed not far behind.

Once they were inside, all of them made their way down the hall until they reached the library at the other end of the house. The library was Finwe’s favorite spot to hold meetings. There were not many books in it, but the collection he had was magnificent and rivaled many of the public libraries in Valinor.

Maedhros brought Fingon with him to one of the couches, where they sat down together, challenging anyone to separate them. Finwe took up residence in his chair near the fireplace, while Fingolfin stood at the window. Feanor smirked at the defensive position his brother had taken up, and casually shut and locked the doors.

“I would like, if I may, to make a suggestion.” Feanor sat down next to Fingon and put his arm around his nephew. “Perhaps what your son needs is a little time to find himself. How old were we when we were thrust into the world? I married young; you married younger than I. Now, we protect our children behind high walls and in houses of stone. Maybe they need some time on their own.”

“Might I remind you that all of your sons are still living under your roof?” Fingolfin shook his head. “You were probably the one putting these ideas into his head in the first place.”

“You were the one who decided he should learn to be a gymnast at such a young age,” mumbled Feanor.

“What was that?” demanded FIngolfin, but FInwe was standing up now as well.

“Neither of you are to ‘blame’ for this; you both know that the will of Eru is not something which can be halted.” Finwe turned his attention upon the pair sitting together. “This is a difficult path you have chosen.”

“We will travel it together,” Maedhros said. “Both of us are aware of the consequences, but that does not matter.”

Finwe joined them, gently nudging Feanor from his spot. “Maybe it is easy now, with few knowing. Perhaps it will even be fine if your relatives know. Once word reaches others, however, you must realize that you will not have the support of all of your friends and acquaintances.”

“We do not even have the support of all of our family members,” Fingon pointed out, not daring to look in the direction of his father.

“That will change. This adjustment will take a little time for them, but they love you, and are your family.” Finwe took hold of their hands and held them tightly. “I would bless this bond, but I must know this is not some rebellious act.”

“Father, no!” Fingolfin approached and crouched down beside his father. “It should not be your decision; it should be mine, and Feanor’s, if we even allow it to go that far.”

“It should be their decision,” corrected Finwe.

“I agree,” piped up Feanor from the door, though the gaze upon his father was oddly cold and spiteful.

Fingolfin stood up, defeated. “What say you?” he asked as he looked down upon his son and his nephew.

Fingon and Maedhros exchanged uneasy looks. “Grandfather,” began Maedhros, “we both appreciate your gesture – and one day, I hope we shall come to seek your blessing. Right now, I think I speak for both of us, that this is much too new for us to make such a commitment.”

Fingolfin looked shocked at the declaration; Feanor, slightly angered, and Finwe, happily relieved. “That is wise of you both,” said their grandfather. “There is no need for you to rush into something. You may decide later that you have indeed made a mistake.” At the doorway, Feanor snorted angrily, but said nothing.

“But if that is the case, there should be no… whatever that was… in public,” said Fingolfin sharply. The couple bowed their heads simultaneously.

Finwe also nodded in agreement. “It might also be a good idea, as Feanor suggested, for a little, ah, nudging from the nest as it were.”

There was a knock on the door that paused the conversation. Feanor growled his sigh as he went to the door to answer it. It was Finarfin who stepped in. “We have a little problem,” remarked the golden haired brother nervously.

“Tell me about it,” said Fingolfin from across the room.

Finarfin stepped in and closed the door. “No, I fear it worse than that. Maedhros, Fingon... I need to speak to your fathers for a moment in private.”

Finwe gave his grandsons a nod and they stood up together and left the room. When the door closed again, Finarfin plopped down into his father’s chair. He was the only one of his siblings who dared do so or could get away with it. “You both might want to sit down,” warned Finarfin.

Feanor lowered himself onto the arm of the sofa as Fingolfin sat down where his son had been and leaned forward. “What could be worse than this, Finarfin?”

“If you think this little disturbance that Maedhros and Fingon caused was difficult for you, ask me where your daughter is.”

Fingolfin narrowed his eyes. “Where is Aredhel?”

“We think, in the midst of the confusion, she ran away.” Finarfin’s gaze flitted toward his eldest brother and he added, “With Celegorm.”

Fingolfin turned his head and glared at Feanor. “Just what is the problem with your sons, Feanor? I am of the mind they should all be gelded!”

“My sons are the trouble, are they? Did you ever think that maybe if you did not suffocate your children and lock them away like animals to be kept in cages that they might respect you a little more, or, heaven forbid, not run away?”

“This has never happened before,” argued Fingolfin as he stood up and headed for the door.

Feanor laughed and reached out to grasp his brother’s arm as he passed. Fingolfin tugged himself away. “Brother, listen, you are blind if you do not see it! What do you call it when your daughter goes hunting halfway across the land instead of simply going out into the woods behind your house? How many times has Fingon insisted upon staying at his team’s dormitory even when he was the only one there? Where does Turgon spend his free time, and why does someone so young have two occupations that take him away from home so much?”

“You want me to listen to you? You listen to me, brother,” answered Fingolfin with a snarl. “What my family does is of no concern to you. I will raise my children as I see fit.”

“And yet, you stab at me on how I raise mine,” Feanor reminded him. “What will upset you more is that I can actually answer the questions I asked you. I know more about your adult children than you do.”

“I highly doubt that,” snapped Fingolfin back, his hand on the knob of the door.

Feanor scratched the back of his head and smirked. “You are blind, Fingolfin.”

“Enough,” said Finwe quietly. “Finarfin, are you sure that Celegorm and Aredhel are missing? Perhaps they are in the garden, or somewhere in the house.”

“We looked for them,” answered Finarfin. “They went into the woods to help look for Argon, and never returned.”

“Maybe they are just still looking for him. Perhaps they did not know he was found?” suggested Finwe.

Finarfin shook his head. “Father, they were with Melkor when he found Argon. He said that when he turned, they were gone.”

All color drained from Feanor’s face, and he pushed Fingolfin aside as he opened the door and stormed down the hall and outside to confront his future foe.

“It was really quite unexpected,” said Melkor to those gathered around him. “There we were, searching for the little one, and the two of them were some steps behind me the entire time. They whispered in hushed voices – not that I would have eavesdropped upon their conversation.”

“Of course not,” grumbled Feanor to himself, his glare directed towards Melkor.

“Naturally, my concern was for the infant. I heard something stirring, and I went to investigate. The two young ones were still behind me. When I saw that what we were looking for was before us, I crouched down and I picked him up. He was still asleep at the time, so I turned to ask the she-elf if she would mind taking her brother, as I did not wish for him to wake. Unfortunately, I did not see either of them. I thought perhaps they had gone down another path, so I called out for them. Neither one answered, and the baby awoke.” Melkor gave a fond look to Argon. “I wished to see him safely home, so I brought him back immediately. I assumed that the two who were with me were going to return. I never expected this.”

“Neither did we,” said Feanor accusingly.

“Are you sure you checked the house?” Fingolfin asked his mother. Indis nodded, and Finwe placed his hands upon his wife’s shoulders as he stepped behind her. “This is not good,” said Fingolfin, his comment directed to his half-brother. “Who knows what your son is up to out there.”

“My son? You can be sure that he is not the only one behind this.” Feanor took his eyes off of Melkor and addressed Fingolfin. “They lead each other around, and you can be sure this was a mutual decision, whatever it is that they are doing or have done.”

“That is exactly what worries me. There is no telling what they are going to do. Together!” This last exclamation was emphasized for all to hear, and Turgon made a little discomfited noise at the thought.

Finarfin stepped forward between his brothers. “There is something you should both keep in mind. Neither of them are children. Both of them have traveled through the woods before; both of them have camped in the woods before. They are going to be fine, and eventually, they are going to come back.”

“That is easy for you to say,” stated Fingolfin. “It is not your daughter who is lost in the woods with one of his sons.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Finarfin was going to snap back at his brother. He took a moment, however, and then said calmly, “If it was my daughter in the woods with Celegorm, I would not worry.”

“Just wait until it is your daughter,” warned Fingolfin. Finarfin frowned.

“My children,” said Finwe in a loud voice, “I think it is time for us to disband for the evening. Whether into my home or to your own, we are all in need of rest, and there is very little to celebrate at the moment. It has only been an hour since the disappearance of Aredhel and Celegorm – and for all we know, they are simply still searching the woods for Argon if they do not know he has been found.

“My suggestion is that we send out two small parties on horseback to search for them. This should be a brief search, after which, we shall have supper for those who are hungry and then retire. Are there any objections to this?” When no one spoke against Finwe, he looked to Finarfin and his children. “Perhaps one party consisting of Finrod, Artanis, and yourself, and another with Orodreth, Angrod, and Aegnor?”

Finarfin nodded, and he and his children gathered horses and rode into the woods. Indis did her best to keep the peace between the rest of the family members as they shuffled into the house and scattered into different areas.

Fingon was torn between following his family into the north wing and seeking out Maedhros on the other side of the house. His decision was made when Turgon came up behind him and nudged him forward. “If Celegorm does anything to hurt her, you know that she will kill him. At the very least, she will make it highly uncomfortable for him, or, maybe turn him into a soprano. In any case, I am a little concerned about things that could happen to our sister while she is missing, but Celegorm is, in all honesty, the least of my worries.”

He and Turgon walked to a window seat that overlooked the woods. The dense forest had yet to shed many of its leaves, so there was no way to see through the multicolored patches in order to find the runaways. Fingon found himself envious of Aredhel and Celegorm as he and Turgon quietly observed the riders entering the forest. If Celegorm and Aredhel stayed together, there was a good chance that Celegorm would be able to keep them shielded from those hunting them – of any of them, Celegorm knew the woods the best.

“Do you think they have any intention of returning soon?” asked Turgon.

Fingon looked to his brother, and saw that Turgon was quite distressed, though others may not have picked up on the subtleties that he could. “I am sure they are fine. They probably just got upset; you know how Celegorm’s temper can be. Aredhel is getting as bad as him.”

“I know. I still hope they come back tonight.”

“So do I.”

Indis came up behind them and placed one of her hands on each of their shoulders. “There is nothing to worry about. If something bad befell them, your cousin would know immediately,” she said in reference to the uncanny ability that Artanis exhibited in knowing of the wellbeing of the family. “If something was wrong, we would know.”

Fingon nodded, but Turgon did not look so convinced. “It would still be best if they returned promptly.”

“It would,” agreed Indis. “Until then, we must do the best to carry on as we can. As someone already mentioned, they could still be out there looking for Argon! With that in mind, what can I get for the two of you to eat?”

“Sorry, grandmother, but I am not very hungry,” apologized Fingon.

Turgon shook his head as well. “I cannot eat while my sister is missing.”

“Alright, but if you change your minds, I will be in the kitchen for the next hour.”

They thanked her as she moved down the hallway. Once she was gone, Fingon asked, “How upset is father?”

“With you? Less upset than he is with Aredhel, and more upset than he has ever been with me.”

“More upset than when you let those pigs go run wild when he said he was going to slaughter them the next day?” asked Fingon.

“And then some.” Turgon leaned against the wall and drew up his legs. “At least now you can stop hiding.”

“Provided father does not lock me in the attic for the next five hundred years.”

“He will not do that.” Turgon poked Fingon with his foot when his brother did not answer him. “I know something you do not.”

Fingon grumbled, not willing to play the game.

“I know something about Maedhros that you do not know.”

Fingon shrugged.

Turgon sighed. “You are no fun at all.” He poked his brother again. “Do you want to know what it is?”

“Of course I do, and stop poking me.”

“Stop what, stop this?” Turgon tapped his foot in multiple places just for fun. “You want me to stop that? I thought you liked that.”

“Stop it!”

With a snicker, Turgon pulled his legs in further before Fingon could slap his foot. “Mother is quite fond of Maedhros. She thinks he is a good match for you.”

“Quit it.”

“What?” Turgon looked at his feet. “I did nothing.”

“You are lying to me,” accused Fingon.

“I am certainly not,” argued Turgon. “Mother has said so to me on a number of occasions, and she is with father right now telling him this. She told me so.”

Fingon gave Turgon a sideways glance. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

A few minutes later, Maglor turned the corner and padded lightly down the hallway. His hair was braided back, which was very different from how it had been earlier. In fact, his style now mirrored Fingon’s, with threads of gold adorning each plait. “I have a message,” he said, and he crouched down so that he could speak softly to them. “The two of you were to share a guestroom?” Turgon nodded, and Maglor continued, “I am to take Fingon’s place, and he, mine.”

“Who decided this?” asked Turgon.

“Father, though, I do not know if he plotted with Maedhros or not. My guess is that father figured this one out on his own. All I know is that if I am told to do something, I do it. Father says change into house clothes, I find a pair of comfortable sleeping pants and change. Father says braid your hair like your cousin does, I raid grandmother’s sewing chest.” Maglor pulled one of the braids around to inspect it. “I do like the gold embellishments. I might steal this idea in the future.”

“So, what am I to do?” asked Fingon as he stood up.

“Go down the hallway; Caranthir is standing in front of the window just in case someone should go out and look up as you are walking past. Father is at the foot of the stairway to stall your parents. They were just leaving the library, so you are going to want to hurry. When you see Curufin, he will guide you the rest of the way. You had better make haste; Maedhros is waiting for you.”

Fingon stood up quickly, his heart beating fast at the mention of his lover’s name.

“And what of you?” questioned Turgon.

“I am to take your brother’s place. I need you to show me which guest room you are in. Father told me to turn in, and keep my back to the door. I do hope that I do not turn over in my sleep, or we shall have some interesting explaining to do,” he added.

Turgon laughed as he stood up. “We can just tell everyone that you and I were interested in seeing just what it was our brothers enjoy so much.” The pair chuckled to themselves as they walked down the hall away from Fingon.

Fingon wanted to shout for his brother and cousin to have a good night, but he dared not do anything that could possibly make him heard by anyone else. Now he hurried down the hall in the opposite direction, and found Caranthir just where he was told he would be. His cousin nodded, and sipped his wine, being sure to block the majority of the window.

When Fingon reached the stairs, he could see a glimpse of his uncle at the bottom. Feanor was conversing politely with Anaire, but it was obvious from Fingolfin’s curt answers that he was wishing for his brother to move and allow him passage. Fear hurried Fingon down the hall to where he found Curufin standing up against a wall. His cousin nodded forward, and Fingon spied the open door. He swallowed hard and walked forward. When he heard the sound of his father bidding Feanor good evening and placing his foot on the steps, Fingon scrambled through the door, and shut it quickly behind him with a sigh of relief.

After breakfast, Feanor called a conference in his father’s library. Few were invited, but sitting in the room when the doors were closed and locked were Finwe’s three eldest sons, each of their eldest, and also Turgon and Maglor, who had chosen neutral locations near the windows to sit. Aranwe was there as well, and sat a bit awkwardly on a square stool next to a bookshelf. Fingon and Maedhros had taken up residence on the sofa, while Finwe was in his chair to oversee the situation. Finrod stood beside his grandfather, his hands folded behind his back. Finarfin and Fingolfin stood together near the door, while Feanor comfortably took a seat on a footstool near the fireplace.

“I think we all know why we are here,” stated Feanor once everyone was settled.

Finrod's hand went up.

“There is a reason for you to be here, too,” promised Feanor. Finrod lowered his hand and glanced over at Aranwe. Where the sons of Feanor and the sons and daughter of Fingolfin has decided to align themselves together, so too had the children of Finarfin decided upon an alignment, and it was with the only child of Findis. Aranwe only shrugged, often feeling a little left out of the environment – but not feeling any particular ill-will over it. “I would like for the discussion to open with a suggestion. I have a house located in the west; it is on the edge of the forest and used as a hunting lodge. You have all been there before. It is terribly neglected. A house that nice should be lived in.”

“Do you think that is where Aredhel and Celegorm are?” interrupted Fingolfin. He was a little less huffy than the previous day, but still gave his older brother a number of accusatory looks.

Feanor made a dramatic show of looking around the room. “Do you see either of them here? It is impolite to speak of others behind their backs. This is not about them.”

“It should be – they are the ones missing. They are the immediate issue,” argued Fingolfin.

Finwe held up his hand as a signal to keep Feanor from disputing this further. “Fingolfin, I think we all must agree that they are both adults. Whatever they decide to do is up to them. You both had fifty years to be in control. They will return when they are ready to; they are safe, and can take care of themselves. We are here to talk about Fingon and Maedhros.”

“Actually,” laughed Feanor. “We are here to talk about Fingon and Maglor – I think the topic of Fingon and Maedhros is closed. As you have said, father, we had fifty years to teach them as we saw fit, and to rule over them as we desired. They have made a choice, and we, as their parents, should stand beside them on it.”

Fingolfin gave his brother a withering look. “I did not raise my son like this.”

“No, you did not,” agreed Feanor. “I think he was born that way. Just as you do not get to decide if the Valar give you a boy or a girl, you do not get to decide who they wish to partner with.”

“I meant, that he is with his cousin,” said Fingolfin pointedly. “I have accepted the fact of what he is; I am not sure this is proper.”

Feanor sighed heavily. “It would not be the first time cousins wed. I know for a fact this sort of behavior runs rampant within the Vanyarin families.”

Whether his comment was meant as an additional jab or not, Fingolfin bristled at the implications. Finrod coughed in order to gain the attention of those present. “If there is a point to all of this, other than watching my elders bicker like a pair of elflings, please do tell me.”

Those of the youngest generation in the room stifled laughter as their sires shot looks of displeasure at Finrod. Of all of the grandchildren of Finwe, Finrod was actually the eldest, for Finarfin and Earwen had their first child a year after their marriage and long before the others were thinking of starting families or even married. It meant that the age difference between Finrod and his father was less than the distance between any of the gaps between himself and his siblings. His introduction into the family had been much different, and as chief grandchild, there were times when he could say things that even Maedhros would not have dared say.

“Let us get back to the house on the edge of the forest,” said Finwe. “Feanor, there is a reason you have brought that up, I assume?”

“Yes. I think it would be a suitable residence for Fingon, as my understanding is that he will be joining the Red Fern team in a few weeks and will need a place nearby to stay. Obviously, it would be silly to have him ride from home every day.” Feanor further described the amenities of the house for those who may have forgotten. “My suggestion is for him to move in at his earliest convenience so that he has some time to get used to the house before his duties at the gym begin.”

“I suppose you want your son there, too,” said Fingolfin gruffly.

“I do,” said Feanor. He looked at Maglor. “You have expressed an interest in taking up a short apprenticeship as a minstrel. I have recently spoken to the proprietor of the Victorious Eagle, and he is more than happy to take you on, if you are willing.”

Maglor blinked in surprise. “Me?” He glanced at Maedhros, and back to his father. “I thought... well...”

“There are two bedrooms,” reminded Feanor. He smirked. “You thought I meant for Maedhros to go?” Maglor nodded. “No. He is in the midst of his apprenticeship; he cannot simply relocate at the moment.”

“But... that apprenticeship is with you,” said Finarfin. “You could break the contract if you wanted.”

“It is not my wish to do so,” said Feanor. “I have others apprenticed to me; my system is very precise. If one leaves, it places a gap. I take on a new apprentice every two years and each serves a term of thirty years. If he leaves, then he will fall back twelve years.”

“You could change that,” challenged Fingolfin. “What is to say you will not change your mind once we agree to your arrangement?”

Feanor laughed, a sound meant for himself. It was slightly patronizing. “I think you misunderstand my intentions. What do you think I am trying to do? I have no desire to have them play house together. I want what is best for them – Fingon should be out on his own for a while. Maedhros needs to finish his apprenticeship. I never change my mind once it is set, and my mind is set. Do you doubt me?”

Finarfin and Fingolfin were now whispering to one another in hushed voices. Finrod waited to see if either would respond, and then took the initiative. “I think it is a very generous offer. I also think it may be rushing things a little.”

Feanor shrugged. “There would be no rush, except that Fingon is now to join a gym that is far away from his home.”

“I think we should let the boys decide,” said Fingolfin pointedly.

Feanor smirked. “That is your trouble right there. Neither of them are boys, nor have they been for some time.”

Fingolfin straightened up rigidly. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course.” Feanor rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at Maglor. “What are your thoughts on the idea?”

Maglor shrugged slightly. “Sounds fine to me.”

“If you do not want to move to the house with your cousin, you do not have to,” said Feanor. “Or, if you would like to move there for a while and not apprentice with Rumil, you could just spend some time there for a little while.”

“Sure,” said Maglor.

“Think about it. No need to make a decision tonight.” Feanor turned to Fingon. “What about you, Fingon? It would be close to the Red Fern gymnasium, and it would give you some time to explore your interests away from home. There is no pressure; if you do not want to, you will not hurt my feelings. I know that the gymnasium will provide you with room in their dormitory, but you are not one of the competitors and it may be odd for both you and the students you would be coaching.”

“It does sound interesting,” admitted Fingon. “I think I would like to try it. If... if it would be alright with you,” he added as he looked to his father.

“You have to let go sometime.” It was Finrod who offered this advice, to the surprise of some in the room. “When I left home, I do not think it was something that everyone was fond of. In fact, Artanis was fairly upset with me. My residence is somewhat temporary, though. I come home as I like. Maybe this would be a good idea to try,” he added. “There is no need to move out completely. Use the house as a home away from home that allows you to facilitate your ability to be at the gym. Then, it is not so permanent.”

Fingon looked to his father again and said, “I would like to try this. I need to find somewhere to live if I am to keep my promise to Coach Ardim.”

Maglor’s answer was less enthusiastic. “I guess I should go, too.”

“You do not need to,” Feanor reminded him.

“No, I will go,” he answered.

Plans were made officially to relocate Fingon and Maglor to the hunting lodge. The celebration was postponed, for Finwe felt unable to celebrate considering the circumstances. The coordination between everyone to help move Fingon and Maglor took up a fair amount of time for the family anyhow. Secretly, someone began a covert search for Celegorm and Aredhel, focusing upon their safe return.

It was not Celegorm, nor Aredhel, who planted the idea of running away. It began with a suggestion from Melkor, though they would never say that was how it began. Their intention was to find Argon, and to clear Celegorm of all blame. They were last into the forest, for they took extra caution in checking beneath the tables and chairs set up on the lawn. By the time they did reach the woods, Aredhel was frantic, and Celegorm quite angered.

“I would never do anything to hurt your little brother,” Celegorm assured her as they treaded through the first fallen leaves, crouched down so as to better search for what they sought. “He must be close; I think we are already too far away. We should return to the lawn – did anyone look inside the tent?”

“I looked there twice.” Aredhel wrung her hands in front of her. “This is not good. He is so little. I bet he is scared. Why is he not crying? He should be crying by now.”

Behind them, Melkor walked slowly and carefully, keeping an eye on the path they were taking, and on how close they were to others searching in the woods. “Perhaps someone has already found him and he is safely with them.”

“Someone would shout that they had discovered where he is if that were the case,” argued Celegorm. He looked at Aredhel and said, “Your father is going to have my hide if anything has happened. Even one scratch will be the death of me – and I should not even have been the one watching him!”

“I will talk to father. Surely, he will be happy once Argon is safely found. His bark is much worse than his bite,” she told him.

Celegorm shook his head. “Your father hates me. He will probably ban you and your brothers from talking to me ever again.”

“He hates no one.”

“He hates my father.”

To that, Aredhel had no answer. Melkor’s smile went unseen. “It seems a shame, that your fathers rule your lives. I would wager you are both adults by now, are you not?”

“Of course we are,” snapped Celegorm. “Do we look like children to you?”

“All of your kind look like children to me,” answered Melkor. He crouched down beside Celegorm and said, “I bet sometimes you wish you could be the master of your own destiny.”

Celegorm snorted. “I am the master of my own destiny.”

“I mean, I suppose sometimes you wish your father did not control your life quite so much as he does.”

“The thought has crossed my mind from time to time,” admitted Aredhel. “Father means well, but he seems to think he must keep me on a leash shorter than the one he keeps our hounds on.”

“Mark my words, he is going to deny you from seeing me,” warned Celegorm. “Even though I had nothing to do with Argon disappearing, he is not going to believe that.”

Aredhel shrugged. “You do not know that.”

“It is really too bad that the two of you could not just... run away from it all. It would be nice if you could be free from their rule, do what you want to do. Oh, but you are both still young – that would be much too much for you both.” Melkor fell back again, and straightened himself up.

“We should do that. It would teach our parents a lesson,” said Celegorm confidently. “We should just go for a few days and see just how much they appreciate us when we return.”

Aredhel normally would not have agreed to such a foolhardy idea, but for some reason she felt quite independent at the moment. “We should. It would serve them right.”

Melkor suddenly turned his head and looked at a spot under some trees twice. “My friends, I believe I see something over there.” He hurried over, and Aredhel and Celegorm both cautiously followed him.

Sleeping peacefully, protected by the bushes and trees, they found Argon quite safe and sound. “There he is,” cooed Melkor as he picked up the elfling. “I hope you have not caused too much drama, little one. Your cousin is going to be in a heap of trouble over all of this.”

Celegorm glanced at Aredhel, and then down a path that quickly disappeared amongst the trees. He made a motion with his head, and quietly crept down the path.

Aredhel took one final look at her brother, safe with the Ainu. She bit her lip, and then hurried to catch up to Celegorm.

Melkor smiled to himself as he heard them leave, and when he turned around, swept his free arm toward the ground. Their tracks scattered in the wind, all knowledge of where they had gone lost to all.

---

The pair spent the first few nights traveling through the forest. Another day was spent in the mountains, but the rocky terrain was more difficult and open than they would have liked. It was Aredhel who had suggested the possibility of the sea, to blend into one of the seaports. Celegorm furthered the idea, and planned for them to sneak aboard one of the sailing ships as it departed. Neither had been on a boat larger than a canoe before, and it was an adventure they could not pass up.

They had reached Alqualonde a few days later, and scouted out which ships were leaving, and when, and for how long. Once they chose the ship they wanted, they needed only wait. It was leaving the soonest of those that looked accommodating enough for their needs. They found a spot behind some barrels that would allow them a good look at the ship. It took only an hour before they crew climbed aboard and began to ready for departure.

When the coast was clear, Aredhel motioned for Celegorm to join her. They hurried towards the ships, where the Teleri readied to sail. All of the ropes had been untied on one side of their chosen vessel, and Aredhel easily climbed the side and then helped Celegorm climb up as well.

“This is the best idea!” exclaimed Aredhel in a hushed voice once they were aboard. She was shushed by her partner in crime, and the two of them navigated their way around the deck to the ladder that led below.

Once they saw that the coast was clear, the pair scampered to the ladder and climbed down. They immediately slid around a doorway to keep out of sight as one of the members of the crew passed by. “This way,” whispered Celegorm, and he led Aredhel down to the galley of the ship. It was a small kitchen area, which joined to a room for emergency healing to be done. “No one is going to disturb us here until the ship sets sail, and by then, it will be too late. They follow the currents to fish, and the ship will not set back for the dock for at least three days.”

“This is brilliant,” said Aredhel as she happily surveyed their surroundings. “How upset do you think they are going to be when they discover they have stowaways?”

Celegorm shrugged. “Hopefully they will not be too upset,” he said. “In fact, I am hoping that they will be inviting and welcoming and not throw us overboard.”

About an hour later, they were dragged up to the deck by the quartermaster. “Captain, we have a couple of mice in the kitchen,” he announced as he let go of the two stowaways.

“Mice, are they?” The tall elf who was obviously in charge looked down at the pair. “Now what were the two of you doing, hiding on my ship?”

Aredhel took a moment to look back toward the shore. The lights on the ends of the Alqualonde piers glittered far away. “We made it!” she exclaimed. She tugged on Celegorm’s sleeve and pointed toward the docks, and he smiled when he saw the expanse of water between them and land.

“Just what is going on here?” demanded the captain. “What sort of trouble are the two of you in?”

“None, sir,” answered Celegorm craftily. “We just wanted a little excitement on our honeymoon. What could be more exciting than jumping onto a ship heading out for a place you have never been before?”

The captain looked a little skeptical about the explanation. There were rings on their hands, and in the right places, thanks to the ones that Celegorm had been wearing for the celebration. He had found one that would fit Aredhel perfectly while they hatched their cover-up plan in the galley. Both of them were still wearing their finery from the planned event, too. Although less than what one might expect someone in the royal family to wear to a wedding, they were aptly dressed for a commoner celebrating such an occasion. “It seems odd that you would both agree on such a strange location for your wedding night.”

“Oh, we already did that part,” said Aredhel a little too matter-of-factly, and Celegorm hoped she could remedy her acting so that they were believed. “I mean, my… husband and I are very adventurous, and we wanted to be sure we could enjoy our time on your lovely ship without interruption.”

“I do not know what sort of enjoyment you hope to get out of being here,” admitted the captain. “We are a simple fishing boat in search of tuna. This vessel will likely stink of fish by the end of the day. Are you sure you would not be better transferred to a ship returning for the harbor when we pass one?”

“We really want to be here,” insisted Celegorm. “It is all my wife has been talking about all night.”

“Well… if you really know what you are getting into…” said the captain uncertainly.

Aredhel giggled. “That is precisely the point! We have no idea what we are getting into – but it sure seems like fun.”

The majority of the crew laughed at this, and the captain nodded. “Alright, then. If you are going to be on my ship, it shall be as a part of my crew. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they both replied.

“Good.” The captain stepped in front of Aredhel. “Our cook happened to be called back ashore just before we set off. What sort of delicacies can you make, darling?”

“Umm… well…” Aredhel fidgeted with the ring on her finger. It was a little loose, and she hoped it would not accidentally slip off. “I know how to roast venison. I can boil eggs, too.” She pointed to Celegorm. “He knows how to make a lot of things.”

“Really?” The captain looked at Celegorm with interest.

“He knows how to make dinner, and breakfast. He has made breakfast for me a number of times,” added Aredhel, and this was true. Some of the hunts that went on for days required meals to be made in the forest. Unlike his brothers, who would have sustained themselves upon salted meat and dried fruit, Celegorm had learned a few culinary arts that could be utilized even in the middle of nowhere. “He can dress a deer and make a stew of it, or from rabbit, or even chipmunk. The chipmunk was surprisingly delicious.”

Celegorm shrugged at the compliments his cousin gave him. “It was nothing. Just need the right spices.”

“Spice we have in ample supply,” promised the quartermaster. “There are some vegetables in the galley, and a little fruit. Most of what we have for meat we catch while we sail. How are you with cooking fish?”

“If I can cook deer, I can make fish,” answered Celegorm. “I was cooking fish when I was a child. I used to catch them in the river with my bare hands and smoke them on shore.”

The captain chuckled. “Did you hear that, boys?” he asked the rest of the crew. “Maybe we should just toss him over the side and let him grab the fish for us!”

The crew had a good laugh over the comment, while Celegorm looked away and snorted. “Be nice, or I will add hot peppers to everything I cook,” he warned.

“You will be cooking, but not with hot peppers. There are none aboard.” The captain laughed at the look on Celegorm’s face, and then turned to Aredhel and sized her up. “Now, what shall we have you do, darling? Or, should a pretty thing like you just be here for your pretty looks?”

Celegorm dutifully glared at the captain and pulled Aredhel close to him, his arm around her waist. “Get your own lady; this one is taken,” he warned. The crew members laughed again.

Aredhel blushed at the reaction that Celegorm had, and wondered if maybe some of what he was doing was not acting. “I have very few skills which would be of use on your ship, sir. I do know how to climb a tree, though, and I noticed that you do have a position for a lookout up at the top of the mast.”

“That we do,” confirmed the captain. “I would not wish to take you so far from your newly wedded husband, and it is very high up. Are you sure you would want to be up there for hours at a time?”

“What would I have to do up there?” she asked.

“If there is fog, you would need to see over it to be sure we do not crash into another ship. You can also see down into the water from above and determine where the fish are schooling so we can catch them,” the captain explained.

“Can I go up and try?” she asked.

The captain moved aside and allowed her to pass by. Aredhel gave Celegorm’s hand a squeeze and then moved across the deck to the mast of the swan ship. As she took hold of the grips on the mast and began to climb, Celegorm ran over and whispered something to her. She blushed and he turned and said, “Please, allow a little decency. I ask you all to look away for a moment.”

“Spoilsport,” mumbled one of the fishers, but all of them, including the captain, turned their backs to the mast so that Aredhel could climb without fear that the wind would lift her dress higher than was seemly.

“I am at the top!” she announced when she was safely in the crow’s nest. She became breathless as she looked out over the expanse of the ocean, and back around to the land behind them. When she looked down toward the water, she was unable to hold back her joyful outburst. “This is wonderful! I can see to the coral on the bottom! There are schools of every kind of fish you can imagine!”

“When you see the tuna, young lady, let the rest of the crew know.” The captain turned to Celegorm now, who had been watching Aredhel with caution, concerned she might fall. “We have a task for you, too, lad, and I have no doubt you already know it.”

“How many am I cooking for?” he asked as he looked around the deck and counted the crew.

“Twelve, plus your wife, and yourself. Three meals a day, and there is no need to feed that tabby cat,” added the captain as he pointed out a cat who was sleeping on top of a tackle box. “There are more than enough mice for him to catch.”

“Yes, sir,” said Celegorm, though he knew he would fall victim to the cat’s begging anyhow.

They spent the day apart, which was not exactly what Celegorm had had in mind, but it beat having to fight to keep his horse beside her while they were hunting with their brothers, or getting dark glares from her father each and every time he came to the house. Meals were eaten on the deck due to lack of a large space elsewhere, and at dinner the crew convinced Aredhel to sing for them. She did so willingly, and Celegorm delighted in the impromptu concert, even if he had to share the sound with a dozen strangers.

“I suppose we need to find you a suitable honeymoon suite,” said the captain as the rest of the crew began to drift either to their beds or their evening posts. “It would be crude to have you share the cook’s bed in the middle of the sleeping berth for everyone to watch.” The captain gave them a wink as he led the way down the ladder into the lower part of the ship.

“What about the rope room?” suggested the quartermaster. “We have ample room there to string up a hammock for them.”

“A hammock for two – there is an adventurous way to spend a honeymoon!” shouted one of the crewmembers. The others laughed as well. Someone brought out a hammock from a storage chest, and the room was quickly readied by the other sailors. Someone even found a few extra candles to place on a ledge, and some dried herbs were placed into a mug and turned into a makeshift vase.

“This is so cute,” decided Aredhel as she looked into the room once it was vacated. “Thank you all so much.”

In the few hours that they had been aboard, Aredhel had managed to charm all of the fishers, from the cabin boy to the captain. Celegorm, though known to keep more to himself, had been able to win their appreciation through his cooking. “Thank you,” he said, echoing Aredhel’s sentiment. His eyes focused on the single hammock in the room, and he smiled in spite of himself to know that he and Aredhel would have to cuddle up together on the swaying bed.

“Off you go, then,” shooed the captain. “I am sure you want time to rest before we rise tomorrow.”

Before Celegorm could get Aredhel into the room and get the door closed, one of the crewmembers said, “Give her a kiss for us, then!”

“Hush, there, that is no way to go about it. Allow them their privacy,” scolded the captain.

The quartermaster sided with the crew. “Come now, the boys just want a little romance on the ship. Anyway, I am sure these newlyweds can hardly keep their hands from one another.”

Not wishing to ruin the guise, Celegorm slid his arm around Aredhel’s waist. “If you insist,” he said, and without warning roughly pulled Aredhel close and kissed her hard before she knew just what was happening. The crew hooted and hollered, and seemed generally appeased when Celegorm let Aredhel up for air. “Good night!” he announced as he pushed Aredhel into the room and quickly closed the door behind them.

Aredhel wandered to the hammock in a daze, blush coloring her cheeks. When it sounded like the captain had chased the last of the crewmembers away from the door, she said, “I think you convinced everyone that we are married. You nearly could have fooled me!”

“Is that such a bad thing?” asked Celegorm.

“What do you mean?”

Celegorm settled onto the hammock next to her. “Never mind. I think you should sleep on the side closer to the wall.”

Aredhel looked around at their meager accommodations. “Why?”

“I want to make sure that no one comes in and does anything. If I am on the outside, I can protect you,” he explained. “There is no lock on the door. I do not trust those sailors. Get comfortable, and I will join you in a moment.”

There were no chairs to sit on, and mostly the piles of rope were too low to the ground to be sat upon, so Aredhel sat on the hammock and removed her shoes while Celegorm swept through the room. “What are you doing?”

“I want to be sure that there are no bugs or mice or anything.” Amid the ropes, he found a crumpled note detailing a fishing route and a set of slightly rusted fishing hooks. “Looks clean enough,” he decided. He blew out all but one of the candles, plunging the room into near darkness, and then carefully joined Aredhel on the hammock.

Very few knew what it was that Turgon did. Some thought he did not do anything. The reality was that he had one job that was very stressful and important, and one job that was very easy and enjoyable. Most people would guess that the easy job was the stressful one and vice versa, but that was not the case.

On his face was a very disciplined look. His eyes scanned those milling around close by for anyone who might be an issue. As people walked past him, he greeted them politely and made sure that the faces were familiar ones. He knew every single competitor who was to be admitted past him. Even if he was not aware of all of them, it was easy enough to tell who should not be let in.

“Turgon!”

Despite the unexpected exclamation, Turgon remained calm and refused to look in the direction of it. Instead, he became even more guarded of the entrance. When the two most renowned young rogues, Ehtele and Thranduil, sauntered over, he moved to the middle of the entryway. “Aye?”

“Turgon, there has been an accident. Someone has spilled something at the east entrance into the arena. Two people have slipped already, and more may still,” said Ehtele.

“And you thought I looked as if I had a rag and bucket with me?” questioned Turgon. “You shall need to find someone better equipped than I to deal with such a thing.”

Thranduil shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The lad was tall already, despite being a little over five years from his majority. “We looked all over, and found no one. Maybe you should clean it up – it is your job to ensure safety, is it not?” Thranduil did not make eye-contact, instead looking past in an attempt to gaze down the passageway.

The passage led to the chambers used by the female gymnasts to ready themselves. In order to keep any spirited young ellyn from wandering into the area to accidentally see any ellyth in various states of undress, there was a group of safety patrollers who kept watch. The majority of them were ellyth who stayed in the actual passage and made sure everything was well. One was male, and he stood outside to deter any would-be peeking.

At this particular arena, the job was held by Turgon, who took the position extremely seriously. He had even commissioned a tailor to make him a number of sashes for those at this arena to wear. The fringe on the embroidered ‘Decency Squad’ sash swayed warningly as he stepped up to Thranduil. “My job is to ensure the safety of the young competitors behind me, not to worry about clumsy guests and their inability to step around a puddle. However, since you are so concerned about it, I will call for someone to escort you back to the area.” Turgon pulled a whistle from his pocket and lifted it to his lips.

Ehtele quickly placed his hand upon Turgon’s arm to lower it. “There is no need for that, really. As you said, people should be more careful and watch where they are going.”

“There is no spill, is there?” inquired Turgon. “This was just a lame attempt to try to make me move from my post, was it not?”

Thranduil was already backing up. “We really should be going. I think I heard the bell for the first event.”

“Impossible,” said Turgon quickly. “None of the competitors for the first event have left the ready rooms. This is despicable,” continued Turgon as he took another step toward Thranduil, who again stepped further back. “It is quite perverse for someone so young to make overt attempts to endanger the chastity of the young ellyth within. And you,” he added, his sights set on Ehtele now. “You encourage him with your lascivious behavior. I should call for the master of the guard now. Perhaps it best you not be in attendance at these games at all.”

Again, before Turgon could blow the whistle, Ehtele intervened. “My friend,” he said in a low voice, for Turgon had been quite vocal in letting anyone nearby know just what was going on, “there is no need to carry this on further. Thranduil and I concede; but then, you should understand our desire to have a chance to enter such forbidden territory, having been young once yourself.”

“I was young once,” agreed Turgon. “However, I was not a pervert.”

A much older ellon, wearing one of the official sashes Turgon had instituted, walked up to the entryway. “Is there any trouble here?” he asked sternly.

Turgon gave both of the would-be sneaks a good glare before he looked to his superior. “No, sir. These gentlefolk were just a little lost and looking for their section. I was just informing them that I am not at leisure to assist them.”

“Let me take you to one of the ushers,” offered the master of the guard. “I am sure we can get you to the correct section before the start of the games.”

“Thank you,” said Ehtele as he held the tickets out to the guard for inspection. Turgon tilted his head slightly, and continued to stand in Thranduil’s way so as to block his view down the tunnel.

The guard made a motion with his hand. “This way, please.”

Turgon resumed his position just to the side of the entrance once the incident had passed. The sound of someone giggling behind him did not turn his head, but he did ask, “Might I assist in some way?”

“It was amusing how you chased away those two boys. They were practically harmless, and yet you treated them as if they were common criminals.”

“Madame, my concern is for the safety of you and all of your comrades. The intentions of those two scoundrels was quite impure, I assure you of that!” He adjusted his sash as the elleth came out of the tunnel and circled around in front of him.

She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You cannot tell me that you have never looked.”

“Down the passage?”

The elleth nodded.

“Never,” declared Turgon without hesitation.

“You must have.”

Turgon tilted his chin forward, quite put off by the accusation. “Certainly not, madame!”

“What about when you come to deliver messages?” asked the gymnast. “I have seen you on numerous occasions walking through the rooms without averting your eyes.”

“First of all, that is part of my duty,” Turgon reminded her. “Secondly, I respectfully decline to look when I am doing that duty.”

“I am sure you see what is going on,” prodded the elleth.

“Indeed, I may see, but I do not look.” Turgon stepped aside to allow one of the teams to enter the passage. “There is quite a difference.”

The elleth did not look convinced. “You see, but do not look? Are they not one in the same?”

“Seeing is an innocuous act; looking is purposeful.”

Before the argument could continue, the elleth was tapped on the shoulder by a teammate. “Come, Elenwe, we are going to be late.”

“We will continue this later,” vowed Elenwe as she and her teammates bounded towards the arena.

“We will continue this later only if I say we shall do so,” mumbled Turgon, though for once, he actually looked at one of the gymnasts leaving the guarded passageway.

The rest of the teams exited soon after, and following a sweep of the rooms, Turgon headed for the arena himself. The rooms for the ladies were located above ground, but near to the arena. It was a short walk to the stairs that would take him to the guard’s platform. As he reached the steps, he was flagged down by another guard who stood beside a well-dressed Noldo.

“Turgon, this ellon is interested in speaking to you. I told him you would be free for a little while during the competition. I hope that was alright.”

“Of course,” said Turgon. He motioned that they proceed to the upper level, but the ellon shook his head.

“If you do not mind, I would like to speak to you out here for a moment. I find the distraction indoors too much of a temptation while talking business.”

“Ah, I see.” Turgon thanked his coworker and then began to walk to an area with tables and benches used to picnic at before and after the tournaments. “Is this in regards to the Airenen?”

“How did you guess?” wondered the ellon as he sat down across from Turgon.

“From your looks, you are in trade or business or your own – I noted the bulge in your pocket as well,” added Turgon. The ellon rose one brow slightly. “It appears to be some sort of journal; more likely a ledger. You are either a poet or a proprietor; I hardly have poets coming to call upon me.”

“I am both,” admitted the elf as he brought out his book, and showed that one side had writings while the other displayed figures in black and red. “My name is Rumil; I own a small establishment on the outskirts. We cater to the creative types.”

“I see,” said Turgon, leaning back slightly with a look of interest. “Just what sort of establishment is it?”

“A... drinking establishment, I suppose you might say. It is a pub. Just a small one,” he added. “I suppose you might think that I would not provide much business, but I have very loyal patrons. They are always interested in new and unique beverages. When I heard a mention of Airenen, I thought it might be a very likely candidate.”

“Very good,” remarked Turgon. “You must forgive my asking, but specifically what sort of activities go on in your place of business?”

“I do not think I follow you,” apologized Rumil.

Turgon frowned. “Is there any lewd behavior that occurs?”

“Someone occasionally gets drunk, if that is what you mean,” said Rumil. “We have a couple of cots in the back for them to sleep it off, though.”

“A very good idea,” commended Turgon. “I think you might not understand my meaning, though. Are there any... girls there?”

“Girls?” Rumil frowned.

Turgon made sure no one was around that could hear their conversation and then said, “Are there any girls there? In your bar. You know, dancing girls, the ones that show a little leg and such.”

“What? Absolutely not! My wife would have a fit!” exclaimed Rumil. “Besides, that seems highly uncivilized to me.”

“That is just the sort of answer I was hoping for. You will have to excuse my manner of questioning; I am given a very solemn task, and I must be sure that the Airenen is only given to those who exhibit the highest degree of seemliness.”

“Of course. I fully understand,” replied Rumil. “So, shall we speak of prices?”

Turgon chuckled. “My friend, it is much too early to speak of that. I must come and see your establishment first, and determine the correct quantities and the right years for you. We have various flavors as well; you must understand, I have to be careful what goes where. I am entrusted with a very important task.”

Rumil looked as if he was almost about to argue that it should not matter what the purpose was of something that was being sold to a paying customer, but thought better of it. “I understand, my friend, I understand. When would you like to come and see the pub? I will be there this evening.”

“This evening would be splendid. I will have time to come over as soon as my watch is complete.”

Directions were given to Turgon on how to reach The Victorious Eagle, and he used his break during the competition to visit a nearby storehouse that only he had the key to. Two tall brown glass bottles were placed in a specially designed carrying bag, and Turgon brought these back with him to the arena. After he completed the second part of his shift, he followed the directions he had been given in order to find Rumil’s pub.

The Victorious Eagle was an establishment frequented by poets, especially a small group that was dedicated to writing epics for Manwe. In fact, the tavern was named for that fact. The original name was long forgotten, and painted over with a stylistic swooping eagle. Turgon took a few minutes to circle the building and inspect the foundation; Rumil stepped outside upon seeing him. “Welcome!”

Turgon looked up from where he was crouched down next to the building. “Normally, I am a very big proponent of trees, but your birch is threatening your foundation.”

Rumil walked over and looked at what Turgon was inspecting. “I never noticed that before.” He frowned. “I would hate to cut it down.”

“You could have it relocated,” suggested Turgon. He walked from the building and pointed to an open spot nearby. “Right here would be perfect.”

“That land is owned by my neighbors,” explained Rumil.

Turgon strolled around to the other side of the building. “What about here?”

“My other neighbor,” Rumil remarked.

“I see.” Turgon spotted the path to a public garden across the road. “What about over there?”

“What about it? I think they like to have things planned out fairly well in those.”

“They could use another birch tree,” decided Turgon as he crossed the road and began to survey the area. “Right there. See that bench? It would be so much better if there was a birch tree to shade it.”

Rumil waited for Turgon to return to the front door of his pub before he spoke again. “I will look into it,” he promised. “Would you like to see the interior?”

“Of course I do,” said Turgon as the door was opened for him. He stepped inside and took his first look at the bar. “This is nice. Very cozy. The drapes really bring out the color of the wine bottles.”

“Uh, thank you. My wife made them.” Rumil patiently opened doors and cabinets as asked, and explained everything that was pointed to or given an odd look.

At the end of the very complete tour, Turgon set the pack he had brought with him onto one of the tables. “You know what I have with me?” he asked as he set each bottle on the table carefully.

“I would suspect it is the Airenen,” said Rumil.

“It is,” confirmed Turgon. “However, one bottle is for you, and one bottle is for your establishment. One, a gift; the other, for your business.”

“That is very generous,” said Rumil.

Turgon pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “It may not be so easy as that. Do you have cordial glasses?”

Rumil hurried behind the bar and retrieved a pair of them, and then scooped up a few more just in case he would need extras. These were all set on the table when he returned. Turgon took two and removed the cork from the first bottle. “There are different ways that the Airenen can be enjoyed. You can drink it straight, but it can be bitter that way. There is also a way to prepare it by pouring it slowly over a cube of sugar. I prefer the latter, though I do not have any cubes of sugar with me. You may wish to purchase some. It can also be cut with water, but it diminishes the taste and effect. Some like to mix it with a fruit juice, again, to alleviate the bitterness.”

One of the glasses slid across the table toward Rumil. He picked it up, but did not drink yet. Turgon held his as well. He sniffed it, and when Turgon leaned forward and clinked his glass against the one that Rumil held, Rumil took the sign to try the liquor.

Like most strong liquors, it burned a little. Unlike others, it had a smooth feeling that masked the fire of it. The taste was very earthy, and though bitter, there was a natural sweetness to it. “This is the one you will serve at your pub. I brought the two I thought would be the best matches; this one is our Laiquairenen. It is still of Airenen derivation, but it can be produced faster than the normal Airenen, and is most pleasing to a large audience.”

“It is very good,” commended Rumil.

“I know.” Turgon handed the other bottle to Rumil. “This is for you. Pure Airenen – the original recipe. We do not produce much of it anymore, but I thought from your description that this might be the place for it. Instead, I think that you should have it.”

Rumil’s eyes were wide as he accepted the bottle. “This is very generous of you,” said Rumil. “Thank you.”

Turgon smiled. “We like to establish a friendly relationship with all of our customers from the onset. You also seem like the sort who will appreciate a fine liquor such as this. Just be careful of the potency – I would suggest being home near your bed before you try it.” Turgon poured another small portion of the Laiquarienen into each of their glasses and lifted his. “To a successful partnership, and the success of your business,” said Turgon as he lifted his glass.

Rumil lifted his own and tapped it against Turgon’s. “I shall drink to that!”

The woods held many memories, some good, some bad. Most of them were good. Fingon smiled as he trudged through the piles of fallen leaves that littered the ground. This deep into the forest, there were no clear paths between the trees. Here and there, Fingon saw different places where a particular hunt had ended or begun. Sometimes he would pause and reminisce for a little while before moving on again.

The trees became denser, and he ventured into territory that he had hardly ever before, even when hiking instead of hunting. Twigs snapped under his feet as he pushed aside low branches in order to move forward.

He could hear music now, he was sure of it. Earlier, it was questionable, but now he was certain. There was someone humming and singing little nonsense words. The voice was feminine, and unknown to him. Fingon continued to seek out the sound, and when he pushed his way through a few more haphazardly growing trees he found himself standing on a ledge looking down upon a gathering. A fire was lit in the midst of the crowd in the ravine below.

It was a large area below. The rift was wide; much too far to jump even with the best horse. At least a hundred people were milling about. Some were dancing, and some were simply admiring the trees that had fallen into the depths or had managed to grow there. None of them were talking, at least not with their voices, save for the one he had heard singing.

Sitting on the back of a deer, the great Lady Nessa hummed and mumbled a song to those gathered about. She, and the rest, were all stripped of any normal clothing. Some wore long strips of shimmering fabric around their arms or waists, and others had flowers adorning their hair and bodies. Many of the dancers displayed intricate paintings on their skin as they frolicked around the fire.

Fingon was mesmerized by both the sight and sound. He carefully crouched down and moved closer to the edge. Now he could hear the faint sound of drumming, flutes, and horns. They came from further into the woods, as if others had dispersed themselves elsewhere. Nessa coaxed her mount toward the flames, and slid off the stag’s back as the drumming became louder. She joined the other dancers, though she far outshined the rest.

Wishing to see more, Fingon positioned himself on his belly and peered over the edge. Something made him want to join them, but the idea was out of the question. These were the lady’s chosen ones, the maia who followed Nessa in all endeavors. There was no place around the fire for a lowly elf such as himself.

A sudden pressure on his back made him panic. He tried to get up, but someone had planted their booted foot squarely between his shoulder blades. “Just what do you think you are doing?” demanded a booming voice. Fingon swallowed hard as he watched all motion below stop and all eyes focus upon him.

“Uh... I... I just... uhm...”

“Brother, let the poor little elf up,” scolded a voice below. Fingon sought out the voice, and saw Nessa walking around the fire with her hands upon her hips. A garland of flowers encircled her neck and covered her breasts, while another adorned her head. Beyond that, she was bare, and Fingon looked back to the dirt on the ground before him to keep from seeming unseemly.

The foot was lifted up, and a moment later Fingon was pushed over onto his back. He stared up to find a bit of a frightful scene. The great hunter Orome stood over him, scrutinizing him. Just behind the Vala was his snow white horse, looking more curious than his master. “When I ask a question of someone in my woods, I expect to be answered.”

“Sorry, sir,” replied Fingon as he hastily scrambled to sit up. Fingon was hoisted up by the front of his shirt, and he gulped at the glare he was given.

“Leave him be, brother,” said the Valier below. “He looks so pale he might well faint.”

“I will not be disrespected,” said Orome as he let go of Fingon. The elf stumbled backward, but caught himself before slipping down off the ridge. “Now, I asked you a question.”

Fingon’s chin trembled. He never expected to be in such a position. The lord of the forest seemed much taller than he really was, and much angrier than he could ever remember. Few times had he had direct conversation with Orome, though often enough he, his siblings, and his cousins had hunted with him. He wondered if Orome recalled this, or if all elves perhaps appeared the same to him. “I... I am sorry, sir, I have forgotten what it was,” he stammered.

“He asked what you were doing,” stated Nessa. “I think, brother, that this little one is simply lost.” The dancers cleared out with a wave of the lady’s hand, romping away into the depths of the forest. Even the stag, with some coaxing, stamped his foot and sauntered back through the brush. “Come down here, little one, and be comforted. No harm shall come to you.”

Fingon wished he could run away instead, but he carefully stepped down the slope and made his way down to the bottom where Nessa was awaiting him. All the while, he could feel that he was being followed, though he could not hear the steps of the Vala or the horse behind him. When he reached the clearing, just before the fire, he stopped.

Nessa held out her hand. “You wandered into the forest tonight, but no meeting is by chance. I wonder why Father has sent you here.”

Hesitantly, Fingon took hold of Nessa’s hand. He was pulled by her toward the edge of the fire. His steps were slow, and his feet dragged. “I should go,” he said abruptly as he attempted to yank his hand from her grasp.

She held tight for a moment and then let go. Promptly, Fingon tripped backwards and felt his back his something hard before a strong hand pushed him forward again.

“My sister is right,” said Orome as Fingon turned to see what was blocking him. “No one walks at random through my woods; no one happens upon such things without purpose.”

“It really was an accident!” exclaimed Fingon. “I swear, I promise, no one shall know! I will tell no one!”

He turned upon feeling someone grasp his hands, and he was at once face to face with Nessa. “Dance with me.”

Fingon gulped audibly. He was standing much too close for decency sake to the nude Valier. Her flowers had shifted so that her crown was lopsided and almost falling off her head; the ones around her neck no longer left anything to the imagination. “Uhm... I really should go.”

Nessa looked past the elf to her brother. “You are scaring him.”

“As I should be,” answered Orome simply.

“Will you tend to my dancers for me? I wish time alone with this one.”

Orome was obviously not pleased, but he did not deny his sister’s request. “As you wish.” He lifted a strap over his head and settled onto the ground a great horn. “Blow this if you need me, and I will come.” Then Orome departed with his steed Nahar, to leave Fingon alone with Nessa, a fire, and the Valaroma.

“Come. We shall dance, you and I.”

Fingon was pulled again toward the flames and was unable to withstand the sudden strength that Nessa exhibited. He was led by her around the fire, his movements jerky as she displayed a grace unseen in the Eldar. There was no music except for that which she created with her voice, and Fingon breathed a sigh of relief when they stopped.

Nessa let go of his hands and circled about him. “I expected more from you. You are built for dancing.”

In the emptiness of the cavern, Fingon’s laughter rang out and echoed down the ravine. “No. I do not dance.”

“Well, what do you do with a body like that, then?”

Fingon put his hands on his hips and frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Look at yourself. Lean, a little too skinny almost – you should really put a little more meat on your bones. What are you, then, a swimmer?”

“Certainly not,” said Fingon. “I am... I used to be a gymnast. Now I just teach others who are training to be one.”

“A gymnast?”

“You know.” Fingon shrugged. “Like this.” He stepped back until he had a clear space and then he did two cartwheels in a row. This he followed up with half a backflip onto his hands. He walked back to her upside down before righting himself again. “I can do more than that, but you get the idea.”

“Indeed.” Nessa circled him again. “What do you have against being a dancer, then?”

“Nothing, except that I am not a dancer,” explained Fingon.

Nessa paused in front of him. “I see.” She reached forward and took hold of his shirt lacings and began to untie them.

Immediately Fingon jumped back. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing you,” answered Nessa nonchalantly. “Obviously, your clothing is hindering your ability to dance with me.” She tried again and received the same reaction. “Something wrong?”

“Yes!” Fingon stepped back a fair amount now. “I would prefer not to be stark naked in the middle of nowhere with someone I hardly know and... well, honestly! How can you dance like that?!”

Nessa furrowed her brows. “Like what?” She looked down at herself. “Oh... yes, the flowers do get in the way sometimes, but I really do like them very much.” She chased after him until she had him backed against the steep slope.

“Ai!” Fingon stood against the cool earth, roots poking at his back. “This seems rather unnecessary! If you really want me to dance, then leave my clothing be and I will!”

Nessa stood back triumphantly. “I accept your offer.” She took him by the hand again and brought him back to the fire. “Go on then,” she prodded.

Fingon took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. “I need... music or something.”

“Not really,” argued Nessa, but she took his hands in hers again and started to hum as she once again led him around the bonfire. Again, Fingon’s feet found it difficult to match the moves of his mentor, but he tried. She let go the third time that they made it back around. “Try closing your eyes,” she suggested.

Fingon shut his eyes and listened to the words that Nessa sang. He followed the sound of her voice and just moved as he felt he should. Words of encouragement were mingled in with the song, and he quickly found his own rhythm. Far off, drums and flutes entered into his mind, and he danced with abandon. With no one to see him, his confidence grew and he began to add in gymnastic elements as he went.

“Now you are getting it!” Nessa grabbed Fingon’s hands and he opened his eyes. “A little rough around the edges, but we can fix that in time. Now tell me – was that fun or was that fun?”

“That was fun,” admitted Fingon bashfully. He averted his eyes away from the lady again and said, “I guess you were right. Nothing happens accidentally. This has really helped lessen my stress. Thank you.”

“Oh, you thought you came here to relax? Oh, no, no, no,” admonished Nessa. “You came here to learn.”

“I did?” questioned Fingon.

“Yes. I am sure of it.” Nessa smiled and retied the lacings that she had tugged on earlier. “You and I have a lot of work to do, but it is going to be well worth it.”

And with that cryptic message, Nessa winked at Fingon and pranced off down the ravine, humming to herself as she went along.

Life was different on the ship. Many of the daily things that Celegorm took for granted, such as sleeping in or having an extra helping of dessert, did not exist. The ship had a very structured schedule. Everyone was expected to do various chores on a daily basis. His skills had made him invaluable in the kitchen, where he prepared breakfast, lunch, and supper regularly. His lack of other skills placed him in charge of the scum buckets and the chamber pots.

It turned out that the latter was not very difficult, since there were only two on the entire ship. Most of the time, the sailors walked out onto the edge of the masthead and relieved themselves right into the water. They had teasingly told Aredhel that they would have to somehow find a few more buckets for her to use while she was aboard. It made Celegorm’s jaw drop the next day when he walked out onto the deck before anyone else had awoken to see Aredhel squatting on the masthead.

Today, he had been brought a new delicacy: Squid. It was something he had never cooked before, but was willing to try. The challenge had been figuring out just what was edible, and what was not. Aredhel took to laughing at him when she came into the galley for bait to see him nibbling on some part of a tentacle. “I am glad not to have your job,” she said.

“Likewise,” he agreed. Few knew how afraid of heights he was, but Aredhel was one of them. “I wonder if I can just ‘accidentally’ drop this overboard. It is all chewy, and not in a delightful taffy sort of way.”

“Yuck. What about looking in one of those books over there?” asked Aredhel, pointing to the cookbooks that were stacked under a counter.

Celegorm looked over his shoulder. “Firstly, they smell moldy. Secondly, a ellon using a book to cook from is like an ellon asking for directions when he is lost. It never happens.”

As Aredhel giggled, everything in the kitchen suddenly jostled about, including the elves standing in it. “What was that?” she asked as once again it felt like the boat was knocked into.

The pair raced up on deck, where they joined the entire crew. “Sharks!” shouted the cabin boy.

“Thank you, captain obvious,” snarled the quartermaster as he pushed the youngling aside and peered down over the railing. “Six or seven of them by my count.”

“Four more on this side,” announced another crew mate.

“They must smell the catch,” said the cabin boy. He was leaned over the rail to get a better look. One of the sharks decided to leap at him, and he was pulled back just in time by the captain, who shoved him down onto the deck.

“They must smell an imbecile,” scolded the captain. “Unless you want to be shark bait, boy, stay back!”

A distressed cry came near to the ship, and everyone looked out to see a very large creature floundering around. There was a little blood in the water, and the sharks were beginning to circle it. “What sort of fish is that?” questioned Celegorm.

“Not a fish,” corrected the first mate. “That thing breathes air just the same as you and I. It hardly stands a chance,” said the sailor sadly. “Looks like the mother abandoned it.”

“The mother was probably killed by those beasts,” guessed the quartermaster. “If the little one was a bit older, it might stand a chance to either swim away or fight them.”

“There are too many,” said the captain sadly.

Aredhel looked on with dismay. “Is there nothing to be done to help?”

“If we drop nets, it means capturing a very unhappy shark in a net. Sharks are smart; it would be too dangerous to attempt, and it would leave nine more to get at the baby anyhow. To be honest,” admitted the captain, “it might be best to harpoon the whale and put it out of its misery before those monsters tear it apart.”

Celegorm squeezed Aredhel’s hand when she grabbed hold of his. “Nature is cruel, sometimes,” he whispered to her.

Just as the crew was readying a spear, something awesome happened. Another whale leaped out of the water several meters away and cruised across the surface. His horn shined brightly, and pierced the side of one of the hungry sharks. As the narwhal drew back, the mortally wounded shark began to sink in the water, but was descended upon by its brethren.

As the other sharks feasted on their fallen comrade, the whales made their escape to safer waters. Aredhel sighed softly and Celegorm turned his head and kissed her brow.

---

It took little for Celegorm to convince Aredhel to stay on the ship for another voyage. In fact, it took much more to convince her that it was time for them to move on. They had every intention to stay aboard for another trip out to sea, until they overheard one of the crewmembers chatting with a merchant who had come on the ship to negotiate the next catch. Most of the talk was about salmon and crabs, but then there was mention of the news from inland. That was when Celegorm, who was unseen in the galley, really began to listen.

“What I heard was she was kidnapped,” he heard the merchant say.

“Well, then, it cannot be the two we have with us. If anything, she leads him around.” There was a pause, and then the fisher asked, “What did you say she looked like.”

“Same as any of those Noldor. Tall, dark hair, grey eyes. He is the one who stands out – very fair, I was told.”

“He would not necessarily stand out here.”

The merchant mumbled something Celegorm could not hear, and then said, “This one would. He is one of Prince Feanor’s sons.”

“Arrogant brat, then? This could be the one.”

“There is a reward for their return – King Finwe is trying to discretely find them, so his messengers have only been telling a few people about it. I only tell you because it seems as if they may be right under your nose.”

With enough evidence for Celegorm, he quietly put away the ingredients he had been taking store of and walked through a door that led to a passage that in a roundabout way got him into the rope storage that he and Aredhel had been using to sleep in. “Aredhel, wake up. We need to go,” he whispered as he rubbed her arm to wake her.

Aredhel stirred and sat up. “Time to go already?” she asked, feeling as if she had only just laid down for her nap.

“Time to leave the ship,” said Celegorm as he moved to the corner to shove a few things into a sack. Rope was helpful, and so was the set of fishhooks he had found in the corner when they took up residence here. The hammock was something Celegorm considered taking, but since he did not wish to be pegged as a thief, he left it.

Aredhel crossed her arms over her chest. “What? Why? I want to stay,” argued Aredhel. “I am having so much fun here.”

“But Aredhel—“

“For once, I have a real place. There is a real need for me!”

“But Aredhel—“

“When I am up in that crow’s nest, I can see everything! It is such a rush, and I love it. If you want to go back home, then go ahead, but I am staying here.” She stomped her foot against the floor for emphasis.

Celegorm had the thought for a moment to leave her, but as he heard the call above for the ship to get underway, he tugged on her arm. “Aredhel, you have to listen to me. Grandfather put out a reward for our return. If we stay, the crew is going to collect on the reward, and we will end up back home as soon as the ship arrives back next time. I do not want to go home; if we leave the ship we are going to go back to the forest.”

“Oh.” Aredhel leaped off of the hammock. “We have to hurry, then! If we do not, we shall have to swim back!”

Hastily, the pair gathered up their things and ran to the ladder. Above, they could see the crew moving around on the deck. “We are too late,” hissed Aredhel. “We will never make it off now without them seeing us!”

Celegorm heard the final call for boarding and then the sound of the ropes being untied from the dock. “Follow me. Stay close, and do not question me.” Celegorm climbed the ladder, and reluctantly Aredhel stayed close behind. They reached the deck almost simultaneously. The crew was rushing about, taking orders barked from the captain.

When only one rope remained tied to the dock, Celegorm pointed and ran for it. Aredhel followed suit. It took two long steps for Celegorm to cross the rope after jumping onto it. Aredhel took three, and in the confusion, dropped her shoes (which she had grabbed but not had a chance to put on) into the water.

“Mother is going to have a fit!” she exclaimed as she knelt down on the dock and tried to reach down to grab the footware.

Celegorm was five paces ahead before he noticed that Aredhel was lagging behind. He ran back and got her to her feet just as the crewmember who suspected them of being Finwe’s grandchildren stepped his foot onto the dock. “Come on!” shouted Celegorm. He pushed Aredhel behind him as the crewmember made a grab for her. Without thinking, Celegorm turned and launched a kick squarely at the chest of the sailor, causing him to fall backwards into the icy water. “Sorry!” he called behind him as he and Aredhel ran through the traffic of the seaport, and into the woods as soon as they could reach them.

There was a definite lack of concentration on Fingon’s part the next day at the gym. He gave fewer pointers than he usually did, and instead of paying careful attention to the routines he found his mind wandered more to the events of the previous evening.

His lack of attention did not go unnoticed by the coach, and at the end of the day’s practice he was waved into the office. Wordlessly, he followed and shut the door behind as he entered. He was offered a place to sit, but Fingon knew it was less of a request and more a command, and so he lowered himself slowly into the chair while keeping his gaze upon Ardim.

“Fingon, there is something I would like to talk to you about.” Ardim perched on his desk and gave Fingon one of his serious looks. His hands were folded together before him, but as he started to get further into his speech, he gestured with them often, but gracefully. “You may have noticed that I am not one to give idle praise – if someone works very hard, I am more than willing to acknowledge it, but I find that one should strive to meet their goals without the influence of others in the form of kind yet untruthful words. Criticism, on the other hand, is very necessary.”

The coach stepped down and walked across the room to the display shelves that housed many trophies and awards. “Red Fern is not a very old team, but we are fierce. We do not always make first place, but we do our best.” He looked over his shoulder. “I do not think you have been doing your best, have you, Fingon?”

“I have been doing all that has been asked of me,” answered Fingon. “I come here on time, I stay late when there is a match the next day, and I help the team hone their skills. Are there other tasks which I have been remiss in performing?”

“It is not that you have not completed the tasks, but that you are not putting in your full focus. Other things are clouding your mind. I do not know how the Whitecloud team functioned, but things are different here. I expect everyone’s commitment to be to this team. Only then can our best performance be given. Does that make sense to you?” asked Ardim.

Fingon nodded after a moment. “Is that all, sir?”

“No. I am going to be interviewing a few of your peers over the next week. They were all second choices when we first considered you, but seeing as how you lack a certain... quality that we were hoping for, we may replace you. Then again, we may not,” added the coach. “I guess what I am telling you is that if you are serious about staying here with Red Fern, now would be the time to show that.”

“I understand.” Fingon swallowed hard. “May I be excused?”

The coach waved toward the door, and Fingon slowly rose and left.

Even when he had been scolded by his father, he had never felt so talked down to. He waited until he gathered his gear and walked out of the gym and into the garden to slide down to the ground beside a tree. With his eyes closed, he willed himself not to get emotional over the conversation. A few deep breaths turned his embarrassment to anger. His desire to return home was almost overpowering, but his want to prove his father wrong was strong in him.

He allowed himself a few more minutes to calm down before he returned to his feet and made the short journey back to the house. By the time he was home, he had talked himself into leaving the assistant position, and then back into staying again. When he sat down for dinner with Maglor, he silently plotted to stay until he found another position at some other gym. By the time he had readied for bed, he had convinced himself that he was much too talented to work for someone else anyhow and should open a gym of his own. The next morning, he rose early, bathed, and headed back to the gym to prove how dedicated he was to his craft.

When he arrived, there was no one else at the gymnasium yet. Instead of waiting outside, he pulled on the chain around his neck and brought out the key that he had been given when he first accepted the position. It fit perfectly into the lock, and he entered the dark building. His first task was to climb the high ladder to open the windows. The windows were located high up so that no one passing by could look in and spy on the team to find out what they were going to be performing.

Once that was complete, he checked all of the trays and refilled the ones that were low with the white powder. He swept up the floor to keep things neat, and then, still finding himself alone, he went to the parallel bars and dusted his hands and arms with talc. The coach arrived to find Fingon attempting a rather difficult routine he had not practiced since leaving his former team. He was waved to, and the coach even looked a little surprised, as he entered his office.

The first student to arrive wanted to spend his morning lifting weights; the next walked in with the other assistant, and had already made plans to practice with him. It was not until Lintion jogged in that Fingon had someone to work with. Immediately, they sketched out a plan for the day and set to work. Lintion first worked his way through the routine he planned to execute for the upcoming meet, with Fingon simply watching. Next, they discussed Lintion’s weak points, and then worked on those problems with each individual event.

Lintion easily fixed his flaws with the rings, and had already mastered his routine on the parallel bars. His biggest problem was floor exercises. He agreed with Fingon to skip the event until after lunch, when the afternoon could be devoted to the task.

Once they finished the other events and ate a swift, light lunch, the pair returned to the matted area in the center of the gym. The apparatuses were located around the edges, and the middle reserved for floor. Lintion began his routine well, but halfway into it, lost track of where his boundaries were. Twice he landed out of bounds; more than once he took a step back across or on the line.

“Your elements were good,” said Fingon after seeing the routine for the second time that day. “However, you are reckless when it comes to figuring out where you are and actually hitting your marks. You seem to assume that you will just dazzle the audience and win with applause. The reality is that while your fans are watching your body twist and turn, the judges are keeping careful watch on your feet.”

“I am too tall,” bemoaned Lintion. “They should expand the boundaries for people like me.”

Fingon gave his young student a weary look. “That is the most bullshit excuse I have heard in a long time.”

The comment turned more than a few heads, including the coach. Most of Fingon’s critiques to this point had been praise-filled, even when the mood merited otherwise. Now, it seemed, that had changed.

Before Lintion could dispute this, Fingon left him standing in the middle of the mats. He walked to the bowl of powder and pulled it from its pedestal. He brought it back with him and used it to decrease the area by two metres on either side. “You will now do your routine within these confines. Each time you step out, you will owe me one lap around the gym.”

“Inside or outside?” questioned Lintion.

“I had not thought of the outside,” admitted Fingon, and Lintion groaned. “The outside, then. Now, complete your routine for me again.”

“This is impossible!” argued the younger elf. “There is no way anyone can do my routine in such a small space.”

Fingon stared at the impetuous gymnast for a full minute. No one in the gym seemed to even breathe. It was quite unlike Fingon to make such a demand, and yet, he had. “No one?”

“Seriously, unless they were... four feet tall, I suppose,” said Lintion.

With a snort, Fingon tossed the bowl onto the ground, spilling the talc over Lintion’s feet. He then walked to a stool and removed his shoes. Back to Lintion he returned, to step into the mess on the floor. Once his feet and hands were covered in powder, Fingon walked to the edge of the mat. He took a moment to carefully stretch his limbs and calm his breathing. Once fully focused, he began the routine that Lintion had shown him.

Instead of an imperfect series of elements, Fingon managed to masterfully complete each item with inches to spare. Even a midair double twist, which Fingon managed to turn into a triple, was managed without so much as a stumble or pause. When he finished the complete routine, Fingon walked back to the side and gave Lintion a shove in the direction of the mat. “I am two inches taller than you, and your routine is hardly challenging. Two laps for every miss,” he added before Lintion began.

That night, instead of leaving at the appointed time, Fingon kept working with Lintion past closing. It took sixteen laps before Lintion managed to stay inside the lines, and another four before the routine was executed without any misses. When Fingon swept away the new borders and allowed Lintion the regulation space, the routine was beautiful, and Lintion, for all his complaining, was finally happy with it.

Clapping from across the gym was heard as Lintion landed, and the coach stepped out of his office and crossed the gym to congratulate the youth. “You are shaping up well, Lintion. Keep it up.” He turned to Fingon and patted him on the back. “You, too. Good job.”

“Thank you, sir,” managed Fingon as the coach walked back to his office.

“Can we stop?” asked Aredhel. “Surely, no one is chasing after us right now.”

Celegorm slowed down his pace until they were strolling leisurely through the woods. “We should stop and try to do a little hunting,” he said. “I am only a little hungry now, but it will be good to have captured game before we are famished.”

“Good idea.” Aredhel frowned. “I have nothing to hunt with. Can I use your knife?”

“What am I to use?” he queried. Aredhel shrugged. “Here, let me make you a spear.” He searched the forest floor for the items he would need, including a sharp rock and a long, straight branch. “I suppose we can try fishing once we reach some water. I do have those fishhooks.”

Aredhel began to do some gathering of her own, finding a number of raspberry bushes which still held fruit on them. When Celegorm brought her the finished spear, she offered him some of her harvest. “I wonder if I could find any mushrooms for us to eat.”

“Mushrooms?” Celegorm made a face. “If there is one thing I hate more than heights, it would be mushrooms.”

“I guess you would have no desire to eat mushrooms on the top of a tree then.” Aredhel took the spear and frowned. “This is too heavy to use for small game, and I doubt we will be hunting many large things.”

“If you have a better plan, then I am all ears.”

Aredhel looked around, and then wandered off. Celegorm gathered what few items they had and followed after her. They stopped when she reached a flat area. She took some of the berries and placed them on the ground under a tree and then climbed up high with her spear. “Celegorm, come up here.”

“Seriously?”

“You do not need to come up this far, but you should climb up into the lower branches at least.” Aredhel waited until Celegorm had done as she had told him and then she crawled out onto the branch. It took a little while, but eventually a fat rabbit jumped out from under a bush and hopped up to investigate the berries. He was dead within moments.

Celegorm reached the ground first and yanked the spear from the ground. “I am impressed,” he admitted. “I would not have thought to do that.”

“Thank you.” Aredhel retrieved her prize and held it by the ears. “How many more do you think we need?”

“Maybe one or two, if you can get them,” said Celegorm. They walked a little to the west before setting the trap again. Once again, an unsuspecting rabbit crossed the path and was taken down before he knew what hit him. The third time, the rabbit dodged off before the spear hit the ground, but their fourth victim was not quite so fast.

They were able to skin the rabbits and roast the meat for their supper. They buried what they did not use, and the skins were rolled up and stuffed into the sack that had the rest of their supplies. They did not dare keep the fire going at night for fear that someone might spy it and investigate. Both were tired, so they found a rock formation nestled within a grove of pine trees that provided some extra shelter from the wind.

“Maybe we should sit a little closer together,” suggested Celegorm when Aredhel settled down across from him. He patted the ground next to him. “There is a nice spot right here for you.”

“I am fine where I am,” said Aredhel.

Celegorm shrugged. “You might feel better sitting here, though.”

“Why?”

“I just thought you might get a little cold,” he said. “I want to make sure you are comfortable.”

“I am fine,” she assured him. “In fact, it is almost too warm for me.”

“Maybe you should take some of your clothes off, then,” he suggested quickly.

Aredhel narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?”

“What?” Celegorm laughed uneasily. “What?”

“You heard me.” Aredhel placed her hands on her hips. “I had some suspicion of your intentions when we were on the ship together – now I am fairly certain of it.”

Celegorm continued to laugh. “What?” He shook his head. “Aredhel, darling, I... yes, well, yes, perhaps I have been a little forward. But honestly, look at you – you are such a charming lady, and we have so much in common—“

“Including a grandfather!”

“Which makes it much easier when one of us says to the other ‘Would you like to meet the family?’, because, we both already know each other.”

“Darling?!”

“Yes?”

“No – you called me darling,” realized Aredhel. “We are cousins!”

“Yes.” Celegorm blinked. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Aredhel opened her mouth to answer, but was unable to do so. “It is just wrong.”

“Perhaps, according to some; then again, what about your brother and my brother?”

Aredhel crossed her arms over her chest. “What about them?”

“Do you think they should not be together?”

“If they love each other, then they should be.” Aredhel sighed. “I see where you are going with this.”

“Aredhel, I would be lying if I told you I would be happy for you if you ever found someone else to be your lover.” Celegorm leaned over and took hold of her hands in his. “I—“

“Do not say it,” she warned him.

“I want you to know that if you ever would allow me to have the chance to court you, I would be more than honored.”

“Oh.”

Celegorm let go of her hands and sat back again. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“I love you,” said Aredhel.

“I love you, too,” answered Celegorm with a grin.

“Oh! You!” Aredhel picked up the sack with the rabbit skins and began to smack Celegorm’s shoulder with it as he laughed heartily. “You are lucky I do not want to be in the woods by myself, or I would beat you senseless!”

Celegorm continued to laugh long after the sack was dropped next to him with a huff. When he did sit up, he saw that Aredhel was huddled next to the rocks with her arms wrapped around herself. “Celegorm?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He grinned and held out the sack, daring her to attack him again.

Aredhel rubbed her bare shoulders and curled her toes in. “I think I might be a little bit cold.”

Celegorm sat up and offered her the spot next to him again. With only slight hesitation, Aredhel joined him and snuggled up next to him. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her.

Aredhel nodded and rested her head on Celegorm’s shoulder. The winds picked up and blew harder as the silver light of the evening lit the land. Celegorm took the furs from the sack and used them to cover Aredhel’s bare feet. “Do not worry about falling asleep. I will do nothing untoward to you, cousin.”

“I know.” Aredhel nuzzled sleepily against him and sighed. “I am open-minded, Celegorm, but you must forgive me and allow me time to consider what you have said.”

“I understand,” he replied.

Aredhel waited a few moments and then added, “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Another competition meant another day that Turgon spent at the arena. On one hand, he had actually hoped that the competition would be called off for some reason, on account of the butterflies that had infiltrated his stomach. They fluttered about every time he thought of her, or someone mentioned her name – which, to be honest, was not often unless provoked.

“Turgon, I have a message that needs to be taken to the coaches of Team Orange Blossom. One of their girls just landed wrong and broke her foot. We think the coaches are in their warm up room because they are not in the arena.”

With a curt nod, Turgon saluted the head of the squad. “I will get the message to them immediately,” he promised. He turned and began to walk into the passageway. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder to see if he was still being watched, but his superior had left and gone back to the competition already. Turgon took a moment to pull something out of his pocket and shake it out.

The object was a long length of black cloth that he was using as a blindfold. He leaned against the side of the passage and wrapped it around his head, blocking his vision. Once it was tied tightly behind his head, Turgon strolled down the hall and counted his steps in order to reach his destination.

He did stumble a few times on things left in the hallway. The first was a jump rope that made him propel himself into the wall. The next was a baton that someone had dropped during a practice routine and forgotten to pick up. At each mishap, someone would giggle and then a pause came while they pointed, which was followed by more laughter.

“I am fine. Do not worry,” promised Turgon as he continued on toward his destination. He reached the team room safely, found the coaches (despite not being able to see either of them), and then turned around in order to return to his post.

He promptly walked right into someone and tumbled backwards onto his posterior.

“Just what are you doing?”

The voice was unmistakable, and Turgon hoped that his rapidly beating heart was unheard by Elenwe. “I just had to deliver a message,” he explained. “I did not wish you to think that I might take liberties, so I have devised a method that will allow me to carry on my duties without worry that I might see something I should not.”

“That is ridiculous,” said Elenwe as she helped Turgon stand up. “How can you see where you are going?”

“I cannot,” admitted Turgon. “However, there is no possible way I can see anything else for that matter, so there is no worry that I might be seeing something I should not.”

“You silly elf,” scolded Elenwe gently. She placed Turgon’s arm around hers and guided him back down the passage. “You are going to have a lump on your head from walking into the walls if you keep doing this.”

“But, I shall remain unaccused.”

“I bet you were a difficult child,” said Elenwe as she deposited Turgon at the mouth of the passage and removed the blindfold.

“Yes – how did you know?” wondered Turgon as Elenwe walked back down the corridor, his blindfold still in her hand.

“Lucky guess,” she called back to him.

The competition that evening was between a few of the male gyms. Some of the all-female teams stayed to watch, either to support neighboring gyms or because they wanted to watch the techniques employed by their male counterparts. Turgon had managed to procure a seat for himself near the seats reserved for the team that Elenwe was on. The moment she entered, he stopped watching the doors for her and pretended to have been enraptured with the warm-ups going on in the arena.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Elenwe as she and her teammates filed into their seats. She sat down beside Turgon and asked, “How is your head?”

“Fine, thank you. Actually, fine, thanks to you. I may need to employ your assistance in all of my blindfolded expeditions.” Turgon pointed down at the floor of the arena. “My brother is right down there.”

“Oh.” Elenwe motioned toward one of the competitors. “Is that him?”

“No, he is the coach. Off to the side, right over there.”

“Oh! I remember him!” Elenwe nodded. “I recall seeing him when he used to compete. He used to have this ritual where he would walk around the outside edge of the entire arena three times before each meet. It was really weird, but no one questioned him about it.”

“Yes, that is him.” Turgon settled back in his seat again. “When I was little, I used to have to go with him to the gym, because my mother would take him and I would have to come along. They tried to get me to learn the different things, but I had no interest in them. I spent most of my time digging holes in the side yard of the gym and burying things.”

“How old were you?”

“Old enough to know I should not be burying things, too young to know I was doing it to try to get attention because I craved it from my parents. I wonder if my father ever did find out what happened to that belt buckle he liked so much,” Turgon mused.

Elenwe bought a bag of roasted nuts from one of the vendors. “You mean you do not know if he ever got it back?”

“There are a lot of things he probably never found,” Turgon realized. “I suppose they are all fairly safe, though. I mean, how many people are digging holes in the yard of a gymnasium?”

“You could always go back and find them. It could be interesting to see what you dig up. Which gym were you at?”

“Yes,” replied Turgon after quite a long pause.

Elenwe giggled. “Do you not remember?” she asked as she offered some of the nuts to Turgon. She laughed again when he shook his head. “That could cause a problem.”

“It could,” he agreed. “I was so little, I cannot remember where he was.”

“Why not simply ask him?” suggested Elenwe.

Turgon snickered. “If I asked him, he would want to know why. If I tell him why, he will never allow me to live it down.”

“I guess your secrets will need to stay buried,” said Elenwe. “Unless, of course, you ever decide to go to every gym and look for them.”

“Maybe you and I could try doing that someday when you have time,” said Turgon hopefully.

“Maybe,” answered Elenwe.

Breakfast, like most meals, was nearly wordless. Fingon never wanted to interrupt Maglor’s thoughts, and Maglor was constantly busy writing down new songs and verses. Every once in a while, Maglor might ask for a word that meant a particular thing that he could not remember or Fingon would ask for the sugar or salt to be passed, but more or less they might have both been eating alone. Today, Fingon had tried to wait until after they had eaten to ask his question, but he had wondered about it so long, that he finally blurted it out.

“Do you think you could teach me how to play?”

Maglor looked up blankly. “Play what?”

“To play harp. Unless you think I could not learn.”

“I think anyone would be able to learn, but, why would you want me to teach you?” asked Maglor.

“Why not? You are very good at it, and, well, you are here.” Fingon pushed his food around his plate. “It is something I have wished to know for a while. Now I finally have the time to do so.”

“I do not think I would be a very good teacher,” Maglor admitted. “I will give it a try, though. After breakfast. Do you have time then?”

“My schedule for the day is free,” said Fingon happily. “I shall be your willing pupil.”

They spent the morning in the back yard. Fingon learned a few chords, and Maglor taught him basic theory and how to read a chart. Future lessons were scheduled, and Fingon went to the market in the early evening to purchase produce and search for a harp. Nothing he liked was in his price range, and nothing in his price range was what he wanted. He returned that evening with a basket of carrots and peppers, a box of eggs, and a set of harp strings. Although he had never made a harp, and had no clue where to start, he reasoned it would be cheaper and more interesting than simply buying one that was already made.

---

Silence. Maglor’s harp was at rest, as was Maglor himself. Fingon was in his own bed, staring up at the ceiling. He found himself feeling very lonely now, even with all of the new people he had met. He missed Turgon, for he had never had his own room before, and had always had someone to talk to before bed or just after he had awoken. There was no one to take care of the little things, like making food or mending shirts. All the necessities were done by Maglor or himself; sometimes, such as with the dishes, the tasks were put off until necessary turned into immediately from the stench in the kitchen.

Beyond loneliness and self-reliance, there was also the lack of security. Although the house was near other residences, it was back from the road and close to the woods. A howling wolf could put Fingon on edge; branches cracking too close for comfort would sometimes spook him. It was different from hunting and camping in the woods, for he would never do such things alone. Always there was a group, his brother and his cousins, or at the very least, there was Maedhros.

Maedhros was who he missed the most. For some reason, he had assumed that this plan would lead to more time with his lover, but it had not. Maedhros had his own responsibilities. His apprenticeship was something he had taken seriously, and he oft worked long hours and caught himself up in projects he would spend days on. When he did come to call, it could be counted upon for him to bring others along as well – perhaps Uncle Feanor, or Caranthir, or sometimes even Curufin, who seemed a little lost himself with Celegorm yet missing.

Fingon wondered where Celegorm was, and if his sister was with him. Of course, it seemed logical that they were together, the more he thought on it. It made no sense that they would both be missing at the same time had they not gone wherever they had together. It still seemed hasty that they had run away; then again, it was something Fingon had long considered, but he did not have the courage or adventurous nature of his sister.

The light of Telperion flowed into the room, and Fingon rose from bed to draw the curtains. He reached the window and a breeze fluttered through, the curtains wrapping around his arms to expose the view to him. The woods were dim, and yet, inviting. Fingon watched a rabbit nose at the ground under his window. A doe wandered out from the trees, and lifted her head, flicked her ears. Everything was quiet, with the exception of the breeze as it whistled through the leaves and needles of the trees.

Fingon stepped back from the window. He wanted to be out there, in the woods, out in the freedom of the outdoors. He hastily grabbed a pair of leggings from the back of a chair and donned them quickly before moving into the sitting room. He left a note for Maglor in case his cousin woke and found him missing, and then proceeded to the door.

There was no hesitation as he stepped out into the chilly air and padded barefoot down the steps to the ground. He walked around the house and found the deer was gone, but the rabbit remained. Past the creature he walked, slowly into the woods, minding the rocks as he went. The path he wandered seemed to have been cleared for him. A stream blocked his way at one point, but he waded through it, ignoring his wet legs and the fabric that clung to them when he reached the other side.

In a clearing, a very small one at that, he found the one he realized he had been seeking. She was sitting on the ground, with the doe resting beside her. Unlike the last time, Nessa was dressed in a flowing green gown that reached just past her knees and covered most of her form. “I was beginning to think you were not going to come back,” she said. “It was hard to reach you, and I had been searching for so many years for someone like you. Still, sometimes what I want is not what others want.”

Fingon held out his hand to her. “I wish for you to teach me to dance.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“I know it is,” he said. “I can feel it, deep inside of me. I have thought of little else since I danced with you around the fire. Show me how to dance – how to really dance as you do,” he insisted.

Nessa took hold of Fingon’s hand and stood up. “This is not the sort of thing you will learn in a single night,” she warned him.

“I know. I have patience. And I have time. Once I set my mind to something, I devote myself to it,” promised Fingon. “This is what I am meant to do.”

“Aye, it is. How will your family feel about that? What about your lover?”

Fingon searched Nessa’s face to see if there was hidden meaning in her words, but he saw none. “I should hope they will support my decision. If they do not, well…” Fingon smiled ruefully. “It would not be the first time.”

Celegorm sat up abruptly. There was a howl, and it was closer than he liked. “Aredhel!” he hissed as he pulled out the dagger he had. “Aredhel, I hear something!”

In a flash, Aredhel was awake and clutching the spear that Celegorm had made for her. “I hear it, too. They sound close by.”

“Too close.” Celegorm gathered up their meager supplies in the middle of one of the cloaks, pulled the corners together, and hoisted the hastily created sack over his shoulder. “Can you climb that tree?” he asked, pointing to one with a thick trunk.

Aredhel nodded and yanked the other cloak from the ground. She jumped up to grab hold of a branch and swung slightly to gather the momentum needed to swing up on the next try. “Quick, toss me the gear!” she said as the sound of hungry wolves came nearer.

Celegorm hardly had time to do so before the first member of the pack emerged from the bushes. The wolves approached with menacing looks in their eyes. It was hard for Celegorm to stand his ground against them with naught by a small knife to fend them off, though he knew that turning his back to them was suicide. “Aredhel, can you get a good shot at them?”

“I can try, but I would have to drop the supplies,” she said. “Let me see if I can get to the rope for you.”

“That is not going to help,” warned Celegorm as the wolves started to close in, blocking him off from anything but the tree. “We should have kept the fire going,” he said.

One of the wolves leaped, but his aim was for the tree and not Celegorm. Aredhel screamed as the wolf managed to get a grip on the branch she used to climb and hung on. It scrambled onto the narrow branch and licked its lips.

Celegorm was now caught in a difficult position, for if he attempted to go after the threat to Aredhel, he left himself open for an attack. In his current spot, however, he was of no use either. As Aredhel shrieked again, he made his decision.

Celegorm turned, ran, and jumped up. His left hand took hold of the wolf’s back leg, and he pulled it down onto the ground with him. He tried to roll away from the whimpering, snarling animal, but he found himself cornered against the trunk by three more. His knife was no longer in his hand, knocked away some metres from him. He attempted a lunge, but one of the wolves pounced him. He was knocked backwards flat onto the ground, and as the wolf stood over him with a happy look, a bright light filled the clearing, blinding him.

“Away with you, foul creatures of the forest!” exclaimed a terrifying voice. “Be gone with you, and come here not again!”

The wolves, including the one that was threatening Celegorm, tucked their tails and ran back from whence they came. Celegorm sat up thankfully, and found Melkor standing in the clearing with a rod of ebony in his hands.

Once more, Melkor struck the ground with his staff, and the bright light dissipated. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he offered Celegorm a hand in getting up.

Celegorm pushed himself back up with aid from the tree trunk. “How did you do that?”

Melkor withdrew his hand. “The wolves fear the power of my staff. I merely conjured a vision, seen to you and your companion as light, but seen to the wolves as something to fear. They know I can do much more with my weapon, and they are wise enough not to stay and find out what I might do.”

“It is quite fortunate for us that you happened to be in the woods,” said Celegorm.

“Fortune had little to do with it,” answered Melkor. “Your fathers have been looking for both of you for many weeks now. It is known by all that you are to be brought to them.”

“You are capturing us?” asked Aredhel, who was still up in the tree with the supplies.

“Capturing you? No, my dear, I am going to return you safely. Do you not miss your family? Do you not wish to ease your parents’ fears?” wondered Melkor.

Aredhel looked worried, but Celegorm shook his head. “Certainly not. They deserve this, after all they have put us through. Let them wait. We will come back when we want to return,” said Celegorm. “Are we not adults? We are old enough to make our own decisions.”

“I see,” said Melkor. “I will not force you to return, but you should know that you are missed by your families. The worry of your father is exceptionally strong,” he said to Aredhel. “Your father speaks of ways he shall protect you once you have returned.”

“Just another reason for us not to,” said Celegorm. “He will lock you away and take even more of your freedoms from you,” he warned.

It seemed as if Aredhel was torn, but her will was strong and she said, “I do not wish to return yet.”

“Neither do I,” said Celegorm sincerely. “We will not come willingly, Lord Melkor.”

“As you wish,” Melkor replied. “Do be careful of the wolves,” he said as he disappeared back into the woods.

Once the Ainu was gone, Celegorm helped Aredhel down from her perch. “Maybe sleeping in the trees at night would not be such a bad idea.”

“I would be afraid of rolling out of it,” admitted Aredhel. “Then again, falling out of a tree would be far preferred to being eaten by a wolf.”

“Those wolves seemed hungry,” said Celegorm. “I am concerned about them. Normally, wolves will run from us, no matter how in need of game they are. This pack seemed especially vicious.”

“I suppose different packs act differently,” Aredhel said. “There are some horses that act one way, and some that act another. Wolves cannot be so different.”

Celegorm nodded. “Still, we should be on guard.” The supplies were redistributed and everything was accounted for, with the exception of Celegorm’s knife. “Can you help me check for it? I dropped it earlier when I was fighting the wolves.”

Though he and Aredhel searched for nearly an hour, neither were able to find the fallen knife. To add to the matter, the spear that Celegorm had fashioned was now had a split down the middle and would not last much longer. “I wish we had brought real weapons with us,” announced Celegorm as he gave up on an attempt to fix the broken spear. It was thrown to the ground as the pair both looked up and in the same direction at the same time. “Did you hear that?”

“Horses.” Aredhel grabbed what she could manage, while Celegorm hoisted the rest up with him as he hurried her toward the most likely candidate for the tree they could fastest climb. They reached the upper branches not a moment too soon, for into their clearing rode a hunting party, and among them, cousins and siblings.

Their tree had shed most of its leaves, but had a trunk thick enough to aid in covering them, and many branches to allow them to blend in. They dared not say a word to one another as they helplessly watched those below.

“I thought I heard someone talking,” stated Artanis matter-of-factly. “I was certain of it.”

Turgon was there also, as were Finrod, Caranthir, Curufin, and Ehtele. It seemed that Ehtele was rather bored to be with the party, for his gaze wandered about aimlessly, and Artanis’s batting eyelashes went unnoticed. Caranthir looked rather restless and was already pushing his horse ahead of the others.

“You heard nothing, cousin. Perhaps a woodland creature,” he reasoned.

“No, I heard voices,” she argued. She loved to argue when she could.

Curufin rolled his eyes. “There is no one here. Voices in your head, maybe?” Her cousins all chuckled, but Finrod stared them down.

Ehtele yawned.

“I think we have lost the trail of that silver fox,” said Turgon. He glanced upwards, and focusing upon the spot where his sister and cousin were hiding, he squinted just a little. Aredhel and Celegorm held their breath.

“Something the matter, Turgon?” asked Finrod as he pulled his horse closer.

Turgon turned his mount and shook his head. “No, I thought I saw a woodpecker, but it was nothing. Shall we continue on?”

“I heard someone talking,” insisted Artanis as they started to reassemble the party.

“Of course you did.” Caranthir rode by and patted her braided head as he passed by while some of the others laughed.

Finrod placed his hand upon his sister’s shoulder to keep her from starting another argument. As he did so, something on the ground caught his eye. “Halt!” he cried out, and the rest pulled back on their reins. “There is something in the leaves,” he announced as he dismounted. He dug into them and came up with the knife that Celegorm had lost.

“That knife has father’s mark upon it,” said Caranthir. He, too, dismounted, and joined Finrod in examining the blade. “It must be Celegorm’s – father made one like this for each of us. Celegorm must have dropped it.”

“He would never by so clumsy,” defended Curufin. “Perhaps he was attacked.”

“There are signs of a struggle,” remarked Turgon as he circled the area upon his mount. “These marks are fresh,” he said, pointing to the tracks from the wolves.

“Let us take a good look around,” suggested Artanis. “We may find some clues as to what happened.”

“Or, we may waste our time looking for them,” said Caranthir. “Honestly, if they do not want to be found, we will not find them.”

“I wonder – if we find them, can we turn them in to grandfather to collect the award?” wondered Turgon.

“Always the opportunist,” scolded Artanis.

A rustle of leaves made all of them turn, and Caranthir saw it first. “There is our fox! Onward!”

The rest followed, except for Curufin, who pulled back a little. “I hope my brother would have the sense to come home eventually,” he said wistfully. He glanced up at the spot that Turgon had looked to and added, “I would hope my cousin would knock some sense into him if she had to.” Then Curufin rode off to join his cousins and brother in the chase.

Celegorm waited until the coast was clear before he climbed down. “I hate being up so high,” he complained as Aredhel landed on the ground beside him.

“We had best leave before they come back,” suggested Aredhel.

“I wish they had not taken my knife,” complained Celegorm. He picked up the few other items that had been unseen, and they hurried off the path before they could be spotted again.

Turgon stood steadily at the entrance as he did every other day that he guarded the passageway for the female gymnasts. Today, there was something a little different. Gone was the sash that he had often worn. He had meticulously braided his hair and brushed the rest until it shined. Off to one side, there was a carefully wrapped package from the local florist.

Each lady was greeted with the same nod or polite congratulatory message. One competitor was singled out. Turgon spent his time looking for her as he idly addressed the others, and upon seeing her he hastily scooped up the package, unwrapped it, and hid it behind his back.

“For you,” he said as Elenwe and one of her teammates came to the entrance. He had stepped up to block their path, and they both looked a little perplexed at having almost walked right into him.

“I think he means you,” said the blond gymnast standing beside Elenwe. She gave her teammate a little nudge.

“Oh... um... thank you,” said Elenwe. She took hold of the bouquet, which was bursting with red roses. “This is a lot of roses,” she replied as she looked down at them.

“Two dozen, plus three extra ones. I bought all that they had left.” He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “You did very well today.”

“I placed sixth,” she said dryly.

“You placed in the top two percent,” corrected Turgon. “When you look at how many people were competing, you did quite well!”

Elenwe looked at her companion for assistance. The blond only laughed and escaped around Turgon. “See you later, Elenwe.”

“Lantaquesse, get back here,” hissed Elenwe. She turned her attention back to Turgon, who had masterfully managed to stay right in front of her no matter how she moved. “Uh, thank you,” she said as she attempted again to move around him.

“You are welcome.” Turgon smiled and asked, “Would you like to go together after you have dressed?”

“Uh... go where?” asked Elenwe cautiously.

“To a surprise place,” he said. “I like you, and I thought I would take you somewhere special that I have not shown to anyone else.”

A smile appeared on Elenwe’s face. If it was someone else, she would have assumed that the overly honest confession and invitation were an attempt at humor. Coming from Turgon, it was the truth, and her curiosity got the better of her. “Tonight?” she asked.

“Yes, right after you finish here. You are not busy, are you? I asked your father and he said that you would be free.” Turgon’s face filled with concern.

Elenwe stared at him blankly. “You asked my father? What did you ask him?”

“Just that, and if you had any other prospective suitors,” said Turgon. “It is always best to know these things so that circumstances do not become uncomfortable for the parties involved. I like to do my research ahead of time.”

“Do you?”

“Indeed. I spoke to your father yesterday, and explained my intentions to him, and he said—“

“What intentions?” interuped Elenwe.

Turgon tilted his head. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me,” Elenwe admitted.

“I intend to court you.” Turgon frowned, and caught sight of Thranduil attempting to sneak into the passage past him. “Excuse me.”

Turgon sidestepped into Thranduil’s path and gave him a good stare down. “Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention,” said Thranduil as he backed his way out of the entrance.

“I am a wonderful multitasker,” Turgon reminded the younger ellon. When the ladies were once again safe, he returned to the task at hand. “I must complete my shift, but we will be free to leave following that.”

“Should I expect to be out late?” asked Elenwe.

“If you want to. It is up to you. If it were up to me, I could stay there for days – but you will have to make that decision when we get there.”

“Is it far away?” she asked.

“No, and that is the last clue I will give you.”

Elenwe headed down the passage, holding her bundle of twenty-seven red roses and wondering if it had been such a good idea to tease the guardian as her teammates had suggested weeks ago. It took a while to find enough vases to put them in and she was sure her teammates would tease her when they arrived the next day. One of the roses had a bent stem, so Elenwe plucked the flower and tucked it behind her ear. She emerged later to find Turgon standing in the exact place she had left him. “I am ready,” she said.

“Excellent. I just need to wait for the rest of the competitors to exit.” Turgon stayed in his same position, while Elenwe nodded, coughed, and wandered awkwardly around the area. “So... do you... want to talk?” he asked when he noticed that Elenwe’s movements were akin to pacing.

“Sure. What should we talk about?” she asked.

Turgon thought for a moment. “Tell me how you became interested in gymnastics.”

“Well, my mother used to take my sister and I for walks every day when I was little. My sister was older, and my mother was making an attempt to get her out to meet people. She is really shy. Anyhow, we would always pass by the gymnasium, and sometimes if they had a demonstration we would go inside to watch.

“One day, they had a contest at the end of the demonstration. They had a balance beam and they wanted to see who could walk over it most creatively. I had no idea that it was a recruitment tool; I just begged my mother to let me try until she finally relented. Most of the girls trying were older than me, but they were all boring. They would prance across it, and maybe do a flip or try to somersault. When I got up, I was laughed at for being so little, but they let me anyhow.

“It was great, because there were still a few girls behind me waiting to go. They thought I was going to fall off right away, but I stayed on. I got up onto the beam by running up to it and doing a flip onto it like I saw the competitors do. Everyone else just climbed up, and not very gracefully. Not me. I never do anything in half-steps. So, I realized everyone was impressed, and then I started to do a cartwheel, but I stopped halfway on my hands. Then I walked across on my hands and did the rest of the cartwheel off the end. The rest who were waiting sneaked back to their seats and that was that. I won, and my mother was shocked to say the least.”

“I bet you must have impressed a lot of people,” said Turgon.

“I did. They offered me a year of free training at the gymnasium. My mother was very worried, that after the year I would be so excited and interested in it without a means of paying for it, but everything fell into place. My sister married the coach of the gym, and I never ended up paying for any of my training. I really needed less in terms of teaching and encouragement than most. I have an ‘innate grace’ as I was once told. I just needed the time and place to practice.”

“We can go now,” he said abruptly.

“Oh.” Elenwe watched the final group of competitors leave the area. “Sorry, did I bore you with that story?”

Turgon looked surprised. “No, not at all. I thought it was very interesting. I just thought you would want to leave this place, since we were done here.”

Elenwe tried not to laugh. “Of course. My mistake.”

They did not have to go very far at all for the place that Turgon had in mind for their first date. It was, in fact, near the place where he had retrieved the bottles of Airenen. There was a small and meager garden consisting of a few trees which had lost most of their leaves and some flowers which were covered in leaves. Beyond this there was an iron gate, which was unlocked yet unopened.

“Where are we?” asked Elenwe as she followed Turgon to the gate, which he opened casually as if he was here before and often.

“The Eastern Regional Sedrynerin Theological Residence. This is where the monks live.” Turgon stood aside so that Elenwe could enter past him.

There was a long walkway, lit with lanterns that hung from posts imbedded in the ground. The path had ropes to keep those who entered on the path and off the grass. There were some elves tending to the inner gardens. Some were picking grapes carefully from vines, while others were lovingly pulling carrots and potatoes from the ground. Turgon waved to them happily, calling out to each specifically, wishing them well. All of them gave a nod or in the cases of the younger ones a small smile, and then returned to their work.

“Are we even supposed to be here?” questioned Elenwe.

“Everyone is welcome here,” explained Turgon. “Anyone can be here – you have never been here before?”

“No,” she replied, somewhat confused as they entered the actual monastery. The walls were tall and made of dark bricks. Inside, the halls were dim, but lit by torches that were set in sconces along the walls.

Turgon took a moment to stop at an altar just inside of the main door. There was a table with pieces of coarse paper and charcoal for writing. He began to write out a list of comments. “They love to get suggestions,” he said as he finished and folded up the note. “However, everyone is so intimidated, I was once informed I am the only one who does this.” He placed it into the box and offered his arm to Elenwe. “Now, onto the best parts of the tour.”

The pair continued on, turned a corner, and climbed down a set of stairs, arriving in the basement. Here there were three elves in long robes silently standing at large vats with long wooden sticks that they were using to mix whatever they were making. “This is where the magic happens,” said Turgon excitedly. He brought Elenwe right up to one of the vats, which smelled heavily of alcohol. “This is where Airenen is made. Only these three know the actual recipe for it. So, if something happened and they all drowned at sea that the same time, the secret would be lost. I suppose that is why they never go boating together, or ever, for that matter,” reasoned Turgon as he took Elenwe to another vat. “This one is a cooling vat, after they put all the spices into it. And that one over there… oh, nevermind, that one there is just soap. They make soap here, too. I guess because that way it helps rid the place of the smell of the liquor. Really would be inappropriate for them to go out and minister smelling of alcohol.”

“I can see how that would be a concern,” said Elenwe. She walked up to the one who was stirring the soap and asked, “What scent are you making?”

The elf said nothing, but looked to Turgon calmly and bowed his head slightly toward him.

“He cannot answer you,” apologized Turgon. “He, and his brethren, have all taken a vow of silence.”

Elenwe’s jaw dropped. “Should we be talking in here, then?” she whispered to him.

“Oh, sure. We never took a vow of silence. At least, I never did. I thought about it – I really agree with the rest of their teachings,” admitted Turgon. “My father was for it as well. My mother was a little concerned, but it was the silence that really was not going to work well for me. You see, I like to talk.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Turgon informed her. “Talking is a wonderful thing. Voice inflection, accents, different dialects – talking is a lot of fun. I know some people disdain it, but as for me, I love it. I love debates, too,” he added. “I wish I had more opportunity to make speeches, but I never seem to get asked back to places… I think I must impart all knowledge upon them, and it makes other speakers look bad…” He watched her drift to the rows of bottles along the wall.

“Can I ask you what might be a stupid question?” Elenwe looked over her shoulder to see if Turgon was still paying attention or even in the room.

“Of course. What is your question?”

“Why are we here?” She pulled one of the bottles that was crimson colored from the spot where it was stored. It was slightly smaller than a regular bottle of wine, but more ornately designed.

Turgon walked up to her and pulled the bottle from her hands. “I help them here. This is my other home, I suppose. My other job, without a doubt, but this is also something of a home for me. I wanted to join them, although, as you know, I would have ruined it in the first hour by talking – either to someone else or myself.” He replaced the bottle on the shelf. “I just thought… well, I wanted it to be somewhere special, so that years from now when we talked about it, you would remember this really interesting place. I guess because I thought, well, I hoped you might understand. Or, at least, not run away. You probably are bored of being here already,” he sighed.

“No, not at all. Just… curious,” admitted Elenwe. “This is just not the sort of place I would consider for a date. It seems so… religious.”

“Monasteries tend to be.”

Elenwe was unable not to burst out laughing. The monks, startled by this reaction, looked to one another in confusion. “Sorry,” she apologized to them and to Turgon. “I… yes, it is very religious. Very nice, yes.” She walked back to the vat with the soap in it. “Smells like lilacs.”

“It might be.” Turgon leaned over to get a good sniff. “Yes, definitely lilac. Maybe with a little vanilla in it?” He stood up and looked at the elf stirring the concoction. The elf smiled and nodded. “Nice. Very nice. Oh… is it alright if we… go up…?” Turgon waited for the monk to nod again before looping his arm around Elenwe’s. “I have another place to show you. You are going to like this one even more.” He began to leave the room but circled back around to select the red bottle from the shelves. “We should take this with us,” he decided, and they left the basement and headed back up the stairs again. From there, Turgon took Elenwe to another flight, and then again to another, until they arrived at the top of the building. There was a set of doors at the top of a short flight, and these led out to a platform.

The platform was circular in shape, and had a low railing all the way around it. At the center of the platform, someone had set out a picnic blanket, a basket, wineglasses, plates, and a vase with a single blue rose in it. “Did you do all of this?” asked Elenwe.

Turgon blushed and shrugged. He watched Elenwe walk to the blanket spread across the floor and kneel down on the edge of it. She bent her head slightly to smell the rose in the vase. “I wanted to get a red one, but I was told that someone bought them out.”

Elenwe giggled and motioned Turgon over to join her. He did so, and opened the basket to pull out a corkscrew and reveal the treats within. “Are those chocolate covered strawberries?” she asked as the cork popped out of the bottle and shot over the side of the railing, arcing down into the pews below.

“Yes. I asked your mother what you liked to eat. Research,” he reminded her as she disbelievingly watched him pour the wine.

“You are incredible,” she remarked as one of the wineglasses was handed to her.

“I know,” he said as he lifted his glass up. “But then, so are you.” He winked and clinked his glass against hers. “Do you know what is even better than strawberries and chocolate?”

“What?”

“Look up.”

Elenwe did so, and gasped as she saw the view through the domed glass ceiling. It was Telperion’s turn to light the sky, and the stars glittered and gleamed brightly above. “They are so beautiful,” she whispered.

“They pale in comparison to you,” answered Turgon.

It was Elenwe’s turn to blush as she lowered her head and looked across the blanket at him. “Is it too early in our relationship for me to kiss you?”

“It is never too early for that,” declared Turgon as he leaned forward -- stars, wine, and strawberries forgotten.

There was a note waiting for Fingon when he came to the gym that morning. He had been arriving early and staying late nearly every day he worked, and even came in a day or two when he had been scheduled not to be there. Somehow, he managed to have time for his dancing lessons in the forest. If anything, the busy schedule had kept him on track. It also kept him from being lonely at home, where the silence without Maglor there was a little creepy.

This morning, he could see that there was light in the office, but the door was closed. The note specified that he was not to stray too far or get too involved in anything, for he was expected to be available for a brief meeting at Ardim’s convenience. Fingon went about his morning ritual of opening the high windows and stocking the talc. He took a little extra time to go to his shelves and pack everything that was his neatly into two sacks. In the case that this was his last day, Fingon did not want to have to shamefully pack his things up after being let go.

Two of the trainees, a pair of Telerin brothers, entered and waved to Fingon in greeting as he turned around. As soon as they had stowed their things and changed into their gymnastic clothing, the brothers stretched and warmed up their muscles. The door had not yet opened by the time they were finished, so Fingon offered to give them some tips on the routines they were working on. Besides the individual competitions, there were group routines on the floor. Not every team participated in rhythmic competition, but those who did tended to get a higher amount of funding from patrons.

This routine used a staff as the apparatus. Though staves were less dangerous and therefore less challenging than swords, it meant that the routine could be faster and more intricate without risk of serious injury to either competitor. It began fairly simply, but as they practiced, Fingon suggested way to make things more interesting. A vault by one over the other, as the one without the staff did a back flip was the first addition. Next, they learned how to bounce the staff upon its end on the floor in order to pass it to one another while executing other elements. Before Fingon could teach them to pass the staff off as they spun it in their hands, he heard someone call his name.

He turned to see Ardim standing at the door of his office. There was a gymnast roughly his own age inside the office. As Fingon got closer, he recognized the occupant as someone he had competed against recently. It was not in the very last competition, but perhaps a year or two previously. “You wished to see me, sir?” he asked Ardim.

Ardim motioned into the office, and Fingon entered. He sat down next to the unknown gymnast when directed to and as Adrim sat down in his own seat. “Fingon, do you know Halkarinquë?”

“I think we might have met.” Fingon clasped Halkarinquë arm and asked, “Were you with the Empty Jug team?”

“Not for many years,” replied Halkarinquë. “I used to be; my father donates to the team. He runs a pub. I competed with One-two-three Jump until last year when my time ran out.”

“Ah. I know how that is,” answered Fingon.

“I am going to get right to the point,” Ardim assured Fingon. “I just hired Halkarinquë. He is going to be the new assistant coach.”

“I did not know there was another position open,” said Fingon, though he was fairly certain what was coming.

Ardim leaned back in his chair. “He is taking your position.”

Fingon said nothing, hoping he did not look overly shocked. Halkarinquë, on the other hand, looked mortified. “Oh... oh my... oh, I did not mean to—I did not know he was getting rid of you,” apologized Halkarinquë.

“I never said that,” interrupted Ardim. “Fingon, you have really impressed me with your change in attitude. I was seriously having doubts about you. I am glad you proved me wrong. In watching your work, I have determined that there is a place where you are better suited.”

“Where would that be?” asked Fingon cautiously.

“You are being promoted,” announced Ardim. “Congratulations. You are my new recruiter. You will canvas and test possible students. You will also attend competitions at the junior level to give us an advantage in knowing future potential students.”

“That sounds like a lot of traveling around,” said Fingon. “I would suppose that I would not be spending as much time at the gym.”

“Probably not,” Ardim admitted. “I think you would have to split your time between the gym and the recruiting, but I would not expect you to spend more than twenty percent of your hours here. Most of it will be on the road. I know that you are familiar with the different areas, so you seemed to be a good candidate.”

“Thank you,” said Fingon. “I appreciate your offer.”

“There is a ‘but’ attached to that,” prodded Ardim.

Fingon looked at the shelves of trophies with a sigh. “I really wanted to stick it out here and help the team earn a few of those,” he said with a nod toward the wall of awards. “But those are for them,” he said, his gaze turning toward the door that led to the gym. “My time here is done. I did my best, I tried as hard as I could, and now, I must move on. I do not belong here, as hard as I might try to fit in. It is not that I have somewhere else to go, but I know that I need to leave in order to find what I need.” Fingon reached for the chain around his neck, and as he lifted up the key, it was as if a weigh was lifted from him. “I am resigning, sir. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday.” He held out the key. It dangled and spun in front of him until Ardim reached forward and took the key in his palm. Fingon let go of the chain, and it spilled down. He stood up as soon as it was out of his grasp.

“It was a pleasure to work with you, Fingon,” said Ardim. “I hope you find what you are looking for,” he added as Fingon walked to the door.

“Thank you.” Fingon turned and nodded to Halkarinquë. “You are going to like it here. The work is hard, but so very rewarding. I am sorry we will not have the chance to work together.” He looked then to the coach and said, “I wish you luck at the competition this year, Ardim. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

As the door closed behind him, Fingon felt the lightness of his step. For once, he was free, and there was a definite happiness to him as he went to the shelf where his gear had been packed earlier. He gathered them up and hugged them to his chest as he took another look around the gym. There were some tumbling across the mat and others leaping and twirling from the bars. There was nowhere he would rather have been than on one of the apparatuses, but that was not what he would be offered anywhere. That time for him was gone. He did not know where the path before him would lead, but it would take him to a place that he needed to be.

He left the gym while humming a love song to himself, and smiled as he saw one of the young students in the outside practice yard where the younglings played. They were observed here to see which ones had the grace and ability to become professional gymnasts for the short time they were allowed. Fingon remembered the days when he was their age, and would scare his mother by climbing up the rope of the swing in order to reach the top of the set where the long post became his balance beam.

He loved the height, and somehow managed not to fall. When he was taken to his first tumbling lesson, he impressed his teachers by doing a back flip off of the top of the steps and landing on his feet. It became a weekly ritual, and then daily, and then he reached a point where he would train daily and stay for three months in the summer in order to more aggressively train.

When the money began to run out, the amount of training decreased, and he had switched gyms to one that was closer and less expensive. Then came the day he was recruited as a competitor. The hard work began to pay off as medals and trophies were won, and with them, the prize money that came with them. All of it had gone back to his parents, for they had been the ones to sacrifice when he had trained.

This did cause a small amount of hesitation for Fingon. He did not want to be a burden on his parents again, nor did he want to rely upon the generosity of his uncle. A plan began to formulate in his head as he recalled his own financial woes. As he walked away from the gym and toward the forest to meet with Nessa, he concocted in his mind a plan to become a freelance coach. If he did not have a gym to support, and did not have to pay for the costs of travel and uniforms and other such things, he could offer his services at a price affordable to talented future gymnasts who would not have the means to join a gym. He smiled to himself, happy to see the path before him taking shape.

---

During his walk back home that evening the same questions filled his head. He almost missed the horse that was tethered to the post by the side of the house, but doubled back. The blanket and saddle bore the crest of Feanor’s house, though the horse was one of his grandfather’s. A single horse meant a single visitor, and Fingon rushed inside to see if his presumption was true.

“About time you arrived!” Maedhros opened his arms as he stood up, and Fingon rushed into them. “I was getting worried that perhaps there was a monster in the forest that had taken to stealing elves. How are you?”

“Better now,” replied Fingon. He stepped back and caught the smirk on Maglor’s face. “This is unexpected,” he said. “Unexpected, but a wonderful surprise.”

Maedhros looked over his shoulder to his brother. “You did not tell him, did you?”

Fingon looked now, too, and saw that Maglor was packing things into various small boxes sitting on the dining table. “You are leaving. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Fingon, it has nothing to do with you,” said Maglor somewhat apologetically. “I found out that I am not cut out to be a public performer. I have no idea how you manage it,” he admitted. “Everyone looks at you, and comments, and some of them are not very good comments, either. I just want to go home.”

“Should we help you pack things up?” offered Fingon.

Maglor shook his head. “I have to do this myself so that I know where everything is,” he said. “Go with Maedhros. He was in the middle of making supper when you arrived.”

Fingon did so, and helped Maedhros prepare the meal while Maglor hummed to himself and boxed up the rest of his belongings. “Father said to tell you that you are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” said Maedhros as they carried the food from the kitchen to the dining room. “He does not want you to feel as if you do not have rights to stay.”

“Actually, I do not think I have any right to stay, considering what the terms of our agreement were.” Fingon smiled sheepishly and said, “I quit the team today. I… well, there is something else I have taken an interest in, but I am through with gymnastics.”

Maedhros looked surprised, but Maglor nodded knowingly. “I could tell you were unhappy there,” said the harper as he settled the boxes in a neat stack at the door. “You hardly smiled when you talked about it, when you did talk about it.”

“What is this new venture?” asked Maedhros.

Fingon sat down between his cousins and across from the chair that the cat was occupying. “Dancing.” He waited for the laughter, but there was none.

“With a group or something?” Maedhros ladled the soup into bowls for each of them. “I remember seeing some plays a few years ago that had groups of dancers in them.”

“Right now, I am just learning,” said Fingon. “I have an excellent teacher.”

“Uh-oh – what is it going to cost you?” asked Maedhros.

“Nothing.” Fingon chewed his lip, unsure of how much information he wanted to give anyone on who his teacher was. “Apparently, my talent is what she is most interested in.”

“She?” questioned Maedhros, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Maglor waved his hand at Maedhros. “You know he is devoted to you, Russandol. Most dance instructors are female; I would be more surprised – and more worried if I were you – if he had found a male teacher.”

“Good point.” Maedhros passed the plate of bread around the table. “When do we get to meet her?”

“I… I will have to ask her. She really prefers that the lessons be private so that I can focus on what I need to learn.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said Maedhros. “How long will it take for you to learn? Does she live around here?”

Fingon fidgeted, the questions from earlier popping into his head again. “I am unsure, and yes, she does. I need to find some sort of temporary occupation that will not conflict with my studies, and yet will allow me to repay my parents and your father.”

“You should talk to Finrod about that,” suggested Maglor. “He always needs scribes and runners for the library. He can never seem to keep any of them for very long; your penmanship is decent, and you are fast, so I cannot see how there would be a complaint against you.”

A spark of hope that perhaps everything would fall into place brought a smile to Fingon’s face. “I shall go to see him tomorrow. Will you come with me?” he asked Maedhros.

Maedhros shook his head. “I need to help little brother move his things back home. Technically, I should be at the forge, but father needed someone to come out here with him and he knew that I wanted to see you, so he made an exception. I am sure Finrod will be open to the idea. As I said, he can never seem to find anyone who is reliable.”

The rest of the discussion turned to Maglor’s brief adventure as a pub musician. Some of the anecdotes were hilarious, while others made Fingon shake his head or cause Maedhros to threaten harm upon the rude customers if ever he came across them. The night wore on, and Maglor offered a few songs. Fingon then impressed Maedhros with the harp skills that he had developed since coming to live at the lodge with his cousin.

“If dancing does not work for you, I think you might have a future as a harpist,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged. “I could never be as good as Maglor is.”

“No one can ever be as good as Maglor,” corrected Maedhros. Maglor rolled his eyes modestly. “Honestly, you are the best, Maglor.”

“If you say so,” he mumbled.

“I do, and so you shall have to deal with that.” Maedhros laughed as Maglor stuck his tongue out at him. “I think I am going to wash the dishes while the two of you ready for bed – unless one of you really wants to wash the plates.”

Neither Maglor nor Fingon took up Maedhros’ second offer, so as Maedhros cleared the table, Fingon went into the bedroom to fluff the pillow and figure out just how he and Maedhros were going to fit into the little bed together. The bed that Maedhros had at home was three times the size of the one Fingon was standing in front of – twice as wide, and half again as long. Fingon had some difficulty sleeping in this one, and had to draw his legs up in order to keep them from hanging off of the side.

Several minutes later, Fingon had readjusted the room, and now the chairs from the desk and the one that was next to the door were at the end of the bed to extend the length of the sleeping space. He changed out of his clothes including his undergarments and slipped into a loose pair of sleeping pants. While Maedhros was still out of the room, Fingon knelt beside the bed and prayed for guidance. He was still unsure of his decision, and while he searched his soul to try to find out if he was doing what he was meant to, he prayed for the safe return of his sister and cousin, realizing that until now he had been focused very much on his own needs and desires.

There was a soft ‘snick’ as the door to the room was closed, and a rustle of fabric as someone behind him took of their shirt. Fingon stayed knelt on the floor, somehow knowing that the position hurried Maedhros in joining him.

“I like this,” purred Maedhros into his lover’s ear as he lowered himself down behind him. Maedhros spread his legs so that he was knelt behind Fingon but up against him, his erection pressed to his lover’s backside. A hand slid around the naked torso and slipped down into the pants that had been left untied. Nothing more was said as Maedhros caressed the soft flesh to hardness, and began to stroke the stiff, slender column.

Maedhros’ free hand came up and tenderly caressed Fingon’s chest, and moved upward to his neck, until finally reaching his cheek. There was a little game Maedhros liked to play, and though it scared Fingon a little, it caused great excitement for him as well.

The hand upon his cheek moved over his mouth, fingers covering it, and then shifted up so that the thumb and fingers pressed against his nostrils as well. All air was cut off, and as Fingon fought not to pant so hard, Maedhros used his other hand to grip him harder. A few moments, and the hand drew away. Fingon gasped for air while Maedhros danced his fingers across Fingon’s cheek and loosened his grip with his other hand.

This would continue for the next few minutes. Fingon would manage to catch his breath, and then the hand would force him to hold it again. He could feel Maedhros behind him, hard flesh rocking against his back. Now the hand came over his mouth again, and held more firmly this time. “Come for me, Fingon. I am not going to let go until you do.”

Although Fingon was used to the alternation between soft and rough, Maedhros had never before tried this tactic. It scared Fingon, who now felt more than just the tightness in his chest and the lightheadedness that followed. He shivered and moaned quietly behind the hand that held him, and fought to take in air. Maedhros yet prevented him, and Fingon wondered if he would pass out.

He closed his eyes, his body relaxing, and felt the hand that stroked him more acutely than before. Behind him, Maedhros seemed closer, seemed to penetrate him though the thin layer of the fabric of Fingon’s pants still separated them. The room spun, became brighter, and Fingon cried out though it was muffled as he climaxed intensely, the ejaculate running down his leg.

He gasped audibly as the hand uncovered his mouth, and he leaned back with a sigh and was held upright in Maedhros’ embrace. He could feel now that the back of his pants were damp, a situation remedied by his lover as they were both stripped of their clothing. Water from the basin was used to wash them, and Maedhros crawled into bed beside Fingon, the two intertwining limbs and sleeping soundly until morning.

“Tell me what it is you do there exactly,” begged Elenwe. She was standing against the wall of the passageway, facing Turgon who was standing against the other side.

It was now a ritual for the pair to spend the time before and after the competitions chatting in the passage. Two weeks ago, it was Elenwe’s goal to take first place in the overall competition. Now her reason for coming to the meets was to see Turgon.

Turgon nodded to the group of ladies who headed into the passage and then began to explain his duties at the monastery. “Since they are charged with a vow of silence that means doing business can be rather difficult. It is my task to find buyers for their goods, and to do the actual negotiating and delivery. Also, someone needs to taste the vintages.”

“You get to taste all of the wine?” asked Elenwe, quite intrigued.

“Indeed. I need to know how things taste, so that I can sell them to the correct buyers. They take a vow of prohibitory behavior. No smoking, no drinking alcohol, no engaging in any unseemly activities.”

“Are they celibate, too?” wondered Elenwe.

Turgon nodded. “Although, taking up that lifestyle is very challenging in itself. Doing so and trying to raise a child at the same time would be more than one could handle.”

“I did not think it would have to be just for making babies,” laughed Elenwe.

There was an awkward pause before Turgon said, “Procreation, not recreation.”

“What?” Elenwe giggled. “Did you say what I think you said?”

“Procreation, not recreation,” he repeated. “There is a reason for doing certain things. You eat when you are hungry. You sleep when you are tired. You… do… that thing… when you want to have children.”

“What about—“ Elenwe waited until a coach and her team passed by before she asked, “What about pleasure?”

“What about it?” asked Turgon. “There are a lot of pleasurable things one can do without actually… doing that.”

Elenwe giggled again. “I think it is funny that you can talk about it, but you really cannot say it.”

“Procreation? I can say it,” disputed Turgon.

“No… I meant… you know.” Elenwe wiggled her eyebrows.

Turgon snorted. “You cannot say it, either.”

Elenwe considered this and grinned. “I guess you are right.”

“So, until we can comfortably say it, we should probably not do it,” he added.

“Now I know why my father liked you so much,” mused Elenwe.

“Your father talked about me? What did he say?” asked Turgon with great interest.

“He thinks quite highly of you, and was very glad that you came to ask him about me and tell him of your intentions. He has asked when you are going to be invited for dinner.”

“I am free tonight,” said Turgon readily.

Elenwe smiled.

---

The walk to the house of Elenwe’s father was not very far. She explained along the way that her family relocated nearer to the competition arena when her place with her team was solidified. “My sister still lives near the gym, of course, and I live with her, my brother-in-law, and my nephew when I am training. When I am competing, I reside here.”

The house was an adequate residence – there was a picket fence around it and chickens pecking their way through the yard. Turgon held the gate open for Elenwe when they reached it, and they proceeded immediately inside upon Elenwe’s insistence.

Within the house, Turgon was most impressed by how clean the place was. “This is a very lovely house,” he remarked honestly, looking at the winding staircase and the polished stained glass windows in the foyer.

“My mother spends all her time keeping it in immaculate condition. The first house we had was a little larger, on account of my sister and I. We used to make such a mess of things – just the usual things children do,” she added quickly as Turgon gave her an odd look.

Elenwe’s father was sitting in the foyer reading, and he closed his book as he stood up. “Good evening, daughter.” He placed a kiss on his youngest child’s head. “It is good to see you again,” he said to Turgon.

“Likewise, sir. I thank you and your wife for the invitation to dine with you,” he said. “Is that a crystal chandelier?” he asked as he looked up. The glass cast varied patterns of color about the ceiling.

“Indeed. Did my daughter not tell you my work? I am a glass sculptor. My specialty is blown glass, but now and then I do a little glass cutting. The windows are my creation as well,” he said, and he showed Turgon around the house, pointing out all of the things which he had made. “Dinner will be ready soon; my wife is in the kitchen preparing it.”

“The kitchen is on the second floor,” explained Elenwe. “That way, our dining room is located on the porch, and we can eat outside.”

Turgon sat down in the foyer with Elenwe’s father, and talked of politics and the building of houses and other such things that ellon would discuss. Elenwe quietly went upstairs to help her mother, and when she came down again to announce that dinner would be served, she overheard conversation between her father and Turgon. They were discussing the sort of windows that would be suitable in whatever home Turgon built for himself, Elenwe, and their future children. Elenwe tried hard not to smirk at the knowledge she had when she entered the room to retrieve them.

--

Following dinner, Elenwe’s parents retired for the evening and left their daughter and her suitor in the foyer. There was a pot of tea steeping and a tray of biscuits sitting on the table. Neither of them seemed at all interested in them, for they were much more interested in each other.

For a while, they tried to be very proper, but eventually they found ways to move closer and closer, so that now they were sitting so close that Turgon was able to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair behind Elenwe’s ear.

“We could keep talking about my career and your career,” said Elenwe when they hit a lull and decided to pour the tea, “or, we could...”

“We could,” agreed Turgon. He settled his elbow on the back of the couch and rested his head on his hand. “We could indulge ourselves a little, if you think your parents will not walk in on us.”

“My mother purposely told me that she and father were going to turn in early, and that we should not worry about them disturbing us.” Elenwe leaned forward and said, “Would you like to indulge yourself a little? I was a bit worried that you might want to uphold your morals.”

“What morals? Oh... the... right.” Turgon nodded. “Getting to that point this evening would be improper. Doing everything but...” He smiled shamelessly. “Shall we?” he asked as he slid his hand through her hair.

Their first kisses were soft and tentative as they tested the water. They became more coarse and needy, until they were wrapped around one another. Elenwe sat in Turgon’s lap, snuggled close against him. His hands slid up and down her back while hers dug into his hair as they kissed, full open-mouthed and hungry for one another.

When Turgon’s hands moved to caress her breasts, Elenwe moaned and pulled back. She wrapped her hands around his and panted. “I think we should stop there for the night.”

“We had better, or we might not.” Turgon’s arms went limp and Elenwe let go of them. “When can I see you again?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds lovely.” They kissed twice more, and Turgon stroked Elenwe’s hair back. “I should go now.”

“Yes, I suppose you should.” Elenwe walked Turgon to the door. “We forgot about the tea,” she said as they reached the doorway.”

“I could come back in, but it is getting late. I do not want your father to think ill of me,” said Turgon. “Besides, we will have many chances for tea in the future.”

“Will we?”

“Oh, yes.” Turgon took hold of Elenwe’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I adore tea time. Not as much as I adore you, but it is among my favorite things. I foresee many teatimes in our future – especially once we are married,” he informed her matter-of-factly before leaving her smiling at the door.

There was one beast in the forest that eluded Elf and Vala alike, and some claimed he was actually a maia in the form of a stag. He was silver, his entire coat gleaming in the light of either tree, and his appearance often foretold of good fortune or a blessed harvest.

The moment that Celegorm spotted him, he had been obsessed with the idea of being the one to fell the stag. Now and then on hunting trips, a glimpse might be seen of the magnificent creature, but if one gave chase they would be eluded. Fleet-foot, he was called by some, and Forest-prince by others. Very few times had anyone been able to even have the time to shoot and arrow in the direction of the deer before he darted off.

Now Celegorm and Aredhel traveled through the part of Orome’s woods where the stag was known to live. Although winter had only begun and the cold was not noticeable, it was obvious to both of them that they were not prepared to weather the season with what few provisions they had. Neither wished to discuss their next move, but it was becoming inevitable.

They spent most of the morning simply hiking. Movement left little time for talking. Talking would only lead their adventure to an end. A stumble made them silently change their course so that they now traveled in the direction of a pond that would offer refreshment and respite.

While they crouched down at the edge of the water, Aredhel finally broke the silence. “Eventually, we will need to return.”

Celegorm washed the dirt from his arms, but said nothing.

“I know you want to stay out here – and, I admit, I am enjoying this as well – but realistically we cannot keep hiding forever. Nor would I want to.” Aredhel sighed. “I miss my brothers, and my parents, and my cousins – you must miss everyone, too.”

Celegorm shrugged. “I have not been lonely because I have you with me.”

Aredhel opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, her mouth continued to hang open, and she suddenly gripped Celegorm’s arm. “Look. To your left. Look!”

The reflection in the water had alerted Aredhel of the fact they were not alone, but until Celegorm turned he did not see what his cousin had. Standing beside them, as if they were not even present, was the silver stag. He had lowered himself down to drink, and lifted his muzzle from the water when the pair of elves stopped talking.

Aredhel was on Celegorm’s right, and she reached around him with her hand. The deer flinched immediately, but then curiously sniffed at the hand held out to him. A tentative tongue flicked out, and licked at Aredhel’s hand in search of salt.

“He is beautiful. I cannot believe we are so close for once!” Aredhel practically squealed.

Celegorm had been frozen in place, but now that the idea of their proximity and the opportunity presented collided in his brain, his hand reached for his belt. His knife would have been there, had he not dropped it in another part of the forest when fighting the wolves. A sharp object on the ground caught his attention, and he slowly picked up the pointed rock and positioned it in his hand, unseen by Aredhel.

Then Celegorm lunged, and thought he caught the deer off guard. At the last moment, the deer dodged, and in the confusion, Celegorm fell forward. His hands scraped against the rough ground, and when he tried to stand up, the stag made sure he could not pursue by knocking the elf over and trampling across him.

“Celegorm!” Aredhel had miraculously managed to stay just out of the reach of the deer. She knelt down beside her cousin and looked him over. When she saw the blood seeping into the cloth around his torso, she whimpered. “He hurt you badly! Celegorm, why did you do such a stupid thing?”

Unable to get up or to answer, Celegorm only groaned.

“Stay right here,” instructed Aredhel. “I am going to get help.” She stood up and looked around to get her bearings. There was a hunting lodge that her uncle owned, just to the south of where they were. If she was lucky, someone would be there, and if not, there were a few other residences nearby.

Her feet took her swiftly from the spot where Celegorm was left. She soon found her way to the well-traveled path that would lead to the lodge. As she ran, the forest became a blur before her, the bark, dirt, and dead leaves on the ground all blending into one dull brown color.

Ahead, something caught her eye. Amid the dreariness was a sudden shock of color, and she slowed to see a fire burning. Aredhel fought through the bushes and densely grown trees in her path to reach the spot, thinking a fire to mean a hunting party.

When she reached the clearing, she found an unexpected sight: Her brother Fingon, wearing a pair of tight leggings he often used when practicing gymnastics, was dancing in the forest. What was more, there was a Valier perched in a tree encouraging him. For a moment, Aredhel thought she was hallucinating. When she came to her senses, she shouted for her brother. “Fingon!”

The silence of the dance was broken, and Fingon stumbled forward and opened his eyes. He did not expect to see his sister, or anyone for that matter, looking back at him. “Aredhel – where have you been?” Fingon ran to his sister and hugged her tightly. “Are you alright? Where have you been? Where is Celegorm?”

“He is hurt,” she said, and then began to sob in her brother’s arms. “There was a deer – that stag, the one he is always saying he shall capture. It attacked him; Celegorm is bleeding. I do not know what to do!”

“Shh, it is alright. How far away is he?” asked Fingon as he looked around and saw that the fire was extinguished. What was more, Nessa was gone.

“Just over yonder, not far, a brisk walk of an hour or perhaps a little more,” she sniffled.

Fingon nodded. “We are not far from uncle’s lodge; I have supplies there to help him. We will go there, and you shall take my horse and ride to grandfather’s house for help. I will return to Celegorm and do what I can.”

The siblings made their way to the small house, and after Fingon gathered the supplies he needed, he sent his sister on her way. Then, he returned to the woods and walked as fast as he could toward his destination.

When he found his cousin, Celegorm had managed to crawl to a tree and prop himself up against it. His breathing was weak and his skin cool to the touch. “Where is Aredhel?” he demanded as Fingon covered him with a blanket he had brought and laid out the supplies he had with him.

“I sent her to bring grandfather. He will better know what to do.” Fingon tore away the bloodied shirt and assessed the wound. “I need to find some athelas. I will return shortly.” He draped the blanket back over his cousin and wandered off into the woods to find what he needed.

A short time later, he returned, and found Celegorm had fallen asleep. “All for the best,” he said quietly as he pulled back the blanket and began to apply a hastily made poultice to the wound. A bandage was secured over it, and then he covered Celegorm again with the blanket and waited for help to arrive.

It was well over an hour before anyone showed up. The light of Laurelin was already fading, and Telperion was taking over the duties of lighting the skies. Finwe rode at the head of the party, and with him were Feanor and Fingolfin, and also Aegnor, who had happened to be at Finwe’s house when Aredhel suddenly appeared.

Fingolfin leaped from his horse first, and approached menacingly. Before he could reach Celegorm, who was stirring slightly, Fingon blocked his father’s path. “He is injured,” said Fingon calmly as he stood in his father’s way.

“He is going to be more than injured when I finish with him,” warned Fingolfin. “Stand back.”

“Leave him alone!” Fingon surprised even himself with the ferocity of his voice. He swallowed hard as his father stepped back. “Can you not see how badly wounded he is?”

Celegorm mumbled something, and while Finwe motioned for his second eldest son to keep a little further way, Fingon bent down and asked his cousin, “What did you say?”

“I said,” announced Celegorm so that everyone could hear without question, “I can defend myself. I do not need you to do it for me.” To emphasize this point, Celegorm weakly shoved Fingon away.

Feanor stepped forward and couched down on the other side of his son. “Enough of your childishness for one day, Celegorm. Your cousin just saved your life, and your repayment is abhorrent.” A sled was brought forth and tied between two of the horses, though Celegorm fussed to be put upon it. “So help me, I will knock you unconscious myself if you continue your behavior,” Feanor warned.

These words silenced Celegorm, but did not stop the odious glare he gave to his cousin. Feanor patted Fingon on the shoulder as he passed him, and then the party set on their way back for Finwe’s house.

“I thought you might want a ride back,” offered Aegnor as he motioned to the empty part of his saddle. “You know he does not really mean it,” added his cousin in regards to Celegorm’s behavior.

“He might,” said Fingon. He declined the offer, and walked back alongside Aegnor’s horse until they reached their grandfather’s house. The rest of the Feanorians had arrived by then, and an argument between the various members of the family could be heard even outside of the house.

Turgon greeted them on the porch. “Father is in one of his moods,” he warned.

“When is he not in a mood?” whispered Fingon back. “Where is Aredhel?”

“Mother took her back home upon father’s instruction. He is livid about what happened, whatever that is. Neither of them will speak a word of it.” Turgon chuckled. “Our family is such a mess. I am so glad I am the normal one.”

“You are the normal one? What about me?” wondered Aegnor.

“I meant of my immediate family. No offense,” said Turgon, “but I have a sister who acts like a brother, a brother who acts like a sister, and a little brother who keeps getting lost and refuses to learn how to talk. How strange is that?”

“Very,” agreed Fingon with a slight glare. “Good thing you are so normal, to help balance the rest of us.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Turgon as the shouting match inside continued.

It was hard to tell if it was night or day in Valinor, if you could not see the sky. The stars shone brighter in the evening, while the clouds could be better seen in the light of day. Celegorm had his windows closed and the shades drawn. He had not slept since returning, despite the healer’s warning. In fact, he continued to poke at the bandages so that his wounds had yet to begin to scab over and fresh blood was still found on the bandages when they were changed.

“Celegorm, dear, you must stop touching them,” explained his mother hours earlier when she came to check on him.

“Why? Who cares if I heal or not?” he had pushed at the skin surrounding the gash, and blood and puss oozed out.

“Tell him if he does not leave it be, I will have his hands and feet tied to the posts to keep him from disrupting it,” announced his father from the doorway.

It was hard to tell whether or not his father would do as he promised, but Celegorm did not want to find out. He resisted the urge to prod his wounds when he saw the door open across the room.

His guest was not whom he expected, and he turned his head away to face the wall. “Leave me alone, Fingon.”

Fingon quietly shut the door behind him. “I know I am not your first choice of visitors, but Aredhel asked me to come.”

At the sound of his beloved Aredhel’s name, Celegorm looked back to her brother. “What do you want?” He asked maliciously, but was deeply interested in the answer.

The attitude did not deter Fingon as he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. “She wished that I come to tell you that father has sent her to stay at the forest inn for the winter. Artanis is going with her. They are to be there to, well, to keep them from having all of us as bad influences.”

“All of us?” Celegorm snorted. “They mean me.”

“They mean all of us,” corrected Fingon. “It was decided that both of them need some time away from here, in a place where there are more people their own age and have similar interests—“

“No,” argued Celegorm. He sat up slightly so that he could look at Fingon instead of up at him. “If they wanted the two of them around others with similar interests, they would keep them here. It is because of our interests and their interests in those interests that they have been sent away.” Celegorm lowered himself back down again with a grunt. “Aredhel and Artanis are not ‘ladylike’ enough for our parents. I just hope they do not come back boring, whiny, prissy girls.”

“Somehow, I doubt a few months will do that,” said Fingon. “Anyhow, Aredhel asked for me to come and give you these,” he said, handing a stack of letters to Celegorm. “She dated them; you are not supposed to open them all at once, though she said you would be tempted to do so. She knew that it would be difficult to get mail through from the inn with the weather the way it is, so she just wrote these over the last few nights.”

Celegorm looked at the stack he held and began to tuck them under his pillow. He brought them out again, shuffled through and found the one that had the current date, and then hid the rest. “Thank you, Fingon.”

“You are welcome.” He stood and placed the chair back where he had found it. “I suppose that you would like me to leave so that you can read the letter in peace.”

“I suppose you would rather go see my brother than sit and spend time with me, anyhow.” Celegorm broke the seal on the letter, and then looked up to see that Fingon was still standing there. “What?”

“I am sorry,” said Fingon simply.

Celegorm gave a shrug against his pillow. “If I were you, I would rather go see my brother, too, I guess. Though I cannot understand why,” he mumbled to himself.

“No, I meant… nevermind.” Fingon turned around, and heard the sheets rustle as Celegorm sat up.

“Fingon, what are you apologizing for?”

After a hesitant moment, Fingon turned around. “If I tell you, you will probably be upset.”

Celegorm looked interested – so much so, that the letter was now in his lap instead of held out before him. “Tell me,” he demanded, though not very loud.

Fingon sighed. “I… feel bad for you. I feel like things should be better for you. I hear the way that your father talks to you, and I hear stories of things that your brothers have done, and… I feel sorry for you.”

“You pity me?” spat out Celegorm.

“Not pity,” Fingon said quickly as he heard Celegorm growl. “I… I just feel bad.”

“You should not,” answered Celegorm quickly. Then he laughed. “How absurd,” he mused. “I have always…” He shook his head.

“What?” asked Fingon, the curious one now.

“I have always pitied you,” said Celegorm. He shook his head again. “How strange.”

The conversation might have continued, except for Maedhros’ sudden appearance at the door. “There you are. Father said you had arrived, but I could not find you.”

“I just had to make a delivery. Letters from Aredhel,” Fingon explained as Maedhros ushered him from the room.

Celegorm waited until the door was closed again and unfolded the letter. He smiled as he read it over and over, delighting in every word. There was a knock on the door, and quickly, he hid the letter he had been reading as Turgon stepped in. “Why did you bother to knock if you were just going to come in here?”

“Why did you bother to keep your door unlocked if you did not want people to come in?” Turgon walked over toward the bed and dragged over the chair his brother had been sitting in earlier. “Your mother said you were having trouble sleeping.” There was a bottle in his hand and now Turgon pulled a corkscrew from his pocket.

“What business is it of yours?”

“I thought we could have a drink together.” Turgon steadied the bottle between his legs and twisted the screw into the cork. “I know you are not in the best spirits, and sometimes these spirits can help.” The cork sprang off and hit the wall, causing Celegorm to curse at him. “Do not worry. I have yet to put a hole into a wall.”

Celegorm took hold of the bottle that was held out to him and took a swig. “You do know that I am going to drink all of this myself,” he said as he held the bottle close to his chest.

“Yes, I had a feeling that was going to be the case. I have two bottles downstairs for the rest of us to have with dinner, and another for you as well.” Turgon turned the chair around so that he could prop his arms on the back of it. “Did you have a good time?”

“Hmm?” Celegorm slogged down half the bottle before he answered. “Sure. I guess. It would have been nice if it had been longer. You know, there was one day when you almost found us.”

“Did I?”

“You were hunting with a bunch of other people, and you looked up into the tree we were in. You said something about a strange bird, and we thought you had seen us.”

“Oh.” Turgon nodded. “Right, I remember that. Funny, I did not realize you had stayed so close.”

“We went all the way out to sea with the Teleri.” Celegorm took another long drink. “But, we came back again. We should have stayed at sea.”

“You would have come back eventually,” reasoned Turgon. “I wish I could have gone with you,” he said wistfully.

“Really?” questioned Celegorm incredulously.

“Absolutely,” Turgon replied. “I have always wanted to, you know, run away. Hide for a while.” He smirked. “Go somewhere that no one could find me.”

Celegorm laughed and finished the rest of the bottle. “Turgon, I have no doubt, that if you were ever to go into hiding, you are the only one among us able to hold his tongue and keep from making a stupid mistake that would lead you to being discovered.”

“Yes, I do believe you are right about that,” Turgon agreed. “I can be quite sneaky when I want to be. Speaking of which,” he added as Celegorm finished the rest of the liquor, “I added a sleeping potion to that.”

“I know.” Celegorm titled his head back and slurped the remaining drops from the bottle. “This stuff is too good for me to care.”

Turgon leaned in and took hold of the empty bottle. “Sleep well.”

“Mmmhmm.” Celegorm’s eyes were drooping already as he watched Turgon push the chair back into place and leave the room. He licked his lips, making sure to get the rest of the Airenen he might have missed. Drowsy was an understatement as he reached under the pillow and pulled out the letter. The words were blurry, but somehow he managed to read through them once more before his eyes closed. He fell asleep with one arm dangling off the side of the bed, and in it, the letter from his love.

Airenen was a wonderful liquor -- it was the only one that could be overindulged in without the terrible aftereffects that most had. Instead of causing headaches and stomach cramps, there was only a little haze, but a pleasant one. The sound of Nerdanel calling up to her son was not as upsetting as it might have been if he had downed a liter of brandy instead of Airenen. “Coming, coming,” he mumbled as he pushed back the blankets. He lifted the bandage on his torso and found that the wound had healed over nicely, despite his picking at it over the past week. The skin was nicely pink around it, no longer red and swollen, and the scab that had formed looked as if it would hold.

Celegorm tumbled out of bed and snorted as he recalled the dreams he had had under the influence of the Airenen. His pants were a bit of a challenge, as he could not seem to find the holes. As soon as he figured out that he was attempting to put his legs into a shirt, things got much better.

He stumbled on the stairs, but managed to find the floor. His mother gave him one look up and down and shook her head. “Turgon promised me that you had not had the entire bottle.”

“He lied,” said Celegorm flippantly as he dumped himself into a chair. “What do you need, mother dear?”

Nerdanel gave Celegorm another hard look and then opened up the front door. “I need to go to the market. Everyone else is either off hunting or watching Fingon at the competition. You need to watch your brothers.”

“Which ones?”

“The Ambarussas – which others would need watching?” questioned Nerdanel back.

“I think all of them, depending. Maybe not Maglor,” rescinded Celegorm as Nerdanel wrapped a shall around her shoulders. “Maglor seems pretty able to watch himself. Even so… where are you going?” he asked as his mother exited the house.

“To the market,” she reminded him. “Your brothers are in the other room. Keep an eye on them. An eye on each,” she said when Celegorm squinted one of his eyes shut. For a moment, she reconsidered her decision to have him watch the two youngest, but decided that any danger that might be around was not very great, and that even in his state Celegorm could handle the task. As soon as the door was shut behind her, the pair of red headed twins ran up to Celegorm from the sitting room and stood before him.

“Are both of you here, or am I seeing double?” he asked, quite serious.

“We want to go outside and play,” announced one of them.

The other bottle that Turgon had left was sitting on a desk in the hall, and Celegorm reached for it. It took three tries to actually grasp it. “Sure,” replied Celegorm. “Do you know where the uncorker is for this?” he asked. He waved the bottle in front of them by the neck.

“Mother said not to let you have that,” they said in unison.

Celegorm did not look very amused. “Do you want to go outside or not?” The corkscrew was in his hands in less than a minute. “Good boys,” he said as he opened the door and allowed them to scamper down the stairs into the yard. He soon followed, and dropped down onto the bottom step with his bottle and the corkscrew. His inability to remove the cork as his brothers chased one another and played their games eventually led to him rolling the bottle under the porch for later. As an afterthought, he tossed the corkscrew underneath as well.

“Come play with us!” insisted the elder twin.

“Play ‘Competition’ with us!” called out the other. “You can be Fingon!”

“Ugh, no.” Celegorm yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Wait... Fingon is too old to compete,” Celegorm belatedly recalled. “How can everyone be off watching him?”

“He dances now,” informed the younger twin. The elder gave a twirl.

“Oh, no. No, stop that. ‘Competition’ is a horrible game,” he told them. “Fingon is a horrible person,” he added without any thought of self-censorship. “Play something else.”

“We can play ‘Valar’!” announced the twins in unison. “You can be Orome because you have a dog!”

“Maybe later,” said Celegorm as he lay down across the bottom step. “Tired now.”

“Awww.” The younger one pouted until he saw Celegorm’s eyes close. He motioned for his twin to follow him, and the pair cautiously approached their older brother.

The elder poked Celegorm’s shoulder. He only snorted and made some sort of indiscernible noise in his sleep. Then they lifted up his eyelids, one after the other, and looked at the glassy, blank stare for a moment before they giggled and scampered off in the direction of the woods. A few times they would stop and check to make sure they were not being pursued, but finally, they slipped beneath the bows of a tree and entered into the vast woods.

Under their bare feet, the light dusting of snow was scattered as they played a game of tag with one another. The breeze diminished here with the protection of the trees around them. They had no perception of how far they had ventured into the forest, which meant that they just continued to scamper further from their grandfather’s house and further into the unknown.

Despite the constant light of the two trees keeping Valinor bright at all times, the shadows were deepening, darkening, and closing in on the twins. Too caught up in the mirth of the expedition, neither of them noticed that they had reached a point where the winds had picked up and the trees were grown close together, in order to comfort each other.

When the sudden realization came to them both that they were much further in than they wished to be, they turned around, only to find that they were being watched.

Standing in their path was Melkor, a long, dark cape drawn closed and draping down from his shoulders. There was a pack of wolves gathered around him, though they appeared to bring no menace. In fact, they were quite calm, and the leader of the pack was leaned against Melkor, grinning happily, as he was scratched behind his ears.

Melkor held the gaze of the twins, who were frozen in place, for some time before saying to them, “Did your parents never warn you not to enter the forest alone? It can be a very menacing place for little boys. There are things here which you may not want to see.” As Melkor delivered this last line, he reached behind his neck to draw up the hood of his dark cape so that it covered his head.

Sensing the grave danger they were in, the twins ran as fast as they could from the tall hooded figure, saying nothing ever of their encounter to anyone.