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.
Story Notes:
2008 NaNoWriMo