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.
