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.
