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.
