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“ – Angaráto will be spending Christmas with her family, so I think one could make a reasonable argument for them staying a little longer with us, especially if we offer to cover the cost of the flight change fee. Do you think – ”

“Dad,” said Finrod, laying down the plate to hide his shaking hands. “I wanted you to know that I’m seeing someone.”

It seemed to take a moment for this to intercept Finarfin’s train of thought. “Sorry, sweetheart, what are you seeing?”

“Not what,” said Finrod, holding the dishtowel very carefully. “Who. Whom. I am seeing.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m not being very coherent. I wanted to let you know I’m dating someone.”

“Oh!” Finarfin looked surprised, and then pleased. “Goodness, you did keep that news close, didn’t you? How long has this been going on?”

“A while,” said Finrod, wincing slightly as Finarfin looked even more surprised. “Several…several months. I just wanted to make sure of things, before I told you.”

“I understand,” said Finarfin slowly. “Certainly, I can understand wanting to feel secure, I suppose, in a relationship, before sharing the news too widely. Still, you know you can always tell us such things and we won’t hold you to them as permanent life installaments. I like to hear about your life, and I don’t need you to be coming to us for your grandmother’s engagement ring before you do!” He laid a hand on Finrod’s shoulder, then removed it quickly as he saw he’d gotten suds on Finrod’s collar. “That was a joke,” he said gently. “I won’t object to the rest of my children taking things slower than our Ango. But come, tell me about her! Who is this lady you’ve been seeing? Not Amarië, I assume, however your mother professes her wish that you’d get back together.”

“No, not Amarië,” said Finrod, flushing, and then forced his voice even. “In fact, he’s not a lady at all.”

“Ah, yes, forgive my presumption.” Finarfin dried his hands and retrieved the dishtowel from Finrod to start on the pile of drying dishes. “Tell me about him, then.”

“You know him, actually.” Finrod took a deep breath. “Curufinwë.”

Finarfin paused, and for a moment a look of profound confusion crossed his face. “Curu – Not – ”

“Curufin. Ah. Fëanáro’s son.” Finrod looked down at his hands, and he could feel his cheeks burning, unsure why he was so intensely anxious.

“Oh.” Finarfin was very still.

“He’s – We’ve been together a while now,” said Finrod softly, afraid to look at his father. “We’re… I’m very happy with him.”

“Isn’t he quite young?” Finarfin sounded vaguely bewildered.

“He’s a sophomore at Beleriand. He’s younger than me, yes, but he’s very mature, very smart – brilliant, really.”

“Of course he is,” murmured Finarfin. “Fëanáro’s son, after all…” He leaned against the counter, looking thoughtfully off into the distance, apparently turning this over in his head, and Finrod shuffled his feet. At last Finarfin pulled himself up with a start and looked back at his pale face. “Oh, Ingoldo, I am sorry, don’t look so nervous!” He wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him close. “No, no, I was only processing, not judging or doubting, no fear. It took me by surprise, but then, I can always consult with my brother for advice on one’s child dating a step cousin.” He smiled, and Finrod smiled shakily back at him. “Thank you for telling me, darling. Please, tell me more about this Curufinwë of yours. What is he studying? What work does he hope to do? Is he good to you?”

“Yes,” said Finrod, and then passed a hand over his face, laughing faintly. “I’m sorry, give me a moment. I don’t know why I was so nervous to tell you this, but I built it up in my head and now I am all…flustered.”

“I understand,” said Finarfin, squeezing his shoulders once more and then turning back to the sink. “Sharing something close and precious is rather a leap of faith, isn’t it? There is always the risk that extending the knowledge of it to someone else will somehow mar that secret, precious thing, and make it less so. A daunting prospect, no?”

“Yes,” said Finrod, and settled back into his place at his father’s side as he retrieved the drying cloth. “But one must weigh against it the relief of sharing it with someone loving and understanding, who makes one glad that one chanced it.”

“High risk, high reward,” said Finarfin, and handed Finrod a crystal wine glass before kissing him lightly on the forehead. “The best things are.”

* * *

Thursday, Thanksgiving Day

Across town

From the moment Oromë had tentatively suggested it, Celegorm had displayed only brash enthusiasm towards going to Nessa’s for Thanksgiving. He had not let himself think beyond the basics, ignoring Curufin’s comments as best he could and thinking only of the relief of not having to go home for the holiday. It was his “stubborn pigheaded avoidance”, as Curufin called it, that let him get all the way to Thursday without once thinking about the implications.

And so it wasn’t until they were standing outside Nessa’s front door and Oromë was ringing the doorbell, that Celegorm let himself remember the person Oromë’s sister had married. He didn’t give a shit, he told himself; it was a coincidence and ancient history, and why should he mind, anyway? But now, as a jovial voice called from inside the house, memory flashed through him at the speed of light.

The barrel-chested police officer standing at their door; the glint of the handcuffs at his hip. Curufin, trembling under his arm as Celegorm held him tightly to keep him from running to their father’s side. Maedhros standing on the stairs, his face white and his hands tight; Maglor not watching any of it, leaning against the bannister with his eyes squeezed shut. Caranthir cursing under his breath as the twins pulled on his shirt and demanded to know what was going on. Nerdanel standing between them and the front entryway, her hands on her hips and her head high, and Celegorm's profound relief at the strength in her shoulders.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she had told them, when the knock at the door came, and they had clung to her assurance even when they didn’t quite believe it.

Oromë glanced down at him. “Tyelko?”

They had stayed like that, frozen behind Nerdanel’s strong back, until the door closed again and the car had driven away. Then Curufin had shuddered so hard in Celegorm’s arms that Celegorm thought he might collapse, and then he had pulled away from Celegorm and been sick all over the floor.

And now the police officer who’d arrested his father that day was standing before him, smiling and cheerful in a loud sweater, his ruddy face almost a match for his ginger hair.

Tulkas held out his arms, beaming at Oromë. “Brother!”

"Tulkas."

Celegorm stood still on the step as Tulkas and Oromë embraced, Tulkas clapping Oromë on the back and letting out a booming laugh. “Come in! Come in, and introduce me!”

We’ve met, Celegorm almost said, but of course, Tulkas wouldn’t have seen him that day, four years ago.

I told you so, Curufin’s voice murmured in his head. I told you that you should have just come home with us. But you were too stubborn, weren’t you?

Celegorm almost broke and ran, but then Oromë was wrapping a strong arm around his waist and his familiar touch brought Celegorm back from the edge of panicked memory. Rooting himself against Oromë’s side, he shook himself and smiled.

“Hey,” he said easily, reaching to clasp Tulkas’ hand. He hesitated just a moment before saying, “I’m Tyelkormo. Good to meet you.”

Oromë must have sensed some of his inner tension, because he kept a hand on the small of Celegorm’s back as they went into the house, which was rich with the smells of a cooking meal.

“You okay?” Oromë murmured, as Tulkas strode ahead, calling out to Nessa. “You look pale.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Celegorm took a deep breath, steadying himself with his palm braced flat to an end table.

Oromë put both hands on his waist, looking down at him and studying his face. “We didn’t talk about the fact that my brother-in-law was involved in your father’s case, did we?” he said softly. “We should have. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But Celegorm closed his eyes and rested his forehead briefly against Oromë’s shoulder. He tried to let Oromë’s familiar warmth, the scent of his aftershave, and the solidness of his hands soothe the racket from his brain.

Get the fuck over it, why don’t you?

Oromë raised a hand to touch Celegorm’s cheek, and then to tilt his chin up. “What do you say, baby? You going to be okay?”

“ ‘Course.” Celegorm opened his eyes and tried to smile. “You know me.”

Oromë bent down to kiss him, and someone cleared their throat. They looked up, and Nessa was standing in the living room doorway, her arms folded, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oromë,” she said. “Would you care to bring your partner into the kitchen for a drink?”

“Or we could just let ‘em make out in the living room,” said Tulkas appearing at her side with two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, and winking.

Oromë looked embarrassed, but Celegorm laughed. “I’ll take you up on the offer when we know each other better,” he said, dropping into easy jocularity and shoving everything else down. “But for now I’ll try and be a good house guest and take you up on that drink you mentioned.” He pulled away from Oromë, and Tulkas gestured to him.

“Come on, then!” Tulkas was not a tall man – Nessa had several inches on him – but he was a big one, and his sweater strained to contain the broad expanse of his belly as he draped a companionable arm over Celegorm’s shoulders. “Oh hang on, weren’t you two bringing some fresh-killed critters of some kind?”

“There’s a rabbit dressed and ready to go,” said Oromë, looking around for the cooler he had set down. “But I talked Tyelkormo out of bringing the raccoon he bagged.”

“There’s good eating on those,” Celegorm put in. “Rich and fatty and – ”

“ – too big to fit in the cooler,” said Oromë. He murmured to Nessa as they all came into the kitchen, “You’re welcome for me letting you dodge that one.”

“Oh, I’ve cooked raccoon in this oven before,” said Nessa unconcernedly. “Remember that summer you were twenty six?”

“Honestly? No. Between the concussions and the partying, all of ‘02 is kind of a blur.”

“That explains why you went hunting in the vacant lot and came back with what you told me was a ‘proto-bear’.”

“Listen, morphologically speaking I wasn’t far off.”

Tulkas shook his head, chuckling, and nudged Celegorm. “When they break out the reminiscing, it’s time to start drinking. You want wine or brandy?”

Celegorm swung himself into a chair. “You wouldn’t happen to have whiskey, would you?”

“Of course! Hang on, Oromë, is he old enough to drink?”

Oromë made a pained noise and Celegorm grinned. “Don’t worry, Chief, I may be only seventeen but I’ve got a convincing fake ID.”

“Oromë, you are a sick man.” Tulkas laughed as he poured Celegorm a generous tumbler of whiskey, and Oromë leaned against the counter next to Nessa, shaking his head.

“This was your idea,” he murmured, watching as Celegorm and Tulkas clinked glasses, but he was half smiling.

“How better to welcome him to the family?” Nessa nudged him and handed him a baster. “Now help me keep the turkey from drying out.”

Oromë did as he was told, and Celegorm laughed with Tulkas and drank deeply and began the work of forging a new memory to replace the old.

Chapter End Notes

1. Happy Thanksgiving to my American turkeys! I am supposed to run my own Turkey Trot today and it is forecast to be 14 degrees and snowing, so I am looking forward to four miles of freezing my giblets off. Wish me luck! Still, this time last year we were without power or running water and ate Thanksgiving dinner in the Indian restaurant downtown, so on the whole this year is better.

Chilling in the dark

Chapter Summary

Good news, hard conversations at ice rinks and on couches, Curufin meets the fuse box, a peek at dwarvish brewing practices, and a mean cliffhanger.

Chapter Notes

0. Warnings: The first scene has smoochiness and insinuations, but nothing explicit. Second scene discusses alcohol abuse. Fourth scene depicts some cheerful alcohol consumption by characters NOT in the second scene. And that is your warnings forecast, folks.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

1.

Fingon stepped into the dark apartment, shivering as he pulled his keys from the lock.

“Goddamn, it’s cold,” he muttered, as he slipped out of his jacket and crossed to the thermostat to check the temperature. He turned it on and gave a sigh of relief as the furnace rumbled on and warm air began to rush from the vents. Dragging a hand through his hair and undoing the top button of his shirt, he sat down tiredly at the kitchen table, not bothering to turn on the lights. He bent down to take off his shoes, then kicked them across the room and laid his head down on his folded arms, closing his eyes. He knew he should start getting dinner together, or at least call in a take-out order, but he couldn’t drag himself out of his chair yet.

It had been another long day.

The lights were still out by the time the furnace kicked off, leaving the house warm and silent but for the ticking of the clock and the faint dripping of the tap that Fingon had been meaning to fix for a month now. Then the silence was broken by a jingle of keys and the sound of the door opening with a blast of cool air as Maedhros came in, unwinding his scarf from his throat and dropping his bag to the ground.

“Finno! Findekáno, are you home?” He sounded breathless and excited, a tone Fingon hadn’t heard in his voice since he couldn’t remember when.

Fingon raised his head, blinking his vision clear. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Why are the lights out? Were you asleep?” Maedhros clicked on the overhead light, and Fingon could see at once that his face was shining. “Oh, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Fingon stretched and yawned, and looked up at Maedhros. “You seem…peppy.”

Indeed, Maedhros looked like he was barely holding back his excitement. “Finno, guess what?”

“What?”

“I passed!”

It took Fingon a second to process this, and then his eyes widened. “The – ”

“The Praxis! I passed the test!” Unable to contain himself, Maedhros pulled Fingon from the chair and into his arms, and swung him around. “I am not a total failure! I may actually pull this off!”

Delighted, Fingon whooped and hung onto him. “Congratulations, babe, I knew you could do it!”

“And it only took two tries, as Curvo reminds me. But I never have to be tutored by the brat again!” Maedhros hugged Fingon close and kissed him. “This means I can finally take time off without feeling guilty, like every free second has to be spent studying.”

Fingon feigned a swoon. “My god. Does this mean you’ll watch Netflix with me tonight? And eat terrible cheesy junk even though it’s not ‘brain food’?”

“Yes.” Maedhros set Fingon down and kissed him again, more slowly. “I will lounge with you, and eat crappy food, and waste time, and not feel guilty. And I will linger in the shower with you too, and, mmm, go down on you…”