第 19 页

There was a long silence. Desperate to look anywhere but at his father, Maedhros glanced up at the counter. Maglor was watching him, face drawn and anxious, but he turned away quickly when he caught Maedhros’ eyes.

“So,” said Fëanor quietly. “When you say you want to forge your own path in life, what you really mean is that you’re choosing to follow someone else’s path. This is hardly independence, Nelyafinwë. Tying yourself down to that – ”

“He has a name,” snapped Maedhros, suddenly angry. “I’ve been with him seven years, father, and the least you can do is pretend to treat him like a person. Findekáno. He’s the man I’m in love with.”

“We’ve spoken of this before,” said Fëanor, jaw tight. “He is your cousin.”

“Only when it’s convenient, it seems,” Maedhros shot back. “Only when you’re looking for excuses for us not to be together. Otherwise, he’s ‘that son of Nolofinwë’ – Nolofinwë, who is not your brother, as you’ve made perfectly clear to everyone in this family.”

“Watch your tone,” said Fëanor shortly. “My…stepbrother’s son is still your cousin, and your little affair will hardly read well to the general public.”

“How is this a matter for the general public?” demanded Maedhros furiously. “I’m not putting out a press release, I’m moving in with my boyfriend of seven years. If anything, people will just be surprised it hasn’t happened earlier. And as for public opinion – Christ, since when has that bothered you? A dozen workers dead, and you hardly blink, but, no, whispers of impropriety between cousins by marriage, that’s where you draw the line!”

“That’s enough,” hissed Fëanor, and stood. “How dare you bring up – ”

“Your history? Our history?” Maedhros stood too, towering over his father. “What happened at Alqualondë has shaped my life as much as yours, and if you’re looking for reasons why it’s taken me this long to find my path, look no further than your warehouse.”

-

Fingon had just dropped off Aredhel when his phone rang. He answered it, holding it between shoulder and ear as he pulled out of the parking garage.

“H’lo?”

“It’s me.”

“Maitimo.” Fingon’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the steering wheel. “How did it go?”

“Well,” Maedhros’ voice came flatly down the line, “Let’s just say that it’s a good thing my father wasn’t supporting me financially, because I think I would have just been cut off.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yes. Can I meet you at your place?”

“Our place,” Fingon corrected instantly. “And yes. I’ll see you there.”

* * *

Quiet weekend breakfasts were something of a novelty, Maedhros reflected, as he poured himself a cup of coffee, but something he could definitely get used to. Especially the part where Fingon wandered into the kitchen half-naked, kissed his cheek, stole his coffee, and wandered back out.

Maedhros smiled as he fetched another mug and poured a second cup of coffee. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

“Toss me a bagel, would you?” Fingon called, from the living room.

“Toasted?”

“Nah. One of the cinnamon raisin ones, though.”

Maedhros leaned over the counter separating the tiny kitchen from the living room and lightly threw a bagel to Fingon. “Untoasted bagel? Barbarian.”

“I like ‘em raw,” said Fingon, and tore into it. “Also, I’m impatient.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Maedhros turned as the toaster dinged, and pulled his toast onto a plate. “You want butter, or cream cheese, or anything?”

“Meh.”

“Sophisticated,” murmured Maedhros, and Fingon made a face at him.

“Just hurry up and come in here, I’ve got plans for you.”

“I hope these ‘plans’ don’t involve bagels,” Maedhros said. “Assuming that was innuendo – ”

“Bagel innuendo? I hadn’t thought of that. What would you even do with – I mean would you put it on – No, I won’t speculate. But I want to enjoy you before we have to do all the tedious stuff."

"You mean actually moving me in?"

"Yes." Fingon groaned. "Are you sure you can't just use my things?"

"Your clothes wouldn't fit me."

"I think the crop-top look would be pretty hot on you, actually... But you're right, the pants situation would be comical. You can't pull off culottes. And now I think of it, there are definitely some things we need from your old place. Most of our lube and condoms, for one."

"I'm glad you have your priorities in order," said Maedhros, finishing buttering his toast and laying the knife on the plate. "Worrying about the truly irreplaceable stuff."

"Someone needs to think of these things. Hey, is that your phone?”

Maedhros swore under his breath as he struggled to pull his phone from his pocket while juggling his plate to another hand. “It’s – oh. It’s my parents’ home number…”

With a certain amount of trepidation, he answered it. “Hello?”

It was Amrod. “Nelyo. Hey, Nelyo. Nelyo. Listen.”

“What’s going on?” Maedhros frowned as he tried to balance his phone, coffee, and plate of toast. “Are you okay? Why are you calling?”

“ ‘Cuz. Listen to this. Mom’s going ripshit.”

Giving up, Maedhros set down his cup and plate and leaned on the counter, phone pressed to his ear, still confused.

“What’s up?” Fingon mouthed at him.

Maedhros shook his head, and listened. It sounded like Amrod was holding up the phone to a conversation taking place on his end. Most of the noise coming through was muffled, but one voice cut through with perfect clarity.

“…and another thing, Fëanaro, if you have your head so far up your ass that you can’t see – ”

Another voice, lower, cut in, but Maedhros couldn’t make out the words.

“Don’t interrupt me! If you can’t see that you should be happy – no, delighted – that our son has found someone who makes him happy – and is making decisions based on his own desires rather than some sense of duty – then you are far more stupid than I ever suspected!”

“Nerdanel, it is not a question of happiness...”

“Of course it is, you oaf! That’s all that matters! And you – you, you short-sighted fool, are going to let your ridiculous pettiness and your sense of entitlement get in the way! How dare you?”

“Nerdanel, please lower your voice…”

“WELL, YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE GETTING IT THROUGH YOUR THICK HEAD ANY OTHER WAY!”

Amrod came back on the line, laughing. “Did you hear that? I’ve never seen Mom so mad…”

“Listen, what exactly – ”

“I dunno what happened, but I think Dad finally told Mom about some conversation you and he had? And she fuckin’ blew up, told him he was even worse at parenting than his father…”

“Oh, god.” Maedhros groaned and leaned his head against his arm.

“And – Oh, wait, it’s getting good again – ” Amrod had apparently held out the phone again, because Nerdanel’s voice came through clearly.

“Once you get over your sulking, you will go to him and tell him that you have nothing but pride and support for him, and while you’re at it, Fëanaro, you are going to apologize to that sweet boy for being such an ass to him all these years. No, not Maitimo, I’m talking about Findekáno. The one your son has loved for more than half a decade and whose name you refuse to even speak, you childish, self-righteous–”

“Nerdanel.”

“I gotta go, Nelyo,” said Amrod, chortling. “I think I’ve been spotted. But this should be interesting, yeah?” He hung up, and Maedhros stayed still, staring at the phone is his hand.

“You look like you’ve just been dropped on your head,” observed Fingon, who’d been watching with interest from the couch, where he was sprawled, finishing his bagel. “What was that about?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand Ambarussa,” said Maedhros quietly, dropping the phone to the counter. “When I was growing up, a fight like that between my parents would have me terrified.”

“Your parents are fighting?” Fingon pushed himself up, suddenly serious. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. My mother was tearing into my father for how he was treating me…and you, at that.”

Fingon whistled. “No shit. What do you think – ”

Maedhros phone buzzed and he picked it up quickly. It was a text from Amrod.

whats ur new address? mom wants it

Maedhros read the text out loud, and Fingon looked speculative. “I dunno, man, I’ve lived here very happily knowing your parents didn’t have the address…”

Maedhros’ phone buzzed again.

she says she wont abuse it. she also wants to know what kind of muffins finno likes

“Boy, does she know how to win a guy over.” Fingon grinned. “455 Hithlum Ave NW. And tell her, blueberry.”

Chapter End Notes

0. Is it not the most dad thing ever to tell you to get your hair out of your eyes? It's probably the one thing my father and Fëanor have in common.

1. Thanks to Ilye for more or less giving me the prompt that launched this chapter, and thanks to Elleth and Silje for their CRITICAL input on the Very Important Question of Fingon’s street address. Screw cohesive, fluent writing and plotting; I know where my priorities lie.

2. Chapter title taken from ee cummings' on-point poem about Fëanor 'my father moved through dooms of love'. Bonus points since this chapter takes place in September (ish. Don't pay too much attention to the timeline. God knows I don't.)

My dream is to move ya

Chapter Summary

Maedhros moves; an old friend helps out. Caranthir has questions; finds answers he wasn’t necessarily looking for.

Chapter Notes

0. I probably should have broken this chapter in two, but I was too eager. EVENTS TRANSPIRE.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You really should put on some clothes.”

“ ’zat so?” Fingon hummed and bit ruminatively into a muffin as he perched on a stool at the counter top, clad in nothing but boxers.

“Yes.” Maedhros folded his arms. “He’s going to be here any minute. You should try and look remotely presentable…”

“Mae. Azaghâl knew me when we were first dating. He has seen me naked, like, a dozen times.”

Maedhros winced. “Yes, but I’m not an oblivious twenty two year old anymore. I have no excuse for making my long-suffering former roommate uncomfortable by parading my naked boyfriend around.”

“The only one uncomfortable was you. Az has always been pretty chill.”

“Will you just – ”

The doorbell rang and Maedhros sighed so deeply and heartrendingly that Fingon hopped off the stool, laughing, and whisked into the bedroom to grab a shirt. Maedhros answered the door as Fingon reappeared, now wearing one of Maedhros’ tee shirts.

“Azaghâl! Thanks so much for coming to help.”

“No problem, Red. You know I’m always happy to help your skinny ass with the heavy lifting.”

Maedhros stepped aside, and Azaghâl came in, clapping him on the arm in passing. Short and stocky, with broad shoulders, a prodigious auburn beard, and muscular forearms completely covered in tattoos, Azaghâl surveyed the apartment with a critical eye.

“Not bad. A little small, but it’s got good light. How much you paying for it?”

“Let’s just say it’s a lot more manageable now that this sponge is paying half,” said Fingon, digging an elbow into Maedhros’ ribs as he joined them. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.” Azaghâl and Fingon clasped hands in greeting, and Azaghâl eyed him. “Nice outfit. You’re still significantly more clothed than you ever were in college.”

“Told you,” muttered Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged. “I’ll locate pants in a minute. Want a blueberry muffin?”

-

Maedhros pulled open the door of the moving van and the three of them regarded the contents.

Azaghâl cracked his knuckles. “What’s the approach? Heaviest first?”

“The bureau will be the most work,” said Maedhros, considering. “It weighs about a ton and we should go carefully with it; it was my grandmother’s.”

“Cute,” said Azaghâl. “Fingon and I can take it, yeah?”

“Yep,” said Fingon, rolling out his shoulders before stepping up beside Azaghâl. “You grab that shelf, Mae.”

“I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you move for the first time since we were sophomores,” Azaghâl grunted some time later, heaving a box half the size of himself up the stairs. “Remember moving into the dorms the first day of freshmen year?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, smiling. “You didn’t like me at first.”

“Eighteen year old me wasn’t quite as secure,” said Azaghâl, and dropped the box to the floor with a thud. “And a six and a half foot tall dude who was prettier than half the girls I’d dated did nothing for my ego.”

“What changed?” asked Fingon, pushing back the bandana he'd tied around his forehead to keep the sweat from his eyes.

“Well,” said Azaghâl, grinning. “The fact that he didn’t bring home a single conquest for three years really endeared him to me. Not getting sexiled for the first three quarters of college? What else could I ask for in a roommate?”

Maedhros pursed his lips. “I also got you a cheap room in an off-campus house.”

“Yeah, but it was a house that slowly filled with your brothers, and then you met this one, and all of a sudden there was this punk-ass freshman always hanging around.”

“You loved me,” said Fingon, ripping open a box and rummaging in it.

“You were the worst,” said Azaghâl, collapsing onto the couch and putting his feet up on the table. “I went from having a lovely, quiet housemate who never brought anyone home, to having to sleep with earplugs every night because of all the loud sex.” He looked up and laughed at the sight of Maedhros’ face. “You blushing, Red?”

“It’s only been seven years,” said Fingon, and smiled triumphantly as he found what he was looking for in the box. “By Maitimo reckoning, he still has three more years to be embarrassed before the memory fades adequately. Want a beer?”

“Absolutely,” said Azaghâl, and Fingon twirled the bottle opener around one finger as he made his way to the refrigerator.

“What are you up to, these days?” asked Maedhros, as he pulled books from a box and arranged them on the empty shelves. “Still working at the bike shop?”

“Only part time,” said Azaghâl, as Fingon tossed him a beer. “The home brewing’s actually taking off – I’ve been bottling a fair amount and there are some bars that are interested in stocking a limited run.”

“That’s great,” said Maedhros. “I hope it’s better than what you experimented with as an undergrad, though…”

Azaghâl winced. “Don’t bring it up,” he said, looking pained. “I’ve improved since then, I promise. I’m also taking a course in forging cast-iron. Figure if I combine the cast-iron and beer business I can come up with some clever name – Ironic Lager. Forge IPA. That sorta thing.”

“Excellent,” said Fingon, leaning back against the pile of boxes. “You should bring some when we throw our house-warming party. Whenever that happens.” Somewhere, a phone buzzed, and he started up again, throwing various piles of detritus to the side as he searched for it. “Balls. Where is it? Coming, coming – Hello? Hey, Turno. What’s up? Um. No. Should I have?”