第 28 页

“The thing about being a camp counselor,” said Elenwë, scrolling down the page and scanning for other options, “is that it’s a fairly seasonal thing.”

“Tyelko and I had an idea, actually.”

“Uh oh.”

“We both did Outward Bound as teenagers…”

“That’s when you got giardia, right?”

“Right.”

“And Tyelko got…what STD was it?”

“An embarrassing one, with a name like some sort of deformed Pokémon. And it was only because he had a different girl in his tent each night.”

“Were you one of them?”

“I was on a different course, for the record, and I always use protection. Also I thought he was gross back then. I mean, he’s still gross. But I got over certain humps…”

“So to speak.”

“Right. But focus. We both did Outward Bound – it’s probably what kept Tyelko from being a total delinquent – and it was really excellent. And there are instructor courses you can take, that train you to be a course leader. And we were thinking about taking one next summer. They train you in emergency wildness medicine, and a bunch of technical areas as well, like paddling and rock climbing and dog sledding…”

Elenwë raised an eyebrow as she snuggled back against Aredhel. “Dog sledding?”

“Well, it depends. But wouldn’t that be awesome? Doing some kind of outdoor ed as a career?”

“Is it a career, though?” asked Elenwë dubiously. “If it’s just in the summer…”

“They do courses all year round,” said Aredhel enthusiastically. “Dog sledding, remember? They even do international trips! I could travel all over, potentially.”

“So…you’d be gone quite a lot.”

“Well, I’d just do summers to start. And I haven’t taken the instructor’s course yet. But I thought I’d mention it, since Tyelko and I might try it.”

“Okay,” said Elenwë, returning to her computer search. “But in the meantime, how about taking your mom’s suggestion and working reception at her practice? It’ll help cover your bills while you keep looking, at least.”

Aredhel sighed. “If I must.”

Elenwë snuggled back in her arms, closing the computer. “We’ve done an hour of career research now.”

“So we have.”

“That means it’s reward time! How would you like – ”

“Oh,” said a voice from the doorway, “I’m sorry.”

Elenwë and Aredhel jumped and looked up.

A tall blonde girl was standing in the entryway, clutching a bag over her shoulder and looking uncertain.

“Amarië!” Elenwë pushed herself upright. “What are you doing here?”

“The door was unlocked,” said Amarië softly. “So I thought I’d just come in –I hope that was okay…”

“Of course it is,” said Elenwë warmly. “Do you want something to eat? Drink? We made tea, earlier.”

But Amarië still hovered in the entryway, fingers knotting on the strap of her bag. “I….”

Elenwë studied her, taking in her pale face and tight lips, and her own face grew grave with concern. “What’s up, Amarië?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the studio, actually,” said Amarië, her voice a little high pitched but full of forced calm.

Elenwë looked helplessly at Aredhel, then back at Amarië. “I actually had a three hour class this morning and I’m already sore…”

“I could just really use some studio time,” said Amarië, her voice getting even thinner.

Elenwë blinked and then nodded immediately. “Yes, I think I do too. Let me grab my things.”

Aredhel drew her brows together as Elenwë jumped off the couch and darted into her room. “Isn’t it a bit late? Won’t the studio be locked up?”

“Nessa gave me a key,” said Amarië, pulling her ponytail out from under the strap of her bag. Her fingers were trembling slightly, Aredhel noticed. “She doesn’t mind if we use the studio after hours, as long as we lock up behind us.”

“I’m ready!” Elenwë dashed back out, wearing tights and a long sweater, her dance shoes knotted over her shoulder. She pulled her curls into a messy knot on top of her head and shuffled her feet into boots for the walk over. “Are you going to be all right here alone for a couple hours, Ireth?”

“Sure,” said Aredhel, hanging her arms over the back of the couch. “I’ll eat all your chocolate though.”

“That’s acceptable,” said Elenwë, swooping over to kiss her swiftly.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”

Elenwë gave Amarië a questioning look. “An hour, or – ?”

“A bit more.” Amarië swallowed. “Maybe a couple hours.”

“No problem,” said Aredhel.

“No problem,” echoed Elenwë, and laid her hand lightly on Amarië’s lower back as they stepped out into the rapidly darkening evening.

-

By ten o’clock, Aredhel had eaten enough chocolate to feel slightly ill, and was growing restless. After pacing the perimeter of Elenwë’s apartment a couple times, she muttered, “Ah, to hell with it,” and grabbed her bag and bike helmet.

The bike ride was dark and cold, and Aredhel swiftly regretted not wearing gloves as she gripped her handlebars with numb fingers. When she finally pulled up outside Nessa’s studio and locked her bike to the railing, the golden light blazing from within looked profoundly appealing.

The studio was bright and warm after the cold night, and Aredhel slipped in gratefully, rubbing her frozen hands together. Elenwë and Amarië were sitting on the floor in the middle of the studio, legs extended out along the ground like they were stretching, but they appeared to be more absorbed in intense conversation than loosening up. Amarië’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she was twisting something pink and fluffy in her hands like a handkerchief – but on closer examination, it looked to be one of Elenwë’s legwarmers.

“Sorry,” said Aredhel, slipping out of her shoes and sliding across the floor on socked feet to join them. “I got lonely.”

“That’s okay,” said Elenwë, patting the floor beside her. “I’m sorry we’ve been so long.”

“My fault,” said Amarië, with a pained smile.

“It’s no problem,” said Aredhel, settling herself cross-legged on the floor. “But can I ask what’s up?”

Elenwë shot a look at Amarië, who shrugged. “Amarië broke up with Findaráto,” Elenwë said.

“Oh, shit.” Aredhel winced. “What happened?”

Again, Elenwë looked at Amarië for permission to answer, and Amarië nodded, twisting the pink wool in her fingers. “He cheated on her.”

“That fucker,” said Aredhel, then looked embarrassed. “I mean. I guess we can’t really talk, can we, El…?”

“Elenwë had one ill-advised evening being a little too physically close with you,” said Amarië in a low voice. “Then she ended things with Turno before the two of you did anything further. She didn’t have a weeks long affair – including unprotected sex, I might add – that she lied about and concealed. More than once.”

“Jesus.” Aredhel was horrified. “I had no idea. What a dog.” She cast about helplessly for something she could offer. “Sounds like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t drink,” said Amarië, and blew her nose. She paused, looking chagrined. “Um. I’m sorry, Elenwë. That was your legwarmer…”

“Keep it,” said Elenwë brightly.

“You don’t drink?” said Aredhel, distracted. “Hang on, I’ve seen you play beer pong. I’ve been beaten by you in beer pong!”

“Well, if you win consistently you don’t have to drink,” pointed out Amarië, with a watery smile.

“And Findaráto used to drink for both of them when they got scored on,” put in Elenwë, and then caught herself. Her ears turned pink and she cast a worried look at Amarië.

“He’s not Voldemort, Elenwë,” said Amarië. “You’re allowed to say his name to me. I won’t…explode, or burst into tears…well, maybe a little.” She wiped her eyes again, looking frustrated. “Oh, this is so stupid. I don’t want to be crying, it’s so embarrassing. I hate crying in front of people.”

“We don’t count, don’t worry.” Elenwë scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Amarië’s shoulders. “If you’re not allowed to cry when you go through a break-up, when are you? And it’s only been twelve hours! When I broke up with my high school boyfriend I cried for three days straight until I gave myself esophageal spasms.”

Amarië looked at her in alarm. “I think you just gave me another reason not to cry.”

“Finding out your boyfriend is cheating scum?” Aredhel said. “Totally grounds for some crying. Or some revenge plotting. My brothers and I drove to New Hampshire this past summer for fireworks, and we’ve got a TON left over. We could totally…”

“Blow him up?” Elenwë rolled her eyes. “Irissë.”

“Hey, this is how I deal with breakups. And I was going to say stick them up his - ”

“I think I’ll pass,” said Amarië, blowing her nose again. “I’d rather just never think about it again. Though I don’t know if I can pull that off.”

“Maybe,” Elenwë began, and then all three of them jumped as the studio door banged.

Galadriel poked her head in, a fuzzy hat pulled over her long golden hair, her peacoat buttoned to her throat and her cheeks pink from the cold. She would have looked like an Alpine milkmaid if it hadn’t been for the truly ferocious glint in her eyes.

“Amarië!” Galadriel hurried over. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Amarië looked up, puzzled. “How did you know to look here at all?”

“Educated guess,” said Galadriel, and sat down opposite her, legs crossed. She adopted a businesslike expression and dove in at once. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I heard some of your conversation with my brother this morning.”

“Oh.” Amarië looked down at her lap.

“And then, when Findaráto came upstairs without you…and wouldn’t answer any of my questions…” Galadriel spread her hands. “I suspected the worse. Can you tell me what happened?”

Amarië sighed, and Elenwë laid a hand on her leg.

“You don’t have to,” Elenwë began, but Amarië shook her head.

“It’s fine, Elenwë.” She looked up at Galadriel. “I ended things with Findaráto, Artanis.”

Galadriel’s expression was carefully neutral. “What happened?”

“You should ask – ”

“Amarië,” said Galadriel. “Don’t worry about offending me, or that I’ll automatically take my brother’s side. I already suspect I should be furious with him. What did he do?”

“He cheated on me,” said Amarië, baldly. She smiled, self-deprecatingly, but her eyes once more filled with tears.

Galadriel drew in a long breath through her nose. “Excuse me a second.” She pulled her purse out and rummaged for her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Aikanáro,” said Galadriel shortly, typing.

“Texting him what?”

“Texting him to lock Findaráto out of the damn apartment.”

Chapter End Notes

1. When I broke up with my high school boyfriend I cried for three days straight until I gave myself esophageal spasms. True story.

2. Shout out to snartha, who has done some DWMP-inspired fanart that is frankly appalling in its perfection. Check it.

Looking down the barrel of today

Chapter Summary

Revelations.

Chapter Notes

0. An early update, my god! Try not to get used to it.

1. Warnings for cheating and its fallout, scary dads, sad modern elves, hook-ups, the usual.

The knock came just as Fingon was in the middle of sweeping the kitchen floor and singing along loudly to what Maedhros called his “Embarrassingly Terrible Music Mix: Please Turn That Shit Down”. Wiping his brow on his forearm, Fingon leaned the broom against the wall and traipsed over to the door. He glanced briefly through the peephole, and his shoulders tensed. There was no mistaking that sleek dark hair, or the impeccably tailored suit, or those snapping grey eyes.

Fëanor was standing on his front stoop.

Fingon took a moment to compose himself, then glanced down at what he was wearing: a sleeveless jersey for his intramural ultimate team that had Flight of the Noldor: Sausagefest 2011 blazoned across the chest; and a pair of Maedhros’ flannel pajama pants that were several inches too long in the leg.

“Well, this is promising,” he muttered to himself, and opened the door.

“Maitimo’s not here,” he said, before his uncle could speak. “His shift at the bar doesn’t end for another hour or so.”

“I am aware of that,” said Fëanor. “I am not looking for him, but for you.”

“Oh.” Fingon digested this. “Excellent.”

“Yes, quite.” Fëanor raised an eyebrow, taking in Fingon’s bare arms and too-long pants. Fingon could see him read Sausagefest, with a twist of his lips. “I must compliment you on your attire. This is how the heir to my father’s company dresses?”

Fingon stared back at him, unfazed. “Yeah, this is definitely basic office dress for me. You should see me on casual Fridays.”

Fëanor gazed around the small apartment, his lip curling at the party detritus still scattered over various surfaces. Fingon followed his gaze and answered his unstated observation.

“Yeah, not very prepossessing, is it? But it was a busy weekend, so we’re only getting around to cleaning now.” He gestured to himself, and the adjacent broom. “Something I am, in fact, doing as we speak. Is that why you stopped by? To make comments about my outfit and cleaning habits?” He stared Fëanor down. “Because if so, done and done. Anything else I can help you with?”

Fëanor looked like he wanted to make another biting remark, but caught himself. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Unusual.”

“I had another intent, in coming here.”

“What’s that?”

Fëanor motioned to the door. “May I come in?”

“I’m not stopping you.” Fingon retreated into the kitchen, while Fëanor made his way to the long counter dividing living room and kitchen. They faced each other over it, Fingon braced for a fight, his arms crossed.

“I am here because I don’t want to lose my eldest son from my life,” said Fëanor abruptly. “There is nothing more important to me than my children, and I have no desire to alienate them.”

Fingon bit back a snarky remark at this, and instead said, “Maitimo doesn’t want that either.”

“I know.” Fëanor stared at Fingon for a while, and then said, “I know you think my dislike for you came from pettiness, and my…issues with your father. That my disapproval stemmed from my distaste for how things were being managed, and your role in the takeover. I imagine you thought it was both politically and personally motivated. Not to mention my discomfort with your…familial connection. The fact that you’re cousins…” He trailed off.

“By marriage,” Fingon pointed out. “And yeah, that about sums up the reasons as far as I could tell. Is that not the case?”

“It’s only part of it.” Fëanor met his gaze gravely. “I will ask you to give me the benefit of believing that I can be motivated by more than my own ‘small-mindedness’, as I think you’ve referred to it in the past. So here it is: As a parent, it is hard to ever believe that anyone is worthy of your children. It’s hard to accept that any individual could be deserving of their love, that anyone is good enough for them. I am also, by necessity, very protective of my family. This makes me, shall we say, a harsh judge of my children’s romantic interests.”